by Stuart Woods
“But I’m not selling anything,” Barbara replied. “I haven’t written a book or anything like that.”
“You’re selling your story, nothing else. Of course, a book might come later. Hugh would know exactly how to handle this situation. He knows every important journalist on the West Coast, and a lot in New York, too. If you like, I’ll have him call you tomorrow. You could discuss it with him and, if you feel it’s the right thing to do, come up with a plan.”
“Perhaps I should at least talk to him,” Barbara said.
—
BILLY HEARD a noise. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was enough for him to pocket his listening gear and sit very still, huddled next to the house, behind bushes. As he continued to listen, he heard soft footsteps approaching, and a powerful beam of light began flitting around the rear of the house. Billy curled into a ball, his head tucked against his knees, exposing only black to the approaching threat.
“I know you’re here,” a voice said. “You didn’t count on our security system, did you? I’m armed, and unless you come out and identify yourself, I’m going to start firing randomly into the shrubbery.”
Billy uncoiled, stood up, and saw a very large man—Blunt Instrument. He had read about him in his research: ex-NFL player, knee injury. Billy walked confidently toward him, and the man raised his pistol. Billy slowed, but continued, doing what his opponent had not expected, coming closer.
“Hold it right there,” the man said.
Billy took one step closer to him and swung the edge of his left hand at the man’s right wrist. The pistol flew out of the man’s hand. He emitted a short cry of pain, then Billy kicked him, not too hard, in his right knee, and the man collapsed and held the knee.
“That’s the correct knee, isn’t it? If I encounter you again, I’ll ruin it permanently for you. It will take you months to get over the surgery. And you would be wise not to mention this little tiff to your mistress.”
Billy turned and walked toward his car, picking up the man’s weapon along the way and tossing it as far as he could into the darkness. He looked back once and saw the man still lying on the ground, clutching his knee.
Stone and Ann were at lunch the following day, when Mike Freeman called. Stone spoke to him briefly, then hung up.
“The Strategic Services G650 will be ready for us tomorrow morning at ten,” he said.
“Oh, good,” Ann said. “And when I get back all hell will have broken loose, and it will remain loose until the election, then a different kind of hell will break loose, assuming Kate wins. Then, on January twentieth a special kind of hell will await me. Everyone who has ever held this job has said that it was the hardest work and the toughest job they ever had.”
“You sound as though you’re reconsidering,” Stone said hopefully.
“On the contrary, I can’t wait to get started,” she said.
Stone laughed. “Kate is lucky to have you.” The phone rang, and he picked it up. “Yes?”
“It’s Billy.”
“Hi there. Feeling better?”
“As good as new,” Billy said, “but shortly, Ed Eagle is going to be feeling a lot worse.”
“Oh, God,” Stone said, “is there another attempt coming?”
“Not on his life—on his reputation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Barbara is hiring a press agent in San Francisco named Hugh Gordon. I checked him out. He’s among the two or three best publicists in the country, and he’s arranging a series of interviews in which Barbara will insist that Eagle is trying to kill her. She’s going to blindside him, and he’ll never be able to catch up.”
“Oh, shit! What should I tell him to do?”
“This is outside my area of expertise, but I should think the only thing he can do is beat her to the punch.”
“Thanks, Billy. How did you find out about this?”
“Don’t ask, and don’t tell Eagle this came from me.”
“All right.” Stone thanked him again, hung up, and called Ed Eagle.
“Good morning, Mr. Barrington. I’m afraid Ed is in court this morning, but he should be breaking for lunch soon, and he’ll call in for messages.”
“Please ask Ed to call me first,” Stone said. “It’s extremely urgent that I talk to him at the earliest possible moment.”
“I’ll certainly do that, Mr. Barrington.”
Stone hung up. “Who do you know in the New York press?” he asked Ann.
“Are you kidding? Everybody.”
Stone explained the call he’d just had. “Who are the top people he should talk to?”
“In New York?”
“National.”
“Well, the plum pick is 60 Minutes, but even if they want the story, it might take some time, at the very least, to get it on the air. I know the executive producer, and he owes me a favor. After that, the morning shows—Today, CBS This Morning, Good Morning America, CNN, and Morning Joe.”
The phone rang. “Stone Barrington.”
“Stone, it’s Ed. Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“No, Ed, you are.”
“Gee, I hadn’t noticed.”
“I’ve just received some information that you have to act on at once.”
“What kind of information?”
“Barbara has decided, in lieu of killing you, to wage war on you through the media. She’s hired a top publicist, and he’s arranging press and TV interviews for her now. She’s going to say that you’ve been trying to kill her and then blaming it on her.”
“How the hell did you hear about this?”
“I can’t reveal my source, but I can tell you that this is real, and you have to attack first.”
“How’m I supposed to do that?”
“Hire your own publicist and beat her to the punch.”
“Well, Susannah has a publicist, of course—all the Hollywood folks do. I could talk to him.”
“Ann is here. She knows the executive producer of 60 Minutes, and she’s willing to call him on your behalf. Tell your publicist that. You need to work out a plan with your guy both to punch and counterpunch. You’ve got to have an argument ready for every point she makes. And speaking as an attorney, you’d better be ready for a slander suit once she hears what you’re doing. She can outspend you.”
