by Stuart Woods
“And how is your visit to Moscow so far?” he asked.
“It’s a beautiful city. I had hoped to see some of the countryside, but they have me on a tight schedule of interviews.”
“Perhaps on another visit you may come to my dacha, in the country. It is quite beautiful and restful there.”
She felt the first flush of the alcohol and resolved to sip from here on in. “Perhaps, who knows?”
“I have seen a number of your films,” he said, “and I have always been much impressed with your performances.”
“Thank you very much.”
His eyes rested on her breasts. “That is a very lovely dress,” he said. “It suits you.”
She smiled broadly. “Thank you, that is a very nice compliment.”
They lowered the level of the caviar and the vodka, as well, then a uniformed butler entered and announced dinner. They followed him to a small dining room with a terrace with a spectacular view of Red Square. They were served four courses of haute cuisine and three wines, chatting all the way. He was charming, witty, and sexy all at once, she thought. After dinner, she excused herself to freshen up, and when she returned, found that he had left the room as well.
She stood at the entrance to the terrace and let the night air play on her bare shoulders, very pleasantly tipsy. She heard a door open and close behind her, and felt him move toward her and kiss her on the back of the neck. She gave a little shiver, then felt the long zipper of her dress move down to the crack of her buttocks. The dress fell into a pool at her feet, exposing her only other clothing, a pair of black fishnet stockings, held up by a lace garter belt.
She felt him move back, and she turned around.
Petrov stood there, clad in only a pair of black socks, and sporting the largest penis she had ever seen outside a porno film.
Nathalie would later reflect that they were both appropriately dressed for the occasion.
36
Stone, Felicity, and Gala lay on his bed, spent, enjoying the afterglow. Gala’s phone rang, and she reached for it on the bedside table. “It’s Nathalie Dumont,” she said.
“Oh,” Felicity said, “put it on speaker.”
Gala did so. “Hello?”
“Gala? It’s Nathalie.” She sounded breathless. “How did you find me in Moscow?”
“Apparently, cell phones work everywhere these days. I read online that you had quite a dinner date.”
“Oh, God, did I!”
“And how did that go?”
“It was a combination of the best dinner and the best sex I’ve ever had!”
“Well, congratulations on both counts.”
“That is the most amazing man! He’s coming to the premiere of my movie tomorrow night as my date!”
“I’m sure the studio will be very happy about that.”
“I thought Howard Fine was going to have a stroke when I told him, and I’ve already had an enormous bouquet of roses from Marvin Milestone. He says this is something new in the history of Hollywood.”
“So, Howard Fine arranged your dinner?”
“He did. I don’t know how the man does it, and he’s what, seventy-five?”
“Could be. Howard has forgotten more than the young publicists know.”
“Oh, and I’m staying over a few days after the premiere so that I can visit Viktor’s dacha in the country.”
“I hope you have the stamina for it.”
“Don’t you worry about that, Gala. Oh, I’m a little sore here and there, but after tonight, I’m up for anything! I don’t want to go into much detail on a cell phone, but when I see you I’ll give you a blow by blow. Are you in Santa Fe?”
“No, I’m in the south of England, visiting a friend who has a country house here.”
“Oh, that sounds nice.”
“It certainly is. I’d better let you go. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
“Exhilarated,” she replied. “Bye-bye.” She hung up.
“You didn’t tell her about Boris’s involvement,” Stone said.
“She was so excited, I didn’t want to ruin it for her. Let’s let Howard Fine take all the credit.”
“Now we’re back to square one, and Boris doesn’t have a mark on him.”
“You two will just have to think of something else,” Felicity said. “Preferably something that doesn’t involve me.”
“You’ve been very kind, Felicity,” Gala said.
“Yes, you have,” Stone echoed. “I won’t impose on your good nature any further.”
“It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it, mind you. A tidbit for my memoirs when I’m a very old lady.”
“What about the Official Secrets Act?”
“Then perhaps immediately after I die. I don’t believe the Act survives death.”
—
Stone was having breakfast in bed with Gala the following morning when his cell phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Lance.” Stone immediately tensed; a call from Lance was not always good news.
“Hello, Lance, how are you?”
“I’m quite well, thank you, considering the state of the world. That weighs heavily on my shoulders, but otherwise, I’m rather lighthearted.”
“I’m so glad.”
“I find I am going to be in your neighborhood today, and I’d love to see your house.”
“Of course. I’ll give you lunch.”
“Is one o’clock all right? I have to make one other stop.”
“That will be fine. Would you like to stay on a night or two?”
“What a nice invitation. Let me see what I can do with my schedule. See you at one.”
Stone hung up.
“That was odd,” Gala said.
“What was odd?”
“The tone of your voice—there was a wariness in it.”
“I hadn’t noticed, but I suppose I’m always a little wary where Lance Cabot is concerned.”
“The CIA head?”
