Hot Mahogany

by Stuart Woods

  “I know that.”

  “Well, use the resources at your command to motivate your subordinates to find it and do so discreetly enough that neither of us will ever get bitten on the ass by your superiors.”

  “If I get booted off the force for doing this, I’m going to want more money.”

  “We have a deal,” Stone said, “and we’re both sticking to it. Anyway, you need motivation for not getting caught using NYPD resources for your personal gain, and the risk of getting the boot might just meet that need.”

  Dino looked at him narrowly.

  “Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  “Okay, okay, but it seems to me I’m taking all the risks.”

  “Do you remember what happened to Barton Cabot when he last possessed the secretary?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that could happen to me, too. That’s risk.”

  “All right,” Dino said. “Do you have any leads?”

  “There is something, but I’m going to have to violate a confidence in order to reveal it.”

  “Will it make you bleed onto the tablecloth to tell me about it?”

  “Metaphorically speaking.”

  “Eight hundred grand ought to soothe your aching conscience a little.”

  “It involves Bob Cantor.”

  “I spoke to him yesterday,” Dino said.

  “And I had lunch with him today, and you promised not to mention money to me again.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Bob served under Barton Cabot in the Marine Corps in Vietnam. Together with four other men, they stole something and got it back to the States, where they divided the proceeds.”

  “What did they steal?”

  “He wouldn’t tell me, just that it belonged to the South Vietnamese government.”

  “Which doesn’t exist any more.”

  “Right.”

  “And this happened when, in the seventies?”

  “Right.”

  “So the statute of limitations has expired?”

  “Right.”

  “So, what’s he worried about?”

  “The other three men.”

  “You said there were four, plus Bob and Barton.”

  “One of them is dead, probably because he was unhappy with his cut of the deal.”

  “You’re just saying that to make me shut up about my cut of this deal.”

  “I’m just telling you the facts.”

  “So what does this have to do with anything?”

  “One of the other three guys turned up at P. J. Clarke’s yesterday; Bob saw him at the bar.”

  “And?”

  “And then he vanished.”

  “In a puff of smoke?”

  “No. Bob looked away, and when he looked back, the guy was gone.”

  “What does this mean?”

  “I think that Bob thinks that this guy was – is still – unhappy with his cut.”

  “And that he stole Barton’s secretary to get even?”

  “To get more than even. That’s my theory, anyway, not Bob’s, because he doesn’t know about the secretary.”

  Dino looked uncomfortable.

  “Dino, when you mentioned Barton Cabot to Bob Cantor, did you also mention the secretary?”

  “At the time, there was no reason why I shouldn’t, was there?” Dino asked, defensively.

  “I guess not,” Stone said.

  “And I can’t talk to Bob about this, because of your conscience?”

  “If it becomes necessary, I’ll talk to him.”

  “So who is this disappearing guy?”

  “I don’t know,” Stone said, “but I may have a way to find out.”

  12

  When Stone got home, he called the cell phone number he had for Lance Cabot and left a message. The following morning, early, Lance called him back. “Good morning, Stone.”

  Stone tried to wake up fast. “Yeah, good morning.” His bedside clock said 5:46 A.M.

  “You really should get an earlier start to your day,” Lance said.

  “You’d get more done.”

  Stone ignored that. “I need your help on something, Lance.”

  “Is this something to do with Barton’s secretary?”

  “Yes.”

  “What, exactly, do you need?”

  “At the end of the Vietnam War, Barton was commanding a Marine regiment.”

  “I suppose that command would be appropriate to his rank.”

  “Before he made colonel, he had commanded a company, and there was a squad leader, a sergeant named Robert Cantor. Barton got him a battlefield commission, and he became a platoon leader and, later, after Barton got the regiment, an acting company commander.”

  “I think I’ve got it.”

  “I want the names of the men in Sergeant Cantor’s squad and Lieutenant Cantor’s platoon.”

  “You realize that those would be two different groups.”

  “Why?”

  “When a sergeant gets a battlefield commission, he’s transferred to another platoon, so he won’t be commanding the men he served with as an NCO.”

  “Okay, then I need the names of both the squad and the platoon.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t go into that,” Stone said.

  “Stone, why are you holding out on me?”

  “You’re going to have to trust me on this, Lance. In this matter, it’s better if I decide what you know and don’t know.”

  “All right. I’ll be in the office shortly, and I’ll give this to Holly to work on. She’ll be in Connecticut by nightfall, and she can give you the records then.”

  “I’m in New York, Lance.”

  “I think you should spend at least a night or two in Connecticut, Stone, and while you’re there, you can look in on Barton.”

  Stone sighed. “All right, Lance. And if I need further information can Holly obtain it from Connecticut?”

  “She’ll have her laptop. Good-bye, Stone.”

  Stone hung up, turned over and went back to sleep.

  Stone arrived in Washington, Connecticut, in the late afternoon. His secretary had called his local housekeeper, and she had freshened up the place with clean linens and bouquets of flowers. She had also laid in food for breakfast.

