by Stuart Woods
“My assignment was to locate Stanley Whitestone and report his whereabouts to you. I have done so. You said that after you knew where he was, others would deal with him.”
“I think Hackett is Whitestone,” Felicity said.
“I considered that. In fact, he brought it up himself. He invited me-or you-to investigate his background thoroughly.”
“I will certainly have that done,” she said. “I’d like you to handle the task on this side of the water.”
“I will be happy to accept a new assignment,” Stone said, “just as soon as I’ve been paid for the previous one.”
“Your fee was predicated on success,” she pointed out, “and we have not confirmed who, if anyone, is buried in that churchyard on Mount Desert Island.”
“I’ve given you photographs of the body, a death certificate and his fingerprints. What more could anyone ask? If the prints aren’t Whitestone’s, then we can talk,” Stone said. “You can open the grave and examine the corpse if you like, after having obtained the proper permissions, of course. But…” He leaned forward for effect. “… if the fingerprints fit, you must remit. Agreed?”
“Spare me the Johnny Cochranisms, please,” she said.
“Spare me a hundred thousand quid,” he replied.
“Give me your bill,” she said, “made out to the Foreign Office. If the prints are Whitestone’s, I’ll countersign it and submit it. You should have your check in a few weeks.”
“Weeks?” Stone asked. “I have incurred considerable out-of-pocket expenses, mainly surveillance, both electronic and manned.”
“I’ll need the tapes for our files,” she said.
“You may have them tomorrow,” he replied, “and I would be grateful if you would see that payment is expedited.” He took his checkbook from his pocket, tore out a check, voided it and handed it to Felicity. “You may wire-transfer the funds, in dollars, to this account, using the current exchange rate.”
She added his check to her briefcase. “I’m starved,” she said, and they ordered dinner.
“Hackett knew I was working for you,” Stone said, when the waiter had left.
She looked at him askance. “You told him?”
“No, Lord Wight told him of meeting us together, and he figured it out. When he asked me, I did not confirm it.”
“I don’t like someone like James Hackett knowing about this.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have taken me to that dinner party,” Stone replied. “By the way, did you ever figure out who the VIP was who deserved to be served the Krug?”
“I expect it must have been Wight,” she said. “No one else there was of much importance.”
“Bill Eggers tells me that Wight’s reputation is better here than at home.”
“At home, his past is no more than a smudge on his copybook,” she said. “He’s been back in business for a while, now.”
“Well, now we know that he was in touch with Whitestone right up until his death.”
“Yes. He lied about that, didn’t he? Said he thought Whitestone was in Cairo, when he had actually recommended him for a job with Hackett, and under an assumed name, too.”
“Is there a crime in there somewhere?” Stone asked.
“No, it’s not criminal to conceal the identity of a former member of the service, and we can’t prove that he did anything criminal in conjunction with Whitestone.”
“Hackett was curious about why the Foreign Office is still interested in Whitestone. I’m curious, too. Did the inquiry originate with them or with you?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Stone smiled a little. “Well, Hackett offered to hire me to find out.”
She looked at him, shocked.
“I declined, of course,” he said quickly.
“I should certainly hope so,” she said. Then, looking thoughtful, she added, “I wonder why Hackett wonders why the F.O. is still interested in Whitestone.”
“Maybe Whitestone isn’t dead,” Stone said. “Maybe the photos were faked. Hackett said he wanted to hire Whitestone-though he said he didn’t know who he was at the time-to represent his company in the Middle East. Maybe Whitestone is, at this moment, representing his company in the Middle East.”
“I want to know more,” Felicity said.
“Look, Hackett is a very smart man. If he’s protecting Whitestone by faking his death, you may be sure that all the people you want talked to in Maine have been bought.”
“Or,” Felicity said, “perhaps, Hackett and/or Whitestone found a look-alike, murdered him, battered the body and buried him, first taking photographs and Whitestone’s fingerprints. In that case, he wouldn’t need to buy anybody, would he?”
“There are all sorts of possibilities.”
Felicity nodded. “And I don’t like it when there are all sorts of possibilities.”
31
When Stone awoke the following morning, Felicity’s side of the bed was empty. Before he could order breakfast, she returned.
“I’ve used your scanner,” she said. “The fingerprints are Whitestone’s.”
“You’ll have my bill before noon,” Stone said. “What would you like for breakfast?”
“Two fried eggs, wheat toast and blood sausage, please. And English breakfast tea.”
“I don’t believe we stock blood sausage,” Stone replied. “God, but that’s a disgustingly British thing to eat at breakfast.”
“All right, any sort of sausage.”
Stone got Helene on the intercom and ordered for both of them.
“I’ll expedite your check,” Felicity said, “but there’s one more thing I want you to do for me.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to obtain James Hackett’s fingerprints.”
“He’s a naturalized citizen; they’ll be in the FBI database.”
“No. I want you to obtain them directly from the source.”
