by Stuart Woods
“I’ve been an Agency consultant for some time. Not long ago I got promoted to special adviser to the director. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
“I think that’s how Lance planned it. Doesn’t mean a thing, though.”
“It means you can call him when your computer needs fixing.”
“I guess it does, at that. I’ll have to drop him a note and thank him for sending you.”
“More flattery.”
“Whatever works,” Stone replied.
Then her phone rang. “Yes?” She listened for a moment. “Just a minute, I’ll put you on speaker so our client can hear.” She pressed the appropriate button. “Can you hear us?”
“Sure.”
“Go.”
“Okay,” a male voice said. “The site is a farmhouse, pretty much surrounded by an ocean of corn. We observed the place for a while to get a sense of who was home, and we saw only one person, male, six feet, a hundred thirty pounds, bad haircut. When we were pretty sure he was alone, we called in the SWAT team, searched the ground floor, then started up the stairs. He met us at the top.”
“Was he armed?”
“With a Diet Coke,” the man said. “We ascertained that it did not contain an explosive, then we served our warrant, searched him, then did the same with his computer installation.”
“Describe his equipment.”
“That’s easy. He had a mini Mac, an eighteen-inch monitor, keyboard, and mouse.”
“That’s it?”
“No, he had a printer, too.”
“How old is the subject?”
“Fourteen. He’s a sophomore in high school. His dad teaches computer science at Iowa State; his mother teaches first grade. No siblings.”
“What did you find on his computer?”
“We ran our diagnostics and found the same bot you found on the one in New York. Have you been able to trace it farther upstream?”
“As a matter of fact, we have, to a street address in Tallinn, in Estonia. If you want it raided, you’re going to have to go upstairs for permission. That’s it. We’ll leave it to you to report our report.”
She picked up the phone, took it off speaker mode, and asked him a few more questions. Then she said, “Bye-bye.”
They both hung up.
“I was afraid of something like this,” she said.
“Something like what?”
“The kid’s computer was caught up in a search for computers with weak spots in their defenses. It was kidnapped by someone in Estonia and used as a relay to search other computers. And it found yours.”
“Jesus.”
“Well, yes. Now we’ll trace back from the Estonian computer. It’s my guess that the chain probably originates in Russia, from an intelligence agency like the GRU. Of course, it could originate in South Africa or Australia or anywhere else on earth, but the bot had certain characteristics that make us think it’s of Russian origin.”
“Sounds like I’m going to have to go a long way to punch this guy in the nose.”
“Possibly. It could be someone who just wants us to think the source is Russian. Who knows?”
“So we’re not going to find out who did this or why?”
“Not unless someone higher up perceives this as a threat to the computers you’ve been communicating with at the Agency,” she said. “Like Lance Cabot’s computer. Don’t worry, they’ll be keeping an eye on it, and they’ll let you know if that happens.”
“You must be hungry,” Stone said.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I’m hungry.”
“You’re a good judge of character. Where shall we go? I’m not exactly dressed up.”
“How about right here?” Stone asked. “What would you like?”
“What’s on the menu?”
“Whatever you want. My cook, Helene, is very good at her native Greek cooking.”
“Okay, I’ll have something Greek.”
Stone pressed a button, and Fred Flicker appeared in the doorway. “Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, Fred. This is Ms. Hardwick. Would you tell Helene we’d like something Greek for dinner, and in the meantime, some canapés, so we won’t faint?”
“Of course, sir. And the wine?”
“You choose it.”
Fred dematerialized.
“As easy as that, huh?”
“Fred is a wonder; so is Helene. They’ve been on holiday, so they should be refreshed.”
* * *
—
They started with a Pâté Diana, duck’s liver with lots of butter, then went on to dolmades—stuffed grape leaves—and other delicacies, with a bottle of Greek wine chosen by Fred.
“That was better than going out,” Rocky said.
They moved back to the sofa for coffee and cognac, and Stone threw another log on the fire.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so comfortable,” Rocky said.
“Flattery.”
She laughed. “Entirely in earnest.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “When do you make your move?”
“Move?”
“That move,” she said.
“Oh, that one. How about next time we meet?”
“Sounds good. I’ll remember not to overeat.”
Later, Stone walked her down to the garage, and Fred drove her home.
“Next time,” she called from the open window.
6
Stone Barrington sat at his desk on Friday morning, reading a contract on his computer. Joan buzzed him.
“What?”
“We have to get out,” Joan said. “Right now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Getting out.”
“At whose suggestion?”
“Rocky Hardwick, and it isn’t a suggestion.”
“What does she mean by ‘get out’?”
“Of the office. She said to go into the garage and take your laptop with you. Me, too.”
