Hush-Hush

by Stuart Woods

  “Surprise me.”

  After dinner, she surprised him.

  * * *

  —

  The following morning the Bentley disgorged them at the foot of the airstairs door of the G-500. An engine started as they climbed the stairs; once inside a stewardess closed and locked the airplane’s door. Then the second engine started.

  Twenty minutes after takeoff the airplane leveled off at flight level 510, and breakfast appeared before them, along with mimosas.

  “Is it too early for you?” Stone asked, hoisting one.

  “Certainly not,” she said, joining him.

  A half hour later the stewardess appeared and took away their dishes. “Faith says to tell you we’ll have a 160-knot tailwind for most of the flight. We should land at six pm, local.”

  “You’ll have time to choose a frock for dinner,” Stone said, settling in with the Times. By the time he had finished the crossword, Rocky was dozing, and she didn’t wake up until the landing gear came down at Orly, where general aviation flights had landed since the advent of Charles de Gaulle Airport.

  Rocky looked around. “Are we there yet?”

  “We will be in around two minutes,” he said. Shortly, Faith landed smoothly, then was met by a truck with a flashing light and a sign that read: follow me. She did.

  “Is Faith the pilot?” Rocky asked.

  “Good guess.”

  “Do you always fly with the same crew?”

  “No, Faith, the captain, is on staff. She hires whoever she needs for our flights from a list of qualified people.”

  The airplane stopped, and the engines wound down, then then it started to move again. “We’re being towed into a hangar,” Stone said.

  “All part of the security arrangements,” Rocky replied.

  The airplane stopped, the stewardess opened the door and lowered the stairs, and a man bounded into the cabin.

  “Rick!” Stone said, surprised. He pumped the man’s hand. “Rocky, this is Rick La Rose, your chief of station in Paris.”

  “I know,” Rocky said, shaking his hand.

  “She arranged all this,” Rick said. “You’ll ride into the city with me, in a special vehicle.”

  “Rocky will be so pleased,” Stone said. “She’s terribly concerned about assassins.”

  “And well she should be,” Rick said.

  The vehicle they entered reminded Stone of the ones Holly rode around in. Then he pushed Holly out of his mind.

  Somehow, their driver had a remote control for the giant oaken doors that guarded the mews where Stone’s house lay. Before they entered, Stone pointed out the Ralph Lauren store for Rocky’s benefit, then they got out at the house.

  He handed her a credit card. “May I carry your handbag for you?” Stone asked, in the absence of luggage.

  “Thanks, I can manage. I’ll scratch on your door in time to change for dinner.”

  “I can push it back to eight-thirty,” Stone suggested, handing her a house key.

  “Good idea.” She departed through the small door in the big doors.

  * * *

  —

  At eight o’clock, Stone was having a drink by the fireplace in his small study/library, when Rocky was escorted in by Marie, the housekeeper and cook, wearing a knockout dress and bearing many shopping bags. “I thought as long as I was trying it on, I’d just keep it on,” she said.

  “Well chosen,” he said. “I can’t wait to see you without it.”

  Marie helped her upstairs and showed her around the master suite.

  * * *

  —

  They strolled down the Boulevard Saint-Germain to Brasserie Lipp. They were warmly greeted by the maître d’ and seated with their backs to the mirror in the main dining room.

  “I usually get sent upstairs, with the tourists,” Rocky said.

  “Once again, poor choice of male companions.”

  “I like being in front of the mirror,” she said. “Whenever someone interesting comes in I can see them checking themselves out over my shoulder.”

  “It’s true. How many of these diners are my bodyguards?” he asked.

  “Don’t ask. You’d never spot them anyway.”

  “I pick the two priests dining together over there.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We can’t involve apparent priests in gunfights in chic Paris restaurants. Lance is a Catholic, you know.”

  “I didn’t know that Lance was swayed by any religious inclination.”

  “I didn’t say he was swayed, but there’s some tiny part of his brain stem that harbors a fear of messing with the Church.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Why?”

  “Just good to know. The only bad information is no information.”

  “I like that,” she said. “Can I use it?”

  “As long as you credit me. I’m a lawyer, you know, and litigious, especially in matters of intellectual property.”

  “Well, if you’re going to elevate everything you say to the level of intellectual property, I won’t quote you at all. I’ll paraphrase.”

  “You sound like a lawyer.”

  “It’s the company.”

  They ordered the choucroute, a plate full of sliced, boiled meats and potatoes on a bed of sauerkraut.

  “If I finish this, I won’t be able to wear this dress,” Rocky said.

  “My diet is to eat half of everything I’m given,” Stone said. “Make your eyes smaller.”

  “Even if I squint, it’s still a lot of food.”

  They managed. Halfway through the choucroute, Rick La Rose walked in and, unescorted, sat down at a table directly across the room from them. The maître d’ did not shout at him.

  “He has a good field of fire,” Stone said.

  “I would expect no less of Rick,” she replied.