“Oh, I see. You want me to go over to his office, hold him down and print him?”
“I would be grateful if you could be more subtle than that.”
Stone thought about it. “All right, let’s invite him to dinner.”
“Here?”
“Why not? I have a dining room, a kitchen and a cook. At a restaurant I might have trouble confiscating his wineglass.”
“All right,” she said.
“And you must be here.”
“Why on earth should I be here?”
“Because it will guarantee his acceptance. If he’s Whitestone, it will be an opportunity to demonstrate his invulnerability to your identifying him.”
“Oh, all right. Who else will you ask?”
“I think Bill Eggers. It would be an opportunity for them to get to know each other better.”
“You need one more couple.”
“How about Dino?”
“Why Dino?”
“Why not? Hackett, being in the business he’s in, would love to get to know an NYPD lieutenant.”
“We need someone who’s not a drinking buddy of yours.”
“Do you have a request?”
“You know the former police commissioner, don’t you?”
“Yes, we have a cordial acquaintanceship. It might be a little uncomfortable, though.”
“Why?”
“He’s married to a woman I, ah, knew… rather well.”
“Ask him, and get over it.”
“I am over it.”
“Not if you’re uncomfortable inviting her to dinner with her husband.”
“Oh, all right. I’ll get Joan on it; we have to find an evening when everyone’s available.” He picked up the phone, buzzed Joan and asked her to arrange the dinner.
Their breakfast arrived on the dumbwaiter, and they sat up in bed with trays on their laps. Felicity stole his orange juice.
“You didn’t order orange juice,” Stone pointed out.
“I just did,” she said. “Oh, all right, we can share.”
Stone refilled the glass from the pitcher, and they shared.
“I was just thinking,” Felicity said, stabbing a sausage link and making it disappear.
“Uh, oh,” Stone said. “What now?”
“You said that Hackett had offered you employment.”
“On three occasions,” Stone said.
“Why don’t you accept?”
“Well, first of all, I’m very happy with my current employment status.”
“Take a leave of absence. Hackett would probably pay better, anyway.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Stone said. “The problem is, you want me to work for him so that I can prove he’s Whitestone and you can destroy him. That would leave me out of work, and I’d have to go crawling back to Bill Eggers, not to mention my own clients.”
“Why do you think I want to destroy Hackett?” she asked.
“You clearly would like for something bad to happen to Whitestone, and if he’s Whitestone…”
Stone’s phone buzzed. “Yes?”
“Your dinner is arranged for tomorrow evening,” Joan said. “You may expect your guests at seven.”
“Wow,” Stone said, “that was fast work.”
“Yes,” she said, “it was, wasn’t it?” She hung up.
Stone turned to Felicity. “We’re on for tomorrow evening. Drinks at seven.” Stone cleared away their trays and sent them down to the kitchen on the dumbwaiter.
“You have a very efficient secretary,” Felicity said. “What is her name again?”
“Oh, no you don’t. You’ll hire her for some secret mission.”
“I might just do that,” she replied, sipping her orange juice.
“I’m not telling you her name.”
“It’s Joan.”
“I’m not telling you her last name.”
“Oh, come on, Stone.”
“I’ll tell you if you’ll tell me why you and/or the Foreign Office want to find Stanley Whitestone.”
“That’s just eating you up inside, isn’t it?”
“It is. And I think I deserve to know.”
“Hah!”
“Tell me,” he said, kissing her on the ear.
“Let’s not bring sex into this,” she said.
“Why not? Sex goes with everything.” He kissed her on the neck and ran a hand under the covers.
She turned toward him. “Maybe,” she said, “when we’re finished.”
THREE-QUARTERS OF AN hour later, Stone lay panting and sweating. “All right,” he said. “Tell me why you and/or the Foreign Office want to find Stanley Whitestone.”
“I didn’t say I’d tell you that.”
“Oh, yes, you did.”
“I said maybe.”
“The implication was that, if I performed well, you’d tell me.”
“You may have inferred that; I certainly didn’t imply it.”
“All right, my participation in this project ends now.”
“What are you going to do about your dinner party?”
“I’m going to use it to cement the relationship between Hackett and Eggers, so I’ll get a nice bonus. I’m not going to bother to get Hackett’s fingerprints.”
Felicity leaned over and kissed his penis, then slipped it between her lips.
“That’s not fair,” Stone breathed.
“I can stop at any time,” Felicity said, pausing.
“Don’t stop.”
“You’ll get Hackett’s prints?”
“Yes.”
Felicity continued.
32
Stone had his bill typed up and handed it to Felicity on her way out. “You’ll expedite it?” he asked.
“I said I would.”
“Paid in days, not weeks?”
“Probably.”
“What?”
“I can do only so much. As it is, I’ll have to phone the foreign minister personally. I may not be available for dinner tonight.”
“You know where to find me.”
“Thank God I like the food at Elaine’s,” she said, and headed for the ambassador’s Rolls.
