by Stuart Woods
“Okay by me.”
“I gotta run. Call me when you’re back in New York and over your Gulfstream lag.”
“Will do.” They both hung up. Stone had been feeling relaxed, but now he was nervous again.
58
Stone called Lance and got a voice mail beep. “Trouble at home,” Stone said. “Call me soonest.” He hung up and finished his sandwich, then the phone rang.
“Lance?”
“Dino.”
“Sorry about that, pal. I had a call in to him.”
“Where the hell have you been? You’ve checked out of the suite, and your cell phone hasn’t been working.”
“I’m sorry about that—it got wet, and I had to get it replaced.”
“Are you okay? The Russians haven’t kidnapped you?”
“I’m reliably informed that the Russians are no longer a threat.”
“Oh? Are they all dead?”
“I’ll tell you more when I see you. Are you done with your conference?”
“A couple of days ago. We stayed over to see some sights and get the free ride home after the big do.”
“Why don’t the two of you come to dinner tonight?”
“Come to dinner where?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you—I bought a house.”
“You’re insane.”
“You won’t think so when you see it.” Stone gave him the address. “Seven-thirty?”
“Okay. Then I want to be brought up to date.”
“I’ll tell you everything.” They hung up, and Stone called Holly, got the beep. “I’ve invited Dino and Viv to dinner tonight at seven-thirty. Stop by Fauchon again and pick up something delicious for four, okay? If you can’t do it, let me know and I’ll pick it up.” He hung up.
—
TWO HOURS passed before Lance returned his call. “All right, Stone, who’s after you now?”
“Not I—Kate. Someone in your bailiwick has leaked to a reporter that you’re spending outrageous money on protecting my ass.”
A brief silence. “Any idea who?”
“Of course not—you should have a better idea than I.”
“Any idea which side of the Atlantic we’re talking about?”
“Nope, but how would anyone on the other side know what’s going on over here?”
“It would have to be someone highly placed,” Lance said.
“Ann Keaton said she got it from a reporter who got it from a source inside the Agency.”
“That is disturbing.”
“The reporter is treating it with caution, but the election is Tuesday. This would not be a good time for you to have to deny it.”
“Deny it? I don’t deny things, except before a congressional committee.”
“There are Republicans on congressional committees,” Stone said. “In fact Henry Carson is on the Senate Intelligence Committee.”
“You have a point. Let me see what I can learn.” Lance hung up without further ado.
Stone washed the dishes from breakfast and went in search of a book in his new library. He settled on an old biography of Huey Long, but he had trouble concentrating.
—
HOLLY BUSTLED into the house bearing four shopping bags and a wine carton slung over one shoulder. “Good thing I got your message,” she said. “We would have starved.”
“Have you talked to Lance today?”
“Yes, this morning, but he suddenly got busy after lunch and has been cloistered for the rest of the day.”
Stone told her his news.
“Well,” she said, “this could hardly have come at a worse time.”
“No kidding.”
“Lance badly wants Kate elected,” she said.
“I didn’t know he was sentimental about politics.”
“He’s sentimental about his job. He wants to keep it when the next administration comes in, and he’s not real close to Carson.”
“I feel helpless,” Stone said.
“You’ll have to rely on Lance.”
“Now I really feel helpless.”
“Did he express any ideas?”
“Not really.”
“Lance is at his best when he’s in personal jeopardy. He’ll come through.”
“Time is short.”
Holly looked at her watch. “You’re right. Dino and Viv will be here in twenty minutes, and I have to make it look as though I prepared all this food.” She ran for the kitchen while Stone tidied the living room.
Dino and Viv were on time.
59
Dino walked into the house and looked around the living room. “Holy shit!” he said. “How the hell did you find this?”
“You might say Lance found it for me, though he didn’t mean to.”
Dino accepted a scotch and Viv a martini. “Explain.”
“It was a CIA safe house, belonged to a former station chief here, and the Agency bought it.”
“And you bought it from the Agency?”
“From an Agency foundation, the same one that I bought my cousin Dick Stone’s house from. I think I’ve discovered that the foundation would rather have cash than real estate. My local attorney says it’s a bargain.”
“What’s upstairs?” Viv asked.
“A master suite and three bedrooms. There’s a garage and a staff flat on the other side.”
“I’ll buy the staff flat from you,” Dino said.
“Think of the place as your own, whenever you want it.”
Holly came in with hors d’oeuvres.
Viv bit into one. “This is delicious,” she said.
“Oh, it’s just a little something I whipped up,” Holly replied.
“The hell you say.”
“All right, everything’s from Fauchon.”
“What’s Fauchon?”
“A kind of heavenly grocery store that sells the groceries already cooked.”
“I like the sound of that,” Viv said.
“Okay, enough about groceries,” Dino said. “I want to know what’s been going on. Why were you in a safe house, Stone?”
Stone took a deep breath and gave Dino and Viv an account of his time.
