by Stuart Woods
“Can’t he speak for himself?” she asked.
“I’m very well, thank you,” Dino said.
“See?” Stone said. “Fully functioning person.”
“I’m relieved to hear it,” Stephanie said. “I believe I’ve heard Herbert mention your name, but not Mr. Bacchetti’s.”
“Dino is hardly ever mentioned by people who know him,” Stone said.
Stephanie laughed.
“Well,” Herbie said, “if you’ll excuse us.” He led the girl toward their waiting table.
“What’s wrong with this picture?” Stone asked.
“Well, both Herbie and his girlfriend sounded uncharacteristically normal,” Dino replied.
“That’s it: I’m unaccustomed to that. Maybe Herbie has entered another lucid interval. If so, that’s twice it’s happened.”
“That’s a record for Herbie,” Dino said. “Do you suppose that having his girlfriend jump off his penthouse terrace to her death has somehow matured him?”
“There were signs of maturation before,” Stone replied. “Like when he asked Sheila to sign a prenup.”
“I agree, that’s unusually sensible of him,” Dino said. “Have you talked with Bob Cantor about this?”
“No, Herbie’s uncle Bob wouldn’t believe me if I told him.”
They ordered dinner and were halfway through when Felicity showed up, sat down and ordered a single-malt Scotch on the rocks.
“No Rob Roy?” Dino asked.
“Not tonight,” she replied, taking a swig of the pungent liquid. “I need to go directly to the source, without the sugar and fruit.”
“I know the feeling,” Dino said.
“You look perplexed,” Stone said.
“I think that sums up my mood very nicely,” Felicity replied, “at least, until I finish this drink and start another one.”
“What is driving you to drink?” Stone asked.
“I’ve been back and forth with my documents people for the past four hours. They’ve found the photograph of Hackett that was on the file I sent them but not on his own folder; it was affixed to the dossier of one Timothy Timmons, another soldier in the regiment.”
“That’s a familiar name,” Stone said.
“Oh? How?”
“Hackett told me that he had a friend called Tim Timmons, who left the regiment before he did and went to work for a security company. He later persuaded Hackett to leave and join him there. Eventually they both left and formed their own company. Timmons was later killed in some sort of bomb blast, and Hackett got his share of their company.”
“That’s very interesting,” Felicity said, “since it’s all we’re going to learn about Mr. Timmons.”
“Why is that?”
“His dossier was in the same state as Hackett’s: sodden. Only the photograph survived.” She emptied the glass of Scotch and signaled a waiter for another. “I’m increasingly baffled by all this.”
“Let me suggest the simplest explanation,” Stone said.
“Please do.”
“Some addled clerk in the regimental offices inadvertently stapled the same photograph to two dossiers.”
“That’s too simple,” she said. “He affixes the same photograph to the dossiers of two men who were friends, later business partners? I don’t like coincidences.”
“Like them or not,” Stone said, “they happen.”
“There’s more,” Felicity said. “In addition to faxing my people Hackett’s dossier, I snipped slivers from the folder and several pages and had them analyzed.”
“And?”
“And they were identical in makeup and age to the folders found in storage at Camberly.”
“So the dossier is authentic?”
“Either that or Hackett has gone to a great deal of trouble to make it seem so.”
“I gather you’re inclined to the latter explanation.”
“Well, yes, I am,” she said, sipping the new Scotch.
“Felicity,” Stone said, “I think there is only one way for you to proceed in this matter.”
“And what is that?” she asked.
“Since you are unwilling to accept any evidence that Hackett is Hackett and not Whitestone, you will just have to operate on the basis that they are one and the same. Otherwise, you’ll go crazy.”
“I may have already gone crazy,” she said. “I reported to my superiors this evening that Hackett is very likely Whitestone.”
“And you’re having second thoughts?”
“And third and fourth thoughts.”
“Have you had their reaction to this report?”
“No. They’ll read it first thing in the morning, when they arrive at their desks in London.”
“And what is their reaction likely to be?”
She pulled at the Scotch again. “I’m not sure,” she said. “And I’m very worried about that.”
“Are you afraid of what they will ask you to do about Hackett/ Whitestone?”
“Yes, very much.”
46
Stone and Felicity lay, sweating and panting, in each other’s arms. They had awakened at daylight and had made love in various ways until they had both crashed and burned in an overwhelming mutual orgasm.
A noise pervaded the otherwise silent room. Stone frowned; he knew that noise. It was the clanging of an old British telephone, old enough that it didn’t have a volume control and, thus, loud enough to play havoc with an eardrum.
“That can’t be your cell phone, can it?” he asked.
She sat up in bed. “Oh, yes,” she replied. “They control that ring from the other end.” She scrambled out of bed and ran naked across the room to where she had left her purse. “It’s the sound of a red telephone ringing,” she said, digging through her bag. “Yes, Minister?” she said, finally.