Stone walked back to his office to find Joan waiting for him.
“Here,” she said, placing a pile of papers on his desk, “these are the closing documents for Herbie’s new penthouse.”
“When is the closing?”
She looked at her watch. “In eight minutes.”
“Does Herbie know?”
“He’s waiting outside, clutching a cashier’s check for three million one hundred fifty thousand dollars. He wanted to bring cash, but I wouldn’t let him.”
“Why did he want to bring cash?”
“He had some idea that the IRS would find out about the apartment.”
“Why would they care?”
“I tried to explain that they wouldn’t be interested, but he wouldn’t believe me.”
“Send him in.”
Herbie appeared at the door in another new suit, and his hair had grown out enough to make him look like a normal person. “Hey, Stone,” he said.
“Come in, Herbie, and sit down.” Herbie sat down. “What’s all this about the IRS?”
“I just don’t want them to know that I own an expensive apartment.”
“Why not?”
“What if they try to take it away from me?”
“Why would they do that?”
“To make me pay my taxes.”
“Herbie, when the lottery people gave you the check, they paid both the state and federal taxes on that income in full.”
“They did?”
“That’s the way they work.”
“So I don’t owe the IRS anything?”
“I didn’t say that. How much did you make last year?”
Herbie shrugged. “A hundred and a half, maybe.”
Stone was surprised. “From what source?”
“Some from the ponies, some from poker.”
“But you had to pay your bookie and your loan shark a bunch of money, didn’t you?”
“That was how much I lost,” Herbie said. “A hundred and a half was how much I won.”
“Well, if you combine those numbers, you ended up with a loss.”
“I did?”
“Your accountant will explain it to you. He will also explain how, if you’re going to earn your living as a gambler, you’d better keep some records.”
“But if I do that, the IRS will tax me.”
“If you had kept records for the last year, you’d have a very large deduction to take, and you wouldn’t owe any taxes.”
“Oh.”
“Please, talk to your accountant.”
“I don’t have one.”
“You need one desperately,” Stone said, digging a card out of his desk. “Call this guy; he’s first-rate.”
“Can’t you be my accountant?”
“Certainly not. I’m your lawyer; I have little financial expertise. That guy can tell you how to hang on to your money and to live on the income from it.”
“Okay, I’ll call him. By the way, I want the apartment in Sheila’s and my names.”
“Too late,” Stone said. “All the documents are in your name; it would take a long time to change them, and you couldn’t move into the apartment today.”
“Oh, we moved in last week,” Herbie said.
“How did you do that?”
“I swiped a key from the real estate lady.”
“Herbie, we close today, with the apartment in your name.”
“But I told Sheila…”
“You tell Sheila to call me for an appointment. I’ll sort it out.”
Joan buzzed. “The seller and his attorney and the real estate agent are here.”
“Send them in,” Stone said, moving to the conference table. “Herbie, say nothing during these proceedings. All you do is sign your name where I point, and keep your mouth shut.”
Somewhat to Stone’s astonishment, Herbie did just that, and in a little over half an hour e
verything was signed and the transaction completed. The seller’s team left.
Stone handed Herbie two sets of keys. “Here are the keys you’re supposed to have. You can move in now.”
Herbie pocketed the keys and shook Stone’s hand. “Thanks, Stone, you’ve been great.”
“See that accountant, Herbie, or soon you won’t have any money left.”
“I’ll call him tomorrow,” Herbie promised and then ran out of the office.
Joan came in. “How’d it go?”
“Very smoothly,” Stone replied. “Good job on the document package.”
“It’s what I do,” she said.
“Among many other things. Felicity was very impressed with how quickly you put together the dinner party for tomorrow night.”
“It was easy, once each guest knew who the other guests would be.”
“Oh, you’d better hire a waiter and somebody to help Helene in the kitchen.”
“I have already done so.”
“I suppose you’ve planned the menu, too.”
“Hot hors d’oeuvres, then crab soup to start, followed by beef Wellington, pommes soufflées and haricots verts. Crème brûlée for dessert. You can pick the wines.”
“Thank you very much, and give yourself a ten percent raise.”
“Oh, good!” she squealed and gave him a big hug.
Stone reflected that if she quit, he’d have to shoot himself.
33
Stone went into the dining room to check the table setting and to distribute the place cards. The hired waiter came into the room, and Stone took him to the chair where Hackett would be sitting. “Is Bob Cantor here yet?” Cantor was coming to handle the fingerprinting.
“Ten minutes ago,” the waiter replied.
Stone picked up the three wineglasses at Hackett’s place and polished them with his linen handkerchief. “Now these three glasses are free of fingerprints,” he said. “When you clear away each course, take the empty wineglass into the kitchen, holding it by the stem, not touching the bowl, and give it to Bob, understand?”
“Got it,” the waiter said.
BILL EGGERS AND his wife arrived exactly on time for dinner, which meant ten minutes before anyone else. The waiter served them drinks.