  Holly arrived an hour or so later and seemed happy to be in his arms. She had reddened her hair a few months ago for an assignment and had lost some weight.

  Stone thought she looked terrific. “How long did the drive take?” he asked, kissing her.

  “A couple of hours. I took a Company light airplane to the Oxford airport and rented a car.”

  “How about a drink?”

  “You talked me into it.”

  They both drank the same bourbon, so he poured them a Knob Creek.

  Holly grabbed her briefcase and led him into the living room to a sofa. “I’ve got some stuff that Lance said you wanted,” she said, opening the briefcase and handing him a folder. “This is the roster of Charlie Company, Second Platoon,” she said. “You’ll note that Staff Sergeant Robert Cantor is leader of First Squad, and there’s a list of the other squad members.” She handed him another folder. “When Cantor got his commission, he was transferred to Baker Company and given command of First Platoon. This is that roster. There’s a total of thirty or so names on both lists combined, but they had a lot of casualties, so by the end of the war the list was cut in half. Now tell me what this is about.”

  “All right, but you can’t tell Lance about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It involves something about his brother he’d probably rather not know.”

  “Okay, but if he orders me, I’ll have to tell him.”

  “I don’t think he’ll order you to tell him.” Stone told everything, beginning with the disappearance of the mahogany secretary and continuing through the story of the theft near the end of the war.

  “What did they steal?” Holly asked.

  “I don’t know, b
ut it must have been fairly easily transported and easy to dispose of after they got it back to the States. And it must have been substantial in value, as it seems to have funded the lives of the participants when they became civilians again.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Stone picked up the first folder. “My guess is that the other participants are likely to have come from Sergeant Cantor’s squad, since he would have been closer to his men and known them better than he would as a platoon or company commander.” He opened the folder.

  “He had five men in his squad,” she said, “but two of them were fatalities before the end of the war.”

  “One of them was probably murdered by someone else in the squad,” Stone said, “when he was unhappy with the way the loot was divided.”

  “Both fatalities occurred in ’Nam and are listed as KIA,” Holly said.

  “I guess it’s easier to shoot somebody when your outfit is being shot at.”

  “Right, and what you’ve got there are the service records of the remaining three original squad members and Cantor. I didn’t think you’d be interested in the replacements.”

  “Probably not,” Stone said, looking through the folders. “He would have trusted the original guys more.” He glanced through the records. “Two of these guys were from New York: one from Queens, one from the Bronx. Bob Cantor is from Brooklyn. Would it be unusual for three of a squad to be from the same city?”

  “It’s the luck of the draw, so it’s probably a coincidence,” Holly said.

  “I think it makes sense to start with the two other New Yorkers,” Stone said. “We’ve got their addresses here.”

  Holly shook her head. “Those are probably not current; they were the addresses when they enlisted. But there should be next of kin listed with an address. They could still be alive.”

  “These are guys in their fifties,” Stone said.

  “Lots of people in their fifties still have living parents.”

  Stone picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Let’s see.” He put the phone down again. “Out of service.” He tried the other one.

  “Hello?” A small child.

  “Hi,” Stone said, “can I speak with your daddy?”

  The kid dropped the phone like a rock, and Stone could hear him screaming for his father.

  “Hello?” a male voice said. “Who do you want?” The voice was heavily Spanish-accented.

  Stone hung up. “Hispanic. Not our guy. The Pentagon wouldn’t have current addresses?”

  “Not likely, but the Veterans Administration might, especially if either guy has used his veterans’ benefits. I can do a computer search but not now.” She leaned over and kissed him hotly.

  “I guess it can wait until tomorrow,” Stone managed to say.

  13

  Stone woke the following morning with a warm girl heating his rib cage. He was ravenously hungry, and it occurred to him that they, in their enthusiasm, had never gotten around to dinner.

  “I’m not awake,” Holly whispered.

  “Do you want breakfast?”

  “Maybe.”

  Stone put on some shorts, went downstairs, grilled bacon and scrambled eggs. When he was almost done he whistled as loudly as he could, which was very loud.

  A minute and a half later Holly padded down the stairs and walked into the kitchen, very naked.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Did you forget something?”

  She stared at him blankly. “What?”

  “Never mind, have a seat. I’m not sure I have a big enough napkin for you, though.”

  Holly sat down and began eating greedily. “Why am I so hungry?”

  “Because we skipped dinner last night.”

  “Why did…? Oh.”

  “Yes, oh. It was more fun than dinner, anyway.”

  “Well, you can take me out to dinner tonight.”

  “If I’m still here tonight.”

  “Lance promised me two nights with you to get me to come up here.”

  “Lance has given me two jobs, and I might not be able to get both of them done if I’m sleeping with you.”

  “I’m a job?”

  “Only in a manner of speaking. He used your presence to lure me up here and check on Barton.”

  “What’s Barton like?”

  “A ringer for Lance but older. It’s like they’re twins who were born a few years apart.”

  “But is he like Lance?”

