by Stuart Woods
Stone shrugged. “The opportunity was there,” he said.
“And you will be rewarded,” Lance said.
They came to a broad intersection a couple of blocks from the hotel and stopped for a traffic light.
“Stone, will you continue to have business with M’sieur duBois?”
“I expect I will,” Stone said. “From what I’ve heard, he’s the reason I came to Paris. Eggers and I met with him in New York.” He didn’t feel it necessary to tell Lance more than that.
“Well, I hope you will keep me abreast . . .” Lance, who was sitting behind the driver, stopped talking and looked out his window. Suddenly he threw himself across the car on top of Rick, who was in the middle, and Stone.
Stone looked to his left in time to see an enormous truck grille hurtling toward the car. It struck with enormous force, shattering glass and rolling the large car onto its side. Even upended, the truck’s engine was still roaring.
“Get out! Out!” Lance shouted.
“How?” Stone asked.
21
Incredibly, the truck’s engine continued to roar. The car began to move again and rolled onto its back.
“Out!” Lance shouted again.
With the car on its top, Stone’s door was now free. He got it open, but now his door faced the truck and was pressed against it. Then the truck’s engine abruptly stopped, and there was shouting from outside the car.
“We’re trapped in here,” Stone said. “Lance, can you get your door open?”
“I’m working on it,” Lance said. He grabbed Rick’s briefcase and used it to batter the remaining glass from his window, then he crawled out into the street. Rick followed, then Stone. Stone noticed that they both held themselves low, looking around. Rick had a gun in his hand.
“I smell gasoline,” Stone said. “We’ve got to get the driver out.” He managed to get the front door open, and they dragged the man into the street. He had not been wearing a seat belt. Stone had hold of his jacket, and he could see the butt of a gun in a shoulder holster, so he grabbed it and tucked it into his belt.
Lance was on his phone, shouting the name of the intersection. “Chopper now!” he yelled. “And an ambulance!” He put the phone away and resumed watching the perimeter of people who stood gawking.
“Who are you looking for?” Stone asked.
“I don’t know,” Lance said. “Anybody with a weapon will do.”
The sound of police cars could be heard in the distance, and, incredibly, a helicopter appeared, flying down the Seine, then hovered over the intersection.
Lance turned to Rick. “Deal with this,” he said. “I’ve got to get to Le Bourget.” He slapped Rick on the back, shook Stone’s hand, and ran toward the descending chopper.
“Central Paris is a no-fly zone,” Rick said. “Only Lance could manage that.”
“Rick, do you have any idea what’s going on?”
“Assassination attempt, I should think,” Rick said.
“On whom?”
Rick chuckled. “You and I aren’t worth bothering with.”
The helicopter rose, turned 180 degrees, and headed back up the Seine.
Police were running toward them. “I hope you’ve got your diplomatic passport,” Rick said, reaching for his and holding it up. “Diplomate américain!” he shouted.
Stone held up his passport, too. Rick entered into conversation in rapid French with the police, while Stone turned to the driver. He had a massive head wound, but there wasn’t much blood. Stone felt the man’s neck for a pulse but couldn’t find one.
“This man needs . . .” he started to say, but he was pushed out of the way by a uniformed medical attendant.
Stone looked at the truck; the cab was empty.
• • •
An hour later Stone and Rick were in Stone’s suite at the Plaza Athénée, having been given a lift there by the police. Rick was on the phone and had made half a dozen calls. Finally, he hung up. “Mind if I stay here for a while? Doug Hobbs thinks this is the safest spot, for the moment.”
“Sure.” Stone handed Rick the driver’s gun. “You’d better have this,” he said. “I don’t need it.”
“You don’t?” Rick asked. “Oh, that’s right, Lance armed you, didn’t he?”
“Do you have any idea what happened back there?”
“I told you what I thought. Do you doubt it?”
“They were after Lance, then?”
“Who?”
“How the hell should I know? I’m the civilian here.”
“They could have been after all three of us. I mean, it wasn’t exactly a surgical attack, was it? Our driver is dead, and we could have been, too, if the car hadn’t been armored. I don’t know if you noticed, but the truck that hit us was a mixer truck, carrying a full load of concrete. That’s quite a lot of mass.”
“It’s hard to know how it could have been heavier,” Stone said. “Did you see what happened to the truck’s driver?”
“There was no driver to be found,” Rick replied. “I expect there’s one in a ditch somewhere with a bullet in his head. Something else interesting: the station checked, and the truck belongs to a construction company owned by—guess who? Marcel duBois.”
“You don’t really think . . .”
“Who else knew we were in that car and where we were headed? Not even the station knew—the driver didn’t call in.”
“I think that’s a bit fanciful, Rick.”
“Let me ask you something,” Rick said. “Did you buy your own air ticket for Paris?”