“Are you taking this seriously?” Stone asked.
“Pretty much. I’m in the garage. Join me? You’ve got less than a minute.” She hung up.
Stone looked at his wristwatch; nearly twelve. Suddenly, it came to him. He grabbed his coat, his briefcase, and his laptop, and ran for it. He had just closed the garage door when there was a dull thud from the direction of his office. He looked around for Joan; she was cowering with Bob behind the Bentley.
“Did you hear that?” she said.
“Of course I heard it. Felt it, too.”
His cell phone rang. “Yes?”
“Did you get out in time?” It was Rocky.
“Yes. What happened?”
“Well, I was going over the report about your computer from my colleague at the lab, who noticed the computer smelled a little of motor oil. They only mentioned it because it seemed odd. But I knew that to be a scent consistent with C-4.”
“Is it safe to go back in there?” he asked.
“I think you’d better let our bomb people go in first.”
“You have bomb people?”
“Of course.”
“Well, send ’em over.”
“You stay in the garage until they give you the all clear.”
They both hung up.
* * *
—
Stone and Joan sat in the Bentley, listening to jazz on the radio, until someone hammered on the garage door.
Stone rolled down the window. “Come in!” he yelled.
The door opened and a man in a jumpsuit, carrying a toolbox, walked in. “All clear,” he said, beckoning them.
As Stone walked into his office Rocky was entering through the street door. “Everybody okay?”
&nbs
p; “Everybody but my office,” Stone said, looking around.
“It’s not so bad,” Joan said. “Mostly broken glass and, of course, broken computer.”
“We need to go over the place again and be sure that the only bomb was in the computer.”
“You two come with me,” Stone said to Joan and Rocky. He led them to the kitchen where Helene made them smoked salmon sandwiches, and Stone opened a bottle of chardonnay.
“Sorry about that,” Rocky said.
“You don’t need to be sorry. You got us out in time,” Stone replied. “Tell me, why did you call Joan, instead of me?”
“Because I didn’t want an argument.”
“An argument?”
“You’re not the kind of person to just act immediately on a warning. You’d want a full explanation of what was happening, and by the time I finished telling you, you’d have been missing a hand or two.”
“I like my hands where they are,” Joan said, “at the end of each arm. I got the hell out.”
“And you finally called me,” Stone pointed out.
“And in plenty of time, too,” she said.
“I wouldn’t call less than a minute plenty of time.”
“It was enough.”
Stone had to admit she was right. “Well, thank you both for the parts you played in keeping us all safe.”
“What makes you think we’re safe?” Joan asked.
Rocky broke in. “I think it’s very likely that you’re safe,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Joan said, “but ‘very likely’ safe isn’t safe enough for me.”
“By the time my people finish up, you’ll be very safe,” Rocky replied. “They’re very good at what they do.”
“How good?” Joan asked.
“May I point out that they’re still alive?”
“Good point.”
“What about the kid in Iowa?” Stone asked.
“He was at school, and his parents were at work. I’ll call later and find out if there was an explosion.”
“Did my computer blow up?” Joan asked.
“No, I saw it on the way in, and it was intact. The boys are checking it out to be sure.”
As if on cue, the boys entered the kitchen. “All clear,” one of them said. “The other computer and the backup hard drive weren’t wired to explode.”
“You fellas sit down and have a sandwich,” Stone said. “I want to survey the damage again.” He got up and walked back to his office, followed by Joan and Rocky. He looked around. “Joan?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Buy me a new computer and have Rocky bulletproof it. Then you and Helene clean this place up.”
“I’ll stop by tomorrow and download all the data from Joan’s computer to yours, then you’ll be back where you were,” Rocky said.
“Rocky, come with me, please.”
He led her out of the office and to the elevator. “I didn’t give you the house tour the other evening,” he said.
“No. I guessed there was a bedroom somewhere.”
He led her into the master suite. “Your suspicions were justified.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “I couldn’t think of a better way to thank you,” he said.
She put her arms around his neck. “I can think of a better way,” she said, kissing him back. “And I believe I’m getting a favorable response.”
“You are, indeed,” Stone said, kicking the door closed.
“Will we be undisturbed here?”
“Yes, unless there’s another explosion.”
They began working on each other’s buttons.
* * *
—
They were at it for a half hour, then took a break.
“You’re welcome,” Rocky said.
“I felt welcome.”
“You feel better than welcome,” she said, fondling him. That led to another half hour of effort, this time more slowly and thoughtfully.
They napped for a while, then Rocky moseyed around the master suite, naked. “This has everything you need,” she said approvingly.
“That’s a perfect way of putting it,” Stone agreed.
“I like the way you look naked,” she said.