“Well, then, I’m going to have to let her throw the first punch,” Ed said. “After that, I’ll just be defending myself.”
“That won’t be enough, Ed, you’re going to have to destroy her, burn her to the ground.”
Ed was silent for a moment. “I can’t say I relish that thought,” he said.
“If you don’t do it to her, she’s going to do it to you. She’ll ruin your practice. And, while she’s at it, ruin your life.”
“She’s certainly capable of that.”
“She’s crazy, Ed, and you’re going to have to be the sane, sensible one while she’s making the wild allegations. You’ve got one important thing going for you: there’s a record of the things she’s done—her prison sentence as an accessory to murder, her theft of your money and escape to Mexico, the conviction down there of killing a policeman, her escape from a Mexican prison, and then the shooting at the Bel-Air. You’re going to have to turn her acquittal into a miscarriage of justice.”
“That’s exactly what it was,” Ed said. “I was astonished when she walked. I’ve also got the knife attack on me and the time I spent in the hospital on my side. Nobody has ever hurt Barbara.”
“It’s time to call Susannah’s publicist, and you’d better get some cash together, because hiring a publicist and conducting this kind of campaign is going to cost as much as it would cost to hire you to defend somebody.”
“I’d better get on it, then.”
“Keep me posted?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be back in New York tomorrow night.” Stone hung up.
“I expect that call scared the shit out of Ed,” Ann said. “It certainly would me.”
“He’s taking it seriously. Luckily, Susannah already has a publicist.”
“Let me know when you want me to call 60 Minutes,” Ann said.
—
PAM HALE SAT in her cubicle at WSFO in San Francisco and read the transcript of Barbara Eagle’s murder trial in Los Angeles. Her friend Sherry, the meteorologist, stopped by. “You’ve been intense all morning,” she said. “What’s up?”
“I’m just reading about this woman, Barbara Eagle—or rather, Grosvenor.”
“Could you believe it when Chico told us her name? She’s all over everywhere in this town.”
“I’m just reading the transcript of her murder trial. She must have had one hell of a lawyer to get off.” Pam’s phone rang, and she picked it up. “Pam Hale, talk fast.”
A man laughed. “Pam, it’s Hugh Gordon. How are you?”
“Just great, Hugh. How do I rate a phone call from the Great Gordon?”
He laughed again.
“You’ve got to be pitching something.”
“This is more in the nature of a public service,” Gordon said. “An acquaintance of mine, a woman of unimpeachable character, a patron of the arts and a philanthropist, is being pursued by her ex-husband, who has made repeated attempts on her life.”
“Gee, Hugh, that sounds just awful. Who is she?”
“Before I can tell you that, I want to know if you’ll interview her for your weekend show.”
“I can’t tell you that until I know who she is, Hugh.”
“So we’re at loggerheads?”
“Come on, Hugh, you can’t expect me to commit to a major interview with someone whose name I don’t know.”
“All right, but this is in the strictest confidence.”
“Of course, Hugh, it always is.”
“Her name is Barbara Grosvenor, formerly Barbara Eagle.”
“Oh, sure, she’s social dynamite with all that money. Who’s trying to kill her?”
“The ex-husband’s name is Ed Eagle. He’s a big-time attorney out of Santa Fe, does a lot of trial work on the West Coast.”
“I’ll Google him and see what I find.”
“You won’t get the good stuff on Google—you’ll get that only from interviewing Barbara.”
“Okay, I’m in,” Pam said. “I’ll have to talk to my producer, but he pretty much follows my lead.”
“Call me back within the hour, and we’ll schedule.” Gordon hung up.
Pam hung up, too. “You’re not going to believe this,” she said to Sherry. “Hugh Gordon is flogging interviews with the lady! Excuse me,” she said, getting up and smoothing her skirt. “I’ve got to run this by Ron right now to get her on the weekend show.” She took off, running down the hallway.
Late in the afternoon, as Stone was reading a book in his library, the phone rang, and he picked up. “Stone Barrington.”
“It’s Ed. I just want you to know that I’ve already hired a publicist, and he’s coming to Santa Fe tomorrow with a camera crew.”
“That sounds great, Ed.”
“What we’re going to do is a long interview that can be cut up to address different points, as a way of defending myself. I’m also doing another long interview that will address Barbara’s history of murderous conduct, her convictions, her prison sentences, and her changes of identity over the years. Depending on what she has to say in her first interview, we can be on the air immediately by sending TV stations all or part of the two interviews. Also, the publicist, whose name is Hal Henry, wants me to tell you to tell Ann to go ahead and call 60 Minutes. She can tell the executive producer that they can review all the tapes we’re making and use as much or as little as they like, or they can send a correspondent out here to do their own interview, or I’ll go to New York and be interviewed there. I am at their disposal.”
“Sounds like you’re ready for anything,” Stone said. “I’ll talk to Ann at dinner and ask her to phone 60 Minutes first thing in the morning.”