Stone could hear the tinny blare of a man shouting from across the Atlantic.
“Yes, Minister,” Felicity said. “Yes, Minister.” There was a long pause and more blaring. Then Felicity said emphatically, “No, Minister. Most certainly not on the available evidence.” She held the phone away from her ear as the shouting resumed.
Stone could nearly understand the shouted words. He was almost certain he heard the word termination, but he could not be sure in what context.
“Then I suggest you do exactly that, Minister,” Felicity said. “I have one or two other suggestions for you that I may offer at a later date, but you may have my resignation within the hour if that is your wish.” She held the phone away again, in anticipation of more loud noises.
This time Stone thought he heard a more placating sound.
“Perhaps we should talk later in the day, Minister,” she said, “when we have both had time to consider our positions. Good-bye, Minister.” She snapped the phone shut and threw it at her pillow, which was next to Stone.
Stone picked up the phone and placed it on the bedside table next to him. “Come here,” he said, raising an arm. She got back into bed and snuggled close to him.
“I knew he would go off the deep end,” she said.
“Which minister was that?” Stone asked. “Foreign or home?”
“It’s better you don’t know,” she replied.
“From what little I just heard, I would suspect that your position is stronger than you may have thought.”
“Yes,” she replied, “he did climb down off his high horse just a bit toward the end, didn’t he?”
“I also suspect he has realized that, if he can’t get you to do what he wants you to, he has little chance of getting your replacement to do it, either.”
“I hope that is true,” she said, “but if he digs down deep enough in the dung heap, he’ll find somebody who will cheerfully accomplish that particular mission.”
“Dare I ask what that mission is?” Stone asked.
“You dare not,” she said.
“Because then you’d have to kill me?”
“Ha!” she said. “Finally you’ve found a s
ituation that fits that cliché.”
“You did the right thing,” Stone said. “If he sacks you, then you can spend more time with me.”
“Yes, and more time with my horses and dogs, too.”
“The dogs, maybe, depending on how many you have. I don’t think I can house the horses.”
“Then you would just have to come and see me, wouldn’t you? I’ll introduce you to the English country life.”
“Would I enjoy it, do you think?”
“You’d be bored rigid, I do think.” She explored his crotch with a hand. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
STONE WALKED OVER to Jim Hackett’s offices in something of a quandary. He had two clients whose interests were antithetical to each other’s, and he was being forced to choose sides. He did not want to choose sides.
Hackett received him with his usual good cheer. “Coffee?” he asked, waving at a silver Thermos on the table before the sofa.
“Thank you, yes,” Stone replied.
“You look tired,” Hackett said. “First time I’ve seen you look tired.”
“A little,” Stone said, sipping the strong coffee. A large shot of caffeine was what he needed.
“Yesterday you seemed to absorb quickly what Mike and I had to tell you.”
“Thank you. I found it extremely interesting.”
“This company’s activities are a lot to absorb in a single day,” Hackett said, “but you’ll have other opportunities to learn more.”
“Jim,” Stone said, “yesterday you spent a lot of time telling me about the company’s personal protection services.”
“I suppose I did. Do you require personal protection?”
“No,” Stone said, “but I’m afraid you do.”
“I don’t have even one bodyguard,” Hackett said. “I travel alone or with an assistant. The only times I’m guarded are in combat zones, like Iraq and Afghanistan. What do you know that I don’t know, Stone?”
“The odd thing is, I don’t know anything. I only suspect, but I suspect that you should be in a place, at least for a while, where you can see a threat coming from more of a distance than you can on a New York City street.”
Hackett crossed his legs and stared out the window at the city skyline. “Felicity has been talking, has she?”
“No,” Stone replied, “she hasn’t. She’s said absolutely nothing. This morning I was privy to one side of a transatlantic telephone conversation, and while I couldn’t hear what was being said on the other end, I was alarmed by her reactions.”
“Can you tell me any more than that?”
“I don’t know anything more than that.”
“All right, then,” Hackett said. “I accept that. I don’t suppose your relationship with Felicity precludes you from offering advice, does it?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Then what would you advise me to do?”
“I believe I would advise you to disappear for a while, to go to someplace—Maine, perhaps—no, some place not known to me, so I can’t inadvertently give you away. I think you should abbreviate your communications with this office to the bare minimum or communicate through third parties, and I don’t think you should use a cell phone or any landline known to anyone else. I think you should stay indoors, not in view of the sky, and that you should post armed guards around you.”
Hackett did not respond for a long moment, then, finally, he said, “It’s as bad as that, is it?”
“I hope I’m wrong,” Stone replied, “but I believe it is as bad as that.”
47
Stone got back to his office and found Herbie Fisher waiting for him. Stone tried not to groan.
“Can I talk to you, Stone?”
“Yes, Herbie. Come on in,” Stone said.
Herbie followed him into the office and closed the door behind him.
“What’s wrong, Herbie?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Herbie replied.