  “Doesn’t it bother you that you’re sitting cheek by jowl with somebody who, at any moment, could become the object of a fatal attack?”

  “Nobody is trying to kill me,” she said. “I just keep an eye on the other diners, as you may observe Rick doing.”

  Stone observed Rick doing just that. “I feel so safe,” he said.

  11

  Stone woke the following morning to the absence of Rocky from his bed and the sound of the shower, mixed with the sound of steady rain outside, along with an occasional rumble and flash of lightning. He glanced at his watch: just past ten am. He fumbled for his phone, called the Ralph Lauren store and asked for the manager, who knew him.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur Barrington,” the woman said.

  “Bonjour. Do you recall a woman shopping with my credit card yesterday?”

  “Of course.”

  “Last night, as I passed the shop, I saw a very handsome trench coat on a mannequin. Do you have that in the young lady’s size?”

  “One moment, please.” She put him on hold, then came back directly. “Yes, we have it, Mr. Barrington.”

  “Would you please wrap it in a box with a big bow on it and deliver it to my home in the mews as soon as possible? And choose a suitable umbrella to go with it.”

  “Of course, Mr. Barrington. In thirty minutes.”

  Stone hung up. A half hour later, when Rocky came out of the shower, the box was on the bed.

  “Have you looked outside? It’s pouring.”

  “It does that in Paris, from time to time.”

  “What’s this?” she asked, poking the box with a finger.

  “A gift appropriate to the occasion.”

  “Do you always shop from bed?”

  “Whenever possible. Open it.”

  In an instant she was shaking out the folded trench coat. “Oh! The perfect thing. And the umbrella matches the lining!” She put on the coat and modeled it for him. �
�It’s perfect.”

  “I prefer you out of it,” he said. She shook it off and went to him.

  * * *

  —

  Later, when they had had breakfast and each other, she said, “Let’s have a test of how observant you were last night.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  “During the evening we saw someone we had seen before. Who was it?”

  “Rick La Rose.”

  “Besides Rick.”

  Stone thought about it. “Okay, I’m stumped.”

  “Remember the man at Ralph Lauren in New York who looked like a comic book assassin?”

  “Black clothes and hat, bald pate?”

  “That’s the one. When we walked home last night, he was on the other side of the boulevard, walking in the same direction.”

  “No. I’m sure I would have spotted him.”

  “He was wearing a tweed coat and a beret.”

  “Oops. Isn’t it against the rules for an assassin to change costumes like that?”

  “Are you kidding? What rules?”

  “You mean there’s no, well, code of honor?”

  She poked him in the ribs. “No kidding.”

  “Then why didn’t he take a shot at us?”

  “At you.”

  “At me.”

  “Two reasons: One, he spotted one or more of our escorts. Or, two, he’s one of ours instead of one of theirs.”

  “One of whose?”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “Why wouldn’t you already know this sort of thing?”

  “Perhaps you observed that, yesterday, we changed continents? Well, the cast changes, too, and changes are not always apparent.”

  “Maybe you should have a chat with Rick about that.”

  “I expect to. He’ll be here in time for lunch, if I know Rick.”

  “I’ve already told Marie that we’ll be three.”

  “We’d both better get some clothes on,” she said.

  The doorbell rang.

  * * *

  —

  Rick gobbled up his pasta carbonara, then took a long swig of his wine. “I’m a happy man,” he said, putting down his glass.

  “I’m so glad,” Stone replied. “I hope you’re glad, too, about the level of my safety.”

  “Rocky said you refused to take all this seriously. Let me ask a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “That’s for assassins.”

  Stone groaned.

  “My question is: Since your computer exploded in your office, why can’t you get used to the idea that someone has dark plans for you?”

  “Well, I look at it this way: the guy who screwed up my computer gave me a deadline of noon that day, and that’s when it went off. I reckoned it was because I hadn’t paid the extortion, not because he wanted to do me harm.”

  “Stone, when somebody plants an ounce of C-4 in a piece of electronic equipment that you use every day, he means you harm, or worse. Now, if we’re going to keep you alive, you have to stop being so fucking naïve.”

  Stone sighed. “Oh, all right. I hereby place my person in the capable hands of you and Rocky, and I promise to do whatever you tell me.”

  “Don’t leave the house,” Rick said.

  “I can’t do that! I’m in Paris! Also, it would mean that the bad guy wins!”

  “He’s incorrigible,” Rocky said to Rick. “We’ll just have to cuff him to a radiator, or something.”

  “I can do that,” Rick said, “after dessert.”

  * * *

  —

  After lunch, they went shopping, which meant that Stone stayed in the car with Rick, while Rocky ransacked the shops.

  “I need to go to Charvet,” Stone said. “I’m due for a fitting.”

  “I had a feeling that would come up,” Rick said. “I’ve already assigned a team to Charvet, but you’ll have to wait another hour while they get into position.”