“Well,” Dino said, when he had finished, “you’ve been having a lot more fun than I have. Has Jacques Chance been arrested?”
“As far as I know, no.”
“The guy’s a nutcase,” Dino said. “Somebody ought to throw a net over him.”
“I look forward to that happening,” Stone said.
“I’ve had a couple of long conversations with his old man, Michel.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s a stiff, but he’s a smart one. Very old-school, but a cop all the way through.”
“Did he say anything about his son?”
“I was present when somebody brought up the subject. He just turned and walked away. Like I say, very old-school. Rumor around the conference was that Jacques is being searched for, but quietly. Apparently, removing the prefect of Paris police is complicated.”
They finished their drinks and moved to the dining table at one end of the room, where Holly had distributed Fauchon’s finest.
Stone tasted and poured the wine, and they sat down to dinner. Stone’s phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Lance.”
“Hang on.” He excused himself and took the phone into the study. “Okay,” he said.
“Your little insight turned out to be correct,” Lance said.
“What insight was that?”
“The Senate Select Committee on Intelligence—a staffer who had formerly worked in Carson’s office.”
“How did you deal with that?”
“Had a chat with Henry Carson, who denied all knowledge, said the woman wa
s acting out of her own enthusiasm for his candidacy, nothing to do with his campaign.”
“Do you buy that?”
“No, it’s not necessary to buy it. He said all that before I had a chance to brief him. He mentioned the woman’s name.”
“Funny how he already knew about it.”
“I thought so, too. I had a chat with the reporter in question. He’s willing to hold the story.”
“What did you have to give him?”
“An interview—or at least the promise of one—after the first of the year. I don’t give many interviews, so it will be something of a coup for him.”
“Thank you, Lance.”
“You’re quite welcome.” Lance hung up.
Stone returned to the table. “It looks as though Lance has the story contained.”
“Where was the leak?” Holly asked.
“A staffer on the SSCI, used to work for Carson.”
“Whew!”
“Will she get fired?” Dino asked.
“I didn’t ask.”
“If Carson wins, I’ll bet she turns up on the White House staff.”
“Let’s don’t talk about ‘if Carson wins,’” Stone said. “I shudder at the thought.”
60
The following morning, Stone and Holly packed their clothes and moved back into the suite at l’Arrington; it seemed a good idea, since they were departing from the hotel for the airport. Stone sent his tails to be pressed and his shoes to be polished, while Holly unboxed her new gown from Ralph Lauren and hung it in her dressing room.
While she was fussing with that, Stone’s phone rang.
“Hello?”
“It’s Ann.”
“Hi, there. How are you?”
“Relieved.”
Oh, no, he thought. “Relieved, as in fired?”
“No, silly—relieved as in relieved. Less anxious, if you like.”
“Have you changed your meds?”
“No. I mean, I’m not on meds. Except sometimes, when I need to sleep.”
“Why are you less anxious?”
“Because the reporter I told you about yesterday told me he wasn’t filing the story. He said he didn’t have backup sources.”
“That’s good news, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is. What I want to know is, how did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Get the story killed.”
“Ann, I don’t even know the reporter, never met him. I don’t know his editor or his publisher, either.”
“Then how did you do it?”
“Why are you assuming I did something?”
“Because you’re the only person I told about the story.”
“You didn’t tell Kate or Sam Meriwether?” Meriwether was the holder of Will Lee’s old Senate seat and Kate’s campaign chairman.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I had a feeling you were going to fix it.”
“You overestimate me.”
“I thought you would deny it, but I warn you, when you get home I’m going to torture you until I get the whole story.”
“I’ll look forward to that.”
She laughed. “Anyway, I’m relieved, and I wanted you to be relieved, too.”
“I’m relieved.”
“Have a good time at your gala tonight.”
“That will be torture, too.” They said goodbye and hung up.
That evening, when Stone came out of his dressing room, Dino was standing at the bar in the living room, sipping scotch and dressed in white tie and tails.
“I don’t know how you ever got me to have this suit made,” Dino said.
“I told you you’d need it, eventually.”
“You’re usually right about these things.”
Viv walked in from next door wearing a champagne-colored sequined dress and a piece of jewelry around her neck that Stone figured had cost Dino three months’ pay.
“Wow,” he said.
“Me, too,” Dino echoed. “Everything was worth every cent of what it cost, and I don’t want to know what that was.”
“That is the highest compliment you’ve ever paid me,” Viv said, kissing him lightly, so as not to smear her lipstick.
Holly made her entrance, her auburn hair piled on top of her head, in her strapless emerald green gown that set off her hair and skin color. Everyone oohed and aahed, and they had a drink while waiting for the other guests to arrive.
Stone opened the terrace doors and they stood, watching the elegant crowd as they spilled out of big black cars—Bentleys, Rollses, Mercedeses—and passed slowly through the doors and the security checkpoint, where metal detectors and X-ray machines were set up. Well-dressed guards from Strategic Services—no uniforms—greeted them while armored weapons specialists patrolled the courtyard and the rooftops.