  “Nobody is like Lance. Barton is more talkative, at least with me. He’ll like you, though, especially if you go dressed like that.”

  She giggled.

  “Lance says he likes the ladies.”

  “He didn’t mention that to me.”

  They finished breakfast, then Holly left and returned with her laptop. “Give me the names of the two men from Cantor’s squad who interested you.”

  Stone picked up the files. “Abner Luke Kramer and Charles Larry Crow.” He gave her their service numbers.

  She went to the V.A. website and through a few pages, typing rapidly. “Here we go,” she said. “Private Kramer spent four years at NYU on the GI bill, got a degree in business administration, then went to Wharton for an MBA. Corporal Crow was treated for a couple of months at a V.A. hospital on Long Island, then got himself a V.A. mortgage.”

  “Any addresses?”

  “One for each: Kramer, on West Tenth Street, in Manhattan; Crow, in the Bronx.”

  Stone wrote down both addresses and phone numbers.

  “You going to call?”

  “Might be better if I just show up and surprise them.”

  Holly continued typing. “Google knows about Kramer,” she said. “He was an executive vice president at Goldman Sachs in New York until four years ago, but he left to start his own company, A. L. Kramer, which has done very well, apparently. Here’s a picture.” She turned the laptop so he could see it.

  “Distinguished looking,” Stone said. “What about Crow?”

  Holly tapped more keys. “He started a real estate business, buying dilapidated town houses and reselling them. That’s it.”

  “Well, it’s a start, I guess. Want to go meet Barton Cabot?”

  “Sure, but I need a shower.”

  “Me, too.”

  They showered together and made the most of it.

  The touch of early autumn was in the trees along the shore of Lake Waramaug.

  “This is beautiful,” Holly said.

  “Hardly anyplace is more beautiful than Connecticut in the fall. It’ll be a little while longer before it’s in its glory.”

  “Maybe I’ll stick around for it,” she said.

  “How’s the work with Lance going?”

  “I wish I could tell you the details; the information I have in my head these days is mind-boggling.”

  “What about working with Lance?”

  “I’m not the politician Lance is, but it’s very interesting to watch him operate. He misses nothing and uses everything to his advantage. He’s already cultivating the representatives and senators on the House and Senate intelligence committees. I’ve no doubt that he’ll succeed Kate Rule Lee when she goes.”

  “He’s pretty young for that job.”

  “He’s pretty young for the job he has now,” Holly pointed out.

  They pulled into Barton’s driveway, drove out onto the little peninsula and stopped at the house. Floodlights under the eaves suddenly came on.

  “Motion detectors,” Stone said. “Those lights didn’t come on the last time I was here.”

  Barton stuck his head out the kitchen door, then came outside, his right hand behind his back.

  “You think he’s going to shoot us?” Holly asked.

  Stone stepped out of the car and raised a hand in greeting. “Remember me?” he asked.

  “Of course, I remember you,” Barton said. “You think I’m an amnesiac?”

  Stone laughed. “I want you to meet Holly Barker,” he said.

  Holly got out o
f the car. “How do you do?”

  “Well, hello, Holly Barker,” Barton replied. He moved his right hand behind his back, then brought it out to shake her hand. He was smiling. “Why don’t you two come in for some coffee?”

  They followed him into the kitchen, where a housekeeper was at work, then into the study, and by the time they arrived there, Stone noticed that the pistol was no longer tucked into Barton’s belt behind his back. It somehow had disappeared on the way in.

  The housekeeper came into the study bearing a tray that held coffee and cookies. She set it on the coffee table before the fireplace and left.

  Barton poured for them. “So, Holly Barker, are you a Connecticut girl?”

  “Nope, army brat, but I live in Virginia these days.”

  “What brings you up here?”

  “A little vacation. Stone offered me his house.”

  Barton was about to reply when a tiny electronic beeping began. “Excuse me,” he said, moving quickly away from the coffee and toward a door. On his way he reached into a drawer and came out with a semiautomatic pistol. He closed the door behind him.

  “What should we do?” Holly asked.

  “He didn’t ask for help,” Stone replied.

  14

  They were still drinking their coffee when two gunshots interrupted them.

  “Are you armed?” Holly asked.

  “No.”

  “I am,” she said. “Come on.”

  Stone followed her, wondering how she had concealed a weapon under her tight jeans and close-fitting sweater. She stopped before going out the kitchen door, lifted a leg and removed a tiny semiautomatic pistol from a holster strapped to her right ankle. She looked out the kitchen window for a moment, then stepped outside. “Follow me, and stay behind me,” she said.

  They were halfway to the barn when Barton Cabot stepped out from behind it, the pistol still in his hand. “Raccoon,” he said. “Missed him.”

  Holly tucked the little pistol back into its ankle holster. “How do the neighbors feel about the gunfire?”

  “Oh, they’ll think it’s a bird hunter in a field nearby,” Barton replied.

  “Barton,” Stone said, “will you show Holly the secretary? Anyway, I’d like to ask you some questions about it.”

  “All right. Holly, where are you from?”