“One and the same. He’s coming for lunch today and may stay the night.”
“Why are you wary of him?”
“Lance always has an agenda, usually hidden, sometimes more than one. I expect he wants more than to see the house.”
“Will I meet him?”
“Of course—you’ll join us for lunch.”
“I’ll excuse myself if it seems he wants to be alone with you.”
“That’s very discreet of you, and don’t worry, he’ll find a way to let you know.”
37
Lance’s entourage was small: just two white SUVs. He dismounted from the front passenger seat, walked around the car and climbed the front steps, where Stone stood, waiting to meet him.
Stone offered his hand. “Welcome, Lance.”
“Thank you, Stone,” Lance replied, looking around at the house and the view. “You always have such good taste.”
“Thank you. May I offer your people some lunch?” But the cars were already making a U-turn.
“Thank you, Stone, but they saw a nearby pub on our way here that they liked the look of.”
“Come in.”
“May I have a tour?” Lance asked.
“Of course.” Stone started with the ground-floor offices, then they took the lift upstairs and saw some bedrooms, including the master suite, then they walked down to the main floor and saw the drawing room and the two dining rooms, large and small, before repairing to the library. Lance, who usually did not reveal much, seemed dazzled, especially by Gala. “I know your work on film,” he said, “and I look forward to seeing much more of it.”
“I’ll do my best to keep you busy,” Gala replied.
“It’s not too early for a drink,” Stone said.
“Have you a good single malt?”
Stone opened the
liquor cabinet to display nearly a dozen.
“I’ll try the Talisker,” Lance said. “With a tiny bit of ice.” He accepted the drink and the offer of a chair opposite the sofa, where Gala sat. He took a sip of the whiskey. “Ah, good! The Scots know their business, don’t they?”
“They do,” Stone agreed.
“How many houses have you these days, Stone? I lose count.”
“Only five,” Stone replied. “I sold Connecticut to Bill Eggers.”
“This one was done by Susan Blackburn, from the look of it.”
“It was. Susan had nearly finished a complete renovation for the previous owner when I bought the place.”
“And why would the previous owner want to sell?”
“He was dying, and I think he wanted to leave his heirs cash instead of property.”
“You’re in business with Susan, aren’t you?”
“No, my colleagues at Woodman & Weld helped her put together a business plan for expansion and found her some property and the money to buy it. The rest she has done herself.”
“And done very well,” Lance said.
“Do you have an interest in Susan’s business, Lance?”
“Only in passing. I have a London property that I’ve owned for many years. It’s rented at the moment, to a fellow from the embassy, but he’s retiring, and I’m thinking of occupying it myself.”
“Thinking of retiring yourself, are you?”
“Not a bit of it. But I seem to be spending more time in London these days—it’s so close to everything in Europe. It would be nice to have something more than a hotel suite to work from.”
“Would you like an introduction to Susan Blackburn?”
“Thank you, I met with her yesterday afternoon. We took a stroll through the house, and she made some notes. Your name came up.”
“Not in vain, I hope.”
“Certainly not! She’s obviously very fond of you.”
“I gave her another commission. She did the country house Arrington, next door.”
“That was my other stop on the way here—very impressive. I understand you have a neighbor of my acquaintance, as well.”
“Felicity? Yes, she’s just across the river. It was she who brought this place to my attention and insisted I buy it.”
“Ah, yes, I’m sure Felicity can be a helpful neighbor to have. In fact, I hear she’s been helpful to you very recently.”
“I expect you hear all sorts of things, Lance.”
“What an astute observation!” Lance replied, laughing. “The latest thing I’ve heard is that Viktor Petrov is taking an interest in the American film business, and that you had something to do with that.”
“The only people I know in the film business, apart from Gala, are in Hollywood, and I am not acquainted with Mr. Petrov.”
“Well, I did not mean that you had a direct connection, but apparently you somehow spurred a Mr. Tirov to renew a connection with his old friend Viktor.”
“Well, I may have helped make it necessary for Tirov to make that move. I was quite surprised by his dexterity, really.”
“I can believe that! Just when you thought you had Tirov made permanently unwelcome in our country, bang! He plays the Petrov ace! An unfortunate twist in what I thought was a rather well-executed plot.”
“Ah, well.”
“Still, it’s an ill wind that doesn’t blow somebody some good, isn’t it?”
“And who might that be?”
“I understand that the mere announcement that Petrov will attend the film’s premiere tonight has caused a rush in advance ticket sales.”
“Really?”
“I’m told the film may be grossing north of thirty million dollars in Russia, perhaps a great deal more.”
“Well, I’m as happy for them as one can be who has no relationship with that studio.”
“That’s right, it’s Centurion on whose board you serve, is it not?”
“You know very well it is, Lance.”
“And, in an unusual arrangement, Centurion is co-financing the film with Stalwart Studios.”