  “What will they look like, so I’ll recognize them?”

  “I’m not going to tell you, and don’t try to figure it out. Just relax and get your suit fitted.”

  “Rick, I’m sorry. I know I’m infringing on your real work.”

  “My real work has been very boring for the past couple of weeks. So, believe it or not, you’re a welcome change.”

  “Glad to be of help,” Stone said.

  * * *

  —

  They arrived at the great store on time, and Stone, looking neither to the left nor right, went directly to the elevator and up to the tailoring floor. His fitting awaited him. The tailor’s fitting assistant looked a little beefy for his line of work, so Stone immediately assumed he was one of Rick’s. When they were back in the car, Stone questioned him about it.

  “Negative,” Rick said, “but I know the one you’re talking about. He plays Rugby every weekend.”

  “Then who . . . ?”

  Rick put a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

  Stone shut up.

  12

  When they arrived back at the gate to Stone’s mews, he was surprised to see a man in a black raincoat and waterproof hat standing at the gate with a submachine gun, barely concealed.

  “What the hell is that?” he demanded of Rick. “I thought we were being subtle.”

  “On reflection,” Rick said, “I thought it might be better to advertise.”

  “Think of it as pest control,” Rocky chimed in.

  * * *

  —

  They got into the house without weapons being fired, and Stone invited Rick to stay for tea.

  “That’s veddy British of you,” Rick said.

  “I have that gene.”

  “I accept, if there are pastries involved.”

  “I assure you, there will be. Marie can’t help herself.”

  They settled into the study, and Stone lit a fire. It was the perfect accompaniment to the deluge outside.

  “Okay, Rick,” Stone said, “tell me what’s really going on here.”

  Rick sighed. “Marie found four bugs in the house.”

  “Are we talking about pest control again?”

  “We’re talking about an electronics invasion,” Rick replied.

  “Who is doing this?”

  “If we knew that, we would have already brought them into custody.”

  “Is it connected to the computer thing?”

  “Yes, it is, and don’t talk about it as if someone had stolen your laptop. The computer attack was a serious attempt on your life; the extortion thing was just window dressing. Of course, he may have been trying to make a buck, as well.”

  “I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t asked,” Stone said. “I liked being cavalier better.”

  “I know, buddy, but we can’t tolerate this. Lance takes serious exception to this kind of activity, especially when it happens to somebody whose name is attached to his on a business card.”

  “What am I going to do, then?”

  “Nothing, unless you want to go back to New York.”

  “When is this rain going to stop?”

  “Around midnight, if my information is correct.”

  “Rocky, are you shopped out, yet?”

  “I don’t know. That’s never happened before. What are the symptoms?”

  “A sort of retail lassitude.”

  “Oh, so that’s what it is. Maybe so.”

  “Okay, we’ll go back to New York tomorrow morning, and you can rest up on the way for a fresh assault on the shops there.”

  “Will it be possible for me to go to my apartment for a couple of hours to create some rack space?”

  “Do you need a carpenter for that?”

  “No, just a few garbage bags.”

  “Sur
e, why not.” Stone called Faith. “Wheels up at ten am?”

  “Sure. What do you want for lunch tomorrow?” Faith asked.

  “Charcuterie, cheeses, and fresh bread?”

  “Done.”

  Stone hung up. “Now, do we have to dine in, or is there someplace you feel comfortable taking us?”

  “Tell you what, we have a protective operation going at Lasserre this evening. I could flesh out the detail to include you, I guess.”

  “Flesh away,” Stone said. Lasserre was among his favorite restaurants in Paris. “But we’d like to feel that we’re having a romantic dinner for two. Can you preserve that illusion?”

  “I take it that excludes me from your table.”

  “Pretty much. I’m sure the Agency will still buy, if you have it in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll be where you can’t see me.”

  “I’ll settle for that. Eight o’clock? And you can choose our table.”

  “Done.”

  “Rick,” Rocky said.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you have an ID on our stalker from last night?”

  “Oh, him. Russian, name of Izak Pentkovsky.”

  “Affiliation?”

  “Ex-GRU, ex-KGB, now associated with a private group, one with bad intentions.”

  Stone groaned. “Not Russian Mob?”

  “Maybe this week,” Rick said.

  “I thought you had killed all those guys!”

  “A few of them, certainly not all.”

  “Is somebody holding a grudge?”

  “Well, you’re not their favorite guy,” Rick replied. “Most of those we killed were because they were after you.”

  “I didn’t see this in his file,” Rocky said.

  “Call it off the books, I guess. Stone wasn’t on the payroll at the time.”

  “Stone,” she said, “are you on the Agency payroll now?”

  “Not so’s you’d notice,” Stone replied. “I’m not turning in my law license just yet.”

  “That off-the-books stuff has a way of lingering with the Russians,” Rocky said.

  Rick shrugged. “They have long memories. You’d think their brains would be pickled in vodka by now, but noooo.”