“Same here,” he replied.
“I don’t know if I’m up for another round.”
“Thank God. Why don’t we keep that for after dinner?” Stone replied. “I’ll ask some friends to join us, if that’s all right.”
“For dinner, but not bed,” she said.
“That was my thought.”
“I like the way you think.”
7
On the way to dinner, Stone explained about the Bacchettis—Dino and Viv. “Dino and I were cops together, and partners. He stuck with it, and now he’s the police commissioner. Viv was a detective, but she retired when she married Dino.”
They met at Patroon, a favorite restaurant of Stone and the Bacchettis. The owner, Ken Aretsky, sent over drinks and, after they had ordered dinner, a bottle of wine.
Viv bored in. “What do you do, Rocky?”
“I work for the government, in computer science.”
“What sort of background do you need for that?”
“For me, a master’s in the subject at MIT and a few years in the lab, a sort of internship, you could say.”
“Does your work include defusing bombs?”
“No, when I run into something like that I call somebody else, who does that kind of work and who, if he’s lucky, still has all his fingers.”
“Dare I ask what government agency you work for?” Viv dared.
“It’s okay, Rocky,” Stone said, “Dino is a consultant to the Agency, too, and anything he knows, Viv learns five minutes later.”
“The CIA,” Rocky replied.
“So you know Lance Cabot?” Viv persisted.
“We’ve met, but I work in the New York station, so I don’t often bump into him in the hallways.”
“If you did, would Lance know who you were?”
“He did the last time we met, but I can’t vouch for his memory.”
“Okay, Viv,” Stone said, “if you keep going you’ll end up in jail for espionage.”
“When does nosy turn into espionage?” Viv demanded.
“About where you are now.”
Viv changed the subject. “Where did you get that lovely diamond necklace?”
“I stole it, while on an assignment.”
Viv’s mouth dropped open.
“Rocky,” Stone said, “if you keep answering Viv’s questions, you’re going to end up in jail.”
“Oh, all right,” Rocky said, “I got it from a man, which was pretty much the same thing as stealing it.”
Viv managed a laugh.
“What do you do, Viv?”
“I’m chief operating officer of Strategic Services.”
“The second largest security company in the world,” Rocky said, nodding. “I’ve heard good things about their work.”
“If you ever get tired of government work, come see me,” Viv said, sliding her card across the table.
“Now this has gone from an interrogation to a job interview,” Dino said.
Rocky tucked the card where her bra would have been, if she wore one. “I’ll call when that happens,” she said, ignoring Dino.
Dinner arrived.
“Interview concluded,” Stone said, “dining now to begin.”
* * *
—
They tucked in and ate voraciously without ever stopping talking.
“Why do you think this extortionist picked Stone?” Dino asked Rocky.
“People like this have two broad categories of victims: One, they send thousands of such e-mails to those on a list of wealthy people, s
uch as subscribers to some financial magazines. Two, they read something about the potential victim that makes him look like an attractive target, and go from there. Stone might look like a particularly interesting target if they’ve established a link between him and an intelligence service. I’m inclined to think the second category for Stone.”
“Why?”
“Because they wouldn’t go to the extreme of killing or maiming some ordinary civilian. That sort of action they would reserve for the connected. They want to be taken seriously, for next time.”
“Why do you think there’ll be a next time?” Viv asked.
“Because it’s what they do for a living, and they probably do very well at it.”
“Are they likely to come back at me, physically?” Stone asked.
“‘One never knows, do one?’ as a great man used to say.”
“I’m impressed that you know who Fats Waller is,” Stone replied.
“Doesn’t everybody?”
“Not everybody of your youth,” he replied.
“I think you’ll be gratified to know that your extortionist has committed a serious tactical error in trying to harm you. He and his accomplices are now on a list of people sought by the Agency. If anything pops up anywhere in the world that even vaguely resembles the attack on you, the Agency will be all over it, and we never give up.”
“That’s comforting to know,” Stone said. “I hope these people are aware of the Agency’s attitude.”
“If they’re not, they soon will be,” Rocky replied.
* * *
—
They were on dessert when Rocky’s phone rang. “Excuse me, I’d better take this.
“Go,” she said into the phone, then she listened for about a minute. “Take a look around, then reset.” She hung up. “Your security system says that someone tried to enter your house without a key through the kitchen door to the garden.”
“Is there anything I should do?” Stone asked.
“No, they’re doing it. If they don’t find a culprit, they’ll reset the system, and that should be it.”
“I hope so,” Stone said.
“You should know that, while the monitoring of your system used to be done by a commercial service, it is now monitored by an Agency facility in the city, which will be much more attentive to your needs.”