“Everything seems in good order,” Stone said. When the bulk of the crowd had passed in, the women made one last pass at the living room mirror, adjustments were made, and they all took the elevator down to the main floor.
A string orchestra was playing light classical music in the big lobby, and handsomely uniformed waiters passed among the glittering crowd with trays of champagne and canapés. The American ambassador to France arrived through the main doors, accompanied by Lance Cabot. Stone took Holly’s hand and drew her closer. “Help,” he whispered.
“Don’t worry, I’ll fight her off,” Holly replied.
Just behind the ambassador, Marcel duBois entered alone to applause and made a beeline for Stone. They shook hands and embraced.
“Is it going well, do you think?” Marcel asked.
“It’s going beautifully,” Stone said.
Marcel shook everyone’s hand and admired the women. “You didn’t cash the big check, did you?” he asked Stone.
“Lance Cabot took it from me before I could,” Stone said.
Then a momentary hush caused everyone to look toward the entrance. Mirabelle Chance was seen first, in a flame-red gown, no doubt of her own creation, then behind her appeared her brother, Jacques, resplendent in a dress uniform with much gold braid. The crowd began to chat again, no doubt about the infamous Chances.
“He must have designed that uniform himself,” Holly said. “Shades of General Custer!” Everybody laughed but Stone.
“I didn’t think he’d have the gall to show up,” he said. “Perhaps I should go and greet him properly.” He started to move.
“Don’t,” Holly said, taking his arm and tugging to stop him.
“He’s probably in better shape than you are,” Dino said.
Marcel spoke up. “Perhaps pistols at dawn!” That relieved the tension, and they turned their attention to meeting and greeting the other guests.
Lance and the ambassador wandered over, and Stone took shelter behind Holly. “What’s the news from the States?” Lance asked Stone.
“I’ve heard that the reporter didn’t file his story, because of a lack of corroboration. There is much relief in the Kate campaign.”
Lance leaned in. “I let it be known to Henry Carson that if the story did emerge, there would be consequences,” he said quietly, “in the form of a story tracing the leak to his campaign.”
“Very good,” Stone said.
Then chimes were rung, and the crowd filed into the grand ballroom and found their tables and seats, while a jazz trio played the American Songbook.
“Take a look at that,” Dino said, holding up a beautiful steak knife from his place setting.
“They were especially made for our hotels by an American custom knife maker,” Marcel said. “A set of them will be party favors for each of the gentlemen guests, while the ladies will receive a specially created perfume called ‘Arrington.’”
&
nbsp; Dino chuckled. “After all that security at the door, the guests have been armed, and these things are razor sharp. I hope no fights break out.”
Soup and fish courses were served, then thick slices of boeuf à la Wellington, for which the knives were intended, came next, and the accompanying wines were superb.
After dessert, Peter Duchin, who had been flown in from New York, led a big band for dancing.
Jacques Chance and his sister swept around the floor, and people made room for them. No one was smiling, Stone noticed.
He noticed something else, too: at the edges of the room uniformed French gendarmes were appearing in twos and threes.
Jacques Chance noticed, too, and he maneuvered Mirabelle toward the bandstand, where an American singer was performing.
From his angle of view, Stone noticed something else: cradled in Jacques’s hand was the haft of one of the hotel’s steak knives, its blade concealed in his sleeve.
Stone began to move quickly toward the couple, but he knew he wasn’t going to make it in time.
61
Stone felt as if he were moving in treacle, dodging waiters carrying cheese and glasses of port. He struggled on.
Jacques Chance, clutching his sister’s wrist, dragged her toward the bandstand, where he shoved the singer out of the way and stood before the microphone. “Attention!” he shouted. The orchestra and the crowd began to fall silent.
Stone grabbed a cane from the back of the chair of an elderly gentleman and continued moving toward Jacques, knowing that he was about to witness a murder/suicide.
Then a tall, rigidly erect, white-haired man in a police uniform appeared at the edge of the dance floor and shouted, “Jacques Chance!”
Jacques had raised the knife in his hand but was momentarily transfixed by the sight of his father in this unlikely setting, and he hesitated, giving Stone his chance. He hooked Jacques’s hand with the cane and jerked him off the bandstand. The knife skittered a few feet away, and Jacques fell to one knee, still clutching Mirabelle’s wrist and taking her with him.
With Jacques disarmed and momentarily off balance, Stone took a wide swing with the cane and connected with the side of Jacques’s head, creating a resounding whack in the silent room. Jacques shook off the blow; he let go of Mirabelle and began making his way across the floor toward the knife, finally reaching out for it. His father walked up to him and stamped heavily on his son’s wrist, breaking it with a loud snap. The elder Chance turned toward Stone and said, “Merci, M’sieur,” then the area before the grandstand was swamped by gendarmes and Jacques disappeared in their midst.