“No, it was delivered to my office, along with an envelope of expense money.”
“Who sent it?”
“DuBois, I guess,” Stone admitted.
“Did you choose your seat on the airplane?”
“It was already on the boarding pass that came with the ticket.”
“So duBois knew what flight you were on and what seat you were in?”
“I suppose he did,” Stone said slowly.
“What business were you here to discuss with duBois?”
“He made me an offer for a hotel in Los Angeles that I’m a partner in.”
“The Arrington?”
“Yes.”
“Did you accept his offer?”
“No, but we agreed in principle that he could build a number of Arringtons in Europe with our investment and cooperation.”
“Why didn’t you want to sell it to him?”
Stone told him what he had told duBois.
“One more question: Do you think duBois might have a better chance of buying The Arrington with you out of the way?”
“Possibly. It was a very good offer.”
“One last point: the drug you were given was pulled off the market years ago by the FDA. Do you know where it’s still available?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “France. And guess who owns a big chunk of the French manufacturer?”
Stone held up a hand. “Stop, you’ve made your point.”
Rick’s cell phone buzzed. “Yes? I’ll be right down.” He hung up. “They’ve sent a car for me.”
“An armored one, I hope.”
“Oh, nobody’s after me, that would be you or Lance, or both. See you tomorrow at ten.”
“You still want to go to the auto show, after all you’ve just told me?”
“Sure, we’re not going to find out anything locked in this suite. Would you rather just get a plane home?”
Stone shook his head. “No, I want to get to the bottom of this.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s the difference between us,” Rick replied. “I want to get on top of it.” He walked out of the suite.
22
Stone was napping, exhausted, when the phone rang. “Yes?”
“I have Mike Freeman for you,” a woman’s voic
e said.
“Yes, of course. Mike?”
“Hey, Stone. I just got back from the coast and called your office. Joan said you’re in Paris.”
“I am,” Stone said. “Bill Eggers and I had a meeting with a French industrialist named Marcel duBois about a week ago. Do you know who he is?”
“I’ve heard him referred to as the French Warren Buffett,” Mike replied. “I don’t know much more than that.”
“Well, I had lunch with him today, and he offered us a billion dollars for The Arrington. Not including the land.”
“Wow,” Mike replied. “That’s a very serious offer. How did you respond?”
“I told him I liked having the hotel and suggested that we enter into an arrangement whereby he would build some more Arringtons in Europe, and we would invest and offer him design and staff training services.”
“And how did he respond?”
“He said that was his fallback position. He owns a chain of cheaper hotels, and he said he could raze a dozen of them around Europe and build Arringtons.”
“And how did you respond?”
“I told him I’d discuss it with you and Eggers.”
“Well, off the top of my head, I’d say it’s a sensational idea.”
“That’s pretty much what I thought.”
“Are you going to talk with him about it further?”
“Are you kidding? The guy would skin me alive. We need to put a team on this. Any ideas?”
“Well, I know some awfully good lawyers, firm called Woodman & Weld. Why don’t you ask Eggers to put a team together?”
“Okay, but before I do that I want to know more about duBois, specifically his history of business practices. He seems like a good guy, but I don’t want to find out he’s a shark after I’m missing a leg.”
“Okay, I’ll run a full-blown background check on him, and I’ll get my Paris office involved. Is there something in particular you’re concerned about?”
“Everything. I’ve never been in business with a multibillionaire before, and it makes me nervous. I’d like to know how close he works to the line of legality and if he’s inclined to cross it.”
“I understand. When are you coming home?”
“I don’t know—as soon as I get a handle on this, I suppose. A few more days.”
“I’ll get right on it. Take care.” Mike hung up.
Stone felt guilty about not bringing Mike fully up to date about his experience, but the backstory didn’t seem that relevant to what he had to do now.
He had been meaning to call Amanda Hurley and he did so now, only to be told that she had checked out of the San Régis. He didn’t have a cell number or a New York number, so he let it go. His phone rang again.
“Yes?”
“It’s Joan.”
“How are you?”
“I’m okay, but what the hell am I supposed to do with this exotic-looking car? It’s outside on a flatbed hauler.”
“Oh, I forgot about that. DuBois said he was shipping it by air.”
“Is this the one you paid two hundred and twenty-five thousand for?”
“One and the same. Please just go into the garage and rearrange things so it will fit next to the Bentley. Get the truck driver to help you. When you get it in there, call my insurance agent and add it to my policy, and list the value as three hundred and fifty thousand.”
“Stone, is this an insurance scam? You only paid two hundred and twenty-five thousand.”
“The replacement cost is three hundred and fifty thousand, maybe more. I got a deal.”
“Okay, I’ll get on it. See ya.” She hung up.
He stood up and stretched and found that he hurt all over. The collision with the truck had shaken him up more than he had known. He resumed his nap.