“I’m afraid I missed my first board meeting at Centurion because of a monumental traffic jam on I-405, so I was not aware of that arrangement.”
“Ah, yes, that was the board meeting that nixed the production deal with Boris Tirov, wasn’t it?”
“It was, and I regret missing it, because I would have liked to cast my vote against it. Still, Tirov believes I killed his deal, so I have all the fun of being his enemy while not having earned his enmity.”
“On that count, at least,” Lance said.
At that moment, Geoffrey called them to lunch, and Stone had to wait until halfway through the fish course before he could return to the subject of Tirov. “You were saying, Lance, that there are other reasons why Tirov should hate me?”
“Was I?” Lance munched on his turbot for a moment. “Oh, yes, well, there is the imbroglio with Tirov’s near deportation, isn’t there?”
“Tirov connects me with that?”
“It appears that his connections on the Russian side are nearly as good as your connections on our side. He certainly believes, rightly or wrongly, that you personally instigated that very embarrassing episode.”
“Rightly,” Stone said. “And I’m sorry it didn’t work as planned.”
Lance turned to Gala. “Ms. Wilde, given your personal experience of your former spouse, what effect would you think this knowledge would have upon Mr. Tirov’s view of our mutual friend Stone?”
“I should think,” Gala said, “that if he was annoyed before, he is livid now.”
“How very well put!” Lance put down his fork, took a large sip of his Bâtard-Montrachet, dabbed his lips with his napkin, and consulted his watch. “And now, Stone, having persuaded Ms. Wilde to deliver the bad news I had found so distasteful, I’m afraid I must hie myself back to a meeting at the embassy this afternoon. I hope you will forgive me for rushing away.” He drew an envelope from his pocket. “Have you a pen?”
Stone offered him one.
“Having seen the new Arrington and your house, I am ready to sign the contract with Ms. Blackburn to design my property.” He signed the document with a flourish, sealed it in the envelope, and handed it to Stone. “Would you be kind enough to send this out with your post?”
“Of course,” Stone said, accepting the envelope.
Lance stood, kissed Gala’s hand, shook Stone’s, and made his way to the front door, where his entourage awaited.
Stone and Gala waved him off.
38
Stone walked Gala down to her office, next to his own.
“What was that business with Lance all about?” she asked.
“At least two things,” Stone said. “He wanted to see some of Susan Blackburn’s work, though he could have seen plenty of it in London, and he wanted to let me know that his spying is just as good as Felicity’s, maybe better.”
“How better?”
“The tap that Felicity has on Petrov’s office and/or phone lines may actually be the CIA’s, and she may be borrowing from it.”
“Or the other way around.”
“Yes, but Lance has made it possible for us to believe one or the other, instead of just the one. I guess that’s good for his ego.”
“You understand these things so much better than I.”
“Not necessarily, I just know the two spies very well. I’m guessing, really.”
“Your guesses are intriguing,” she said. “You should have been a screenwriter.” She logged onto a website. “Let’s see how La Dumont’s film is doing. Aha, Lance’s information is good, but not good enough. The film is projected to do thirty-five million in Russia, and get this—Nathalie has two gross points! Lucky girl!”
“So she had business mo
tives, as well as carnal ones, to spend a few days with Viktor Petrov.”
“Her instincts are good all round.”
“Did you and Ms. Dumont ever partake of each other?”
“Stone! One threesome, and you think I’m anybody’s?”
Stone laughed.
“Actually, she did make a pass at me, once. We were sunbathing in the nude on the deck at her Malibu house. I dozed off, and she gave me a big kiss in an intimate place. I woke up, startled, not sure if I was dreaming, and she apologized profusely. If she had been a little more subtle, I might have been receptive—after all, she’s very beautiful, especially when naked. She did find a way to say that it was a standing offer.”
“The mind boggles!” He excused himself and went to his own office to check his e-mail.
—
Stone reflected that there had been another reason for Lance’s visit, but he hadn’t wanted to mention it to Gala: Lance had thought it important to warn him that Boris Tirov remained a threat, probably more of a threat than before. Certainly, if the Russian had any inkling that Stone was behind the attempt to deport him, he would be, as Gala had put it, livid.
He called Mike Freeman at Strategic Services in New York. His secretary told Stone that Mike was traveling, but that she could connect him. There was a click.
“Michael Freeman.”
“Mike, it’s Stone.”
“How are you?”
“Very well. Where are you?”
“On the Gulfstream, en route to Paris. What’s up?”
“I think I may need a bit of security at Windward Hall.”
“Gala’s ex?”
“Exactly. Lance Cabot was here for lunch, and he went out of his way to tell me I should be worried. I was involved in a little chicanery, designed to get him deported from the U.S.A.”
“Ah, yes, I read about that. Didn’t work, did it?”
“No, he got Viktor Petrov to intervene on his behalf. The warrant vanished.”
“And Tirov found out you were involved?”
“Lance seemed to think so.”