“That’s wonderful, Stone. Thank you, and please thank Ann for me, too. Now I’ve got to go and talk to Susannah—she’s writing a rough draft of what I’m going to say.”
“Ed, my advice, for what it’s worth, is don’t read from a script. You’re used to talking on your feet. Review your points and sell it like a closing argument.”
“That’s good advice, Stone, and I’ll take it.”
“And if you come to New York for interviews, I insist you and Susannah stay with me and, if you like, record interviews there.”
“That sounds perfect. I’ll keep you posted.” Eagle hung up as Ann entered the room. “That was Ed Eagle. He’s hired a publicist named Hal Henry, and he wants you to call your contact at 60 Minutes.” Stone told her about Ed’s plans to record interviews. “Can you call him first thing tomorrow morning?”
Ann looked at her watch. “He’s a late worker, I’ll try him now.” She sat down in the chair next to Stone’s and picked up the phone. Stone went to fix them a drink, and when he came back, she was just hanging up.
Stone handed her a drink. “How’d that go?”
“Amazingly well,” Ann said. “One of his producers has already had a call from a publicist in San Francisco named Hugh Gordon, shopping the piece.”
“Uh-oh.”
“But there’s a twist,” she said. “They’ve also had a call from an interviewer named Pam Hale, at an independent TV station in San Francisco, who has an interview with Barbara scheduled for tomorrow and an exclusive in her market. The twist is, she’s already researched Barbara’s background, and she plans to let her make her case, then hit her with some hard questions. She’s offered her raw footage to 60 Minutes, and they’re very interested.”
“That sounds good,” Stone said.
“They did a piece on Ed some years ago, about a trial he was conducting, and they like him. They’d like him to come to New York tomorrow and to be available for interviews.”
Stone picked up the phone, called Eagle, and told him about Ann’s conversation with 60 Minutes. “If you want to do it, we’ll pick you and Susannah up in Santa Fe at around eleven your time tomorrow morning and take you with us.”
“Hang on,” Ed said, then put him on hold. He came back a moment later. “We’re on,” he said. “Susannah has told the publicist, and she thinks he should come, too. Have you got room for him and an assistant on the airplane?”
“Plenty of room,” Stone said. “Have him meet us at Atlantic Aviation at Burbank tomorrow morning at ten, and I’ll be happy to put them up at my house.”
“He’ll be there,” Ed replied. “See you here tomorrow at eleven.”
“Bye.” Stone hung up, called Mike Freeman, and told him what was up. “Can you handle the four extra passengers, Mike? Dino and Viv left after the convention. If it’s a problem, please say so and I’ll charter something.”
“No problem at all, Stone. You always bring along such interesting people. I’ll see you at the airport, and I’ll let our pilot know to include Santa Fe in his flight planning.”
Stone hung up and called Joan Robertson. “It’s Stone. Sorry to call so late.”
“Hey, there. You still coming home tomorrow?”
“Yes, and I’m bringing four guests: Ed Eagle and his wife, Susannah Wilde, a publicist named Hal Henry and his assistant. Please have the second-floor suite freshened up for the Eagles and two rooms on the third floor for Henry and his assistant.”
“Will do. What time will you be in?”
Stone did some rough mental calculations with flight times and time zones. “We should be at the house between four and five. Send Fred and the Bentley for us and the Eagles, and another
car and driver for the publicists.”
“I can do that.”
“And tell Helene we’ll be six or eight for dinner tomorrow night.”
“Right. Anything else?”
“I’ll call you from the airplane if I think of anything else.” Stone hung up. “I think we’re all set,” Stone said.
Ann looked at him. “I’m impressed with your organizing skills,” she said. “How would you like to work on Kate’s campaign full-time?”
“Thanks, but I still practice a little law now and then, and Woodman and Weld are wondering where the hell I’ve been for the past ten days.”
Stone, Ann, the publicist Hal Henry, and his assistant, who turned out to be a beautiful blonde of about twenty-five named Tina, took off from Burbank Airport a little after ten A.M. and were soon cleared direct to Santa Fe, with a detour over the Grand Canyon that Stone had requested.
As they approached the Canyon, Stone told everyone to raise their window blinds. The view from the G650’s big windows was spectacular.
“You know,” Ann said, “I’ve never seen it before. It’s so much bigger than I realized.”
“Yes. And if we hadn’t been doing six hundred knots over the ground with a tailwind, it would have seemed even bigger.”
The big jet set down at Santa Fe and, with its large tanks, didn’t need refueling. The pilot shut down the engine on the side of the airplane with the door and Ed, Suzannah, and their luggage were aboard in less than a minute while the copilot got their clearance for Teterboro. The pilot restarted the engine and they were wheels-up after a stop of less than fifteen minutes.
The stewardess served them a lunch of lobster salad with a Cakebread Chardonnay from California, and they were on the ground at Teterboro a little after four. Rush-hour traffic was heavy, but they were at Stone’s house at five-thirty, where Fred and the driver of the other car got their luggage into the house.
“Everybody freshen up and get some rest, if you like,” Stone said to his guests. “Drinks are at seven, with dinner to follow.”