• • •
At eight he met Helga at Le Grand Véfour, which turned out to be a spectacular monument to the Belle Époque, with a menu to match. He was going to have to start eating more simply if he wanted to preserve his waistline and his digestive tract.
“How was your day?” Helga asked, after the champagne had been served.
“I was involved in a traffic incident,” he said, “and I guess I was a little shaken up, because I ache a lot all over.”
“Poor baby,” she said, patting his cheek. “I was trained as a masseuse, you know.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I’ll make it all better later.”
“You’re on.”
“Did you have your lunch with Marcel?”
“I did.”
“And how did that go?”
“Well, he made me a very good offer for our hotel, but I don’t want to sell it. We may be able to do some business in Europe, though.”
“You can’t do better than doing business with Marcel,” she said.
“Tell me the worst thing you’ve ever heard about him.”
She looked at him, surprised. “The worst? I haven’t heard anything worst. Everyone says he’s a perfect gentleman.”
“Do you know anyone who’s ever been involved in a business deal with Marcel?”
“Yes, my former husband, in Stockholm.”
“How did he find the experience?”
“Profitable.”
“Did he enjoy dealing with Marcel?”
“How could one not enjoy knowing Marcel?”
“I don’t mean his personal charm, I mean his business practices, his dealings. Did your husband like dealing with him?”
“Well, he never complained,” Helga said. “Why are you asking this?”
“If I’m going into business with Marcel, I want to know more about him.”
“He does have a reputation for getting what he wants,” she said. “He will go to great lengths if he really wants something.”
“What kind of lengths?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Is he ruthless?”
“I suppose anyone who has made as much money as Marcel must have a ruthless streak. Is that a bad thing?”
“It depends on how ruthless. Have you ever known anyone who has done business with Marcel, then regretted it later?”
“He does have a reputation for being very charming with people in his business dealings, then dumping them after he gets what he wants.”
“Socially dumping, you mean?”
“Yes, but a man like Marcel has no more hours in the day than you or I. No busy person has time for everybody. After all, he’s not a politician who has to keep everybody sweet.”
The waiter came with the menu, and the subject changed, but Stone thought about duBois all through dinner.
23
Stone woke early and stretched. His soreness was gone, and he had Helga to thank for that. She was not in bed, and he could hear her in the bathroom, singing in Swedish. The doorbell rang; he found a robe and let in the room service waiter.
Helga came out of the bathroom in a robe, still singing. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Terrific,” he said, “thanks to you.”
“Anytime. I don’t get chances often to maintain my skills.”
“I’m happy to be your patient anytime,” Stone said, then they turned their attention to breakfast.
“What does the day hold for you?” Helga asked.
“I’m going to the opening of the Paris Auto Show with Marcel.”
“That should be very interesting. He’s introducing the Blaise to the world, you know.”
“Would you like to come with us?”
“Thank you, but I’ve already seen the Blaise—with you—and I’m not very interested in cars. I rarely drive mine. Will we have dinner this evening?”
“I’d love that, if you can find a simpler restaurant. The way we’re going, I’ll get
fat.”
“There are more than eight thousand restaurants in Paris, and very few of them are bad. I’m sure I can come up with something.”
“Then you’re on.”
• • •
Stone got downstairs a little before ten to find Rick waiting for him out front, leaning against Marcel’s Maybach. “Good morning, Rick.”
“Good morning, Stone.” He opened the door and let Stone in, then went around the car and joined him in the rear seat. “This cabin is more like an airplane than a car, isn’t it?” he asked, playing with his seat adjustment.
“A good comparison,” Stone said as the car moved away. “I’m surprised to see you this morning after hearing your theory yesterday. Don’t you feel at peril?”
Rick smiled. “Always. It’s part of the training.”
“It must wear on the nerves to always feel at peril.”
“One gets used to it.”
“I like the new suit,” Stone said. He was wearing a tan gabardine from Charvet.
“Thank you. Lance was very helpful. They didn’t finish the whole order overnight, but I’m getting them at the rate of a suit a day.”
“Have you heard from Lance?”
“I spoke to him last night.”
“How did his escape from our company go?”
“The prefect of police complained to the ambassador about that. The morning papers are full of the mysterious helicopter that plucked an American from the midst of a traffic accident.”
“Is that what they’re calling it?”
“Yes.”
“How did the helicopter get there so fast?”
“They were practicing instrument approaches at Le Bourget when the call came, so they were already in the air.”
“I didn’t know Le Bourget was still in use. That’s where Lindbergh landed after his solo transatlantic, isn’t it?”
“Correct. It’s now a general aviation airport. All the business jets use it. Our Gulfstream 450 was waiting for him there, so he was out of the country before the ambassador could yell at him for his little faux pas.”
“How well do you know Lance, Rick?”
“I worked for him when he was station chief of Europe.”