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
“I want you to go to Sheila’s funeral with me,” Herbie said.
“Why, Herbie?”
“Because I don’t want to go by myself. There might be people there who would try to hurt me.”
“I’m not a bodyguard, Herbie, but your uncle Bob can have one or two of the retired cops he knows take care of you.”
Herbie looked away. “I can’t ask Uncle Bob for anything else,” he said. “I’ve asked him for too much over the years, and I’ve promised him that I’ll stand on my own two feet from now on.”
“I see,” Stone said, searching for a way to turn him down.
“I want Dino to come, too.”
Stone brightened. “Tell you what, Herbie, if you can get Dino to come along, I’ll go, too.”
“That’s great, Stone.”
“When is the funeral?”
“In forty-five minutes; we’ve just got time to make it.”
“I don’t think you can corral Dino that quickly, Herbie.”
“He’s outside in my car,” Herbie said.
Stone was now trapped.
“You can charge me for your time,” Herbie said.
Stone sagged. “All right, Herbie.” He stood up and followed Herbie out.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Stone said to Joan.
Dino was, indeed, waiting in Herbie’s Maybach, sipping a Scotch.
Stone got into the back and took a rear-facing seat. “A little early, isn’t it?”
Dino shrugged. “What the hell,” he said.
“Is there any bourbon?” Stone asked Herbie.
Herbie leaned forward and pressed a button. A lid rose, revealing a small bar. “I’ll join you,” he said. “Ice?”
“Please,” Stone replied.
Herbie poured the drinks and sat back.
“Where’s the funeral?” Stone asked.
“At a cemetery in Queens,” Herbie said. “My driver knows the way.”
“So it’s just a burial, not a funeral?”
“What’s the difference?” Herbie asked.
“A funeral usually takes place in a church, a synagogue or a funeral home chapel,” Stone said. “A burial takes place in a cemetery.”
“Oh,” Herbie said. “The only funeral I ever went to was my mother’s, and that was in a cemetery.”
Dino poured himself another drink. “Whatever,” he said.
THE BIG CAR drove through the gates of the cemetery, which turned out to be the one that can be seen from the Long Island Expressway, an incredibly crowded forest of stone.
“How did you get Sheila a plot here?” Stone asked. “I didn’t think there could possibly be any room here.”
“My mother bought it forty years ago,” Herbie said. “Sheila doesn’t have any family, and I didn’t think the plot ought to go to waste.”
The car stopped, and the three of them got out. Herbie led the way, and Stone and Dino followed.
Stone tugged at Dino’s sleeve. “How the hell did Herbie get you to do this?” he asked.
“He paid me,” Dino replied.
“Paid you? How much?”
“That is an indecorous question, under the circumstances,” Dino replied. “A woman is dead.”
“I feel as though I’m in some bizarre dream,” Stone said. “Is this really happening?”
“Seems to be,” Dino replied.
The coffin was perched over the open grave, and a man wearing a black robe stood by it, along with another, shorter man in a black suit. Herbie spoke quietly with the robed man and handed him an envelope.
“Shall we begin?” the robed man asked.
“Just a minute,” Herbie said, looking back toward the road.
Three men in suits were coming their way, looking uncomfortable.
Stone whispered to Dino. “At least one of them is packing,” he said.
“All three of them are,” Dino replied, “but so am I.”
The three men walked around to the
other side of the coffin, all three glaring at Herbie.
The robed man began to speak in Hebrew.
Stone and Dino watched the three men, who continued to glare at Herbie. Dino took his badge out and hung it in the breast pocket of his suit. The three men looked even more uncomfortable but stopped glaring.
Stone had a sudden urge to burst out laughing but controlled himself.
The robed man stopped speaking, stepped back and nodded at the other man, who was apparently the funeral director. The shorter man reached down to the frame supporting the coffin and did something, and the coffin began to lower into the grave. Herbie picked up a little dirt from the pile beside the grave and tossed it onto the descending coffin, then the three men did the same.
“God bless you all,” the robed man said, then turned and began walking back toward the road followed by the three men.
Stone, Dino and Herbie gave them a head start, then followed. They got into the Maybach, the robed man tossed his robe into a Toyota and got in, and the three men got into a Cadillac. They all left.
“Who were the three men?” Stone asked.
“The tall guy was her pimp,” Herbie replied. “The other two used to be my bookie and my loan shark.”
“And who was the guy in the robe?”
“He used to be a rabbi,” Herbie said, “but something happened, I’m not sure what. The funeral guy found him. I think Sheila was Jewish.”
“That was thoughtful of you, Herbie,” Stone said. “I thought the three guys were going to start shooting at one point, but Dino stopped them with his badge. Nice move, Dino.”
“It was better than getting shot,” Dino replied.
WHEN STONE GOT home, a small package had been delivered for him. Inside was a small black box and a note from Jim Hackett:Directions: Go to your master extension—the one that your office phone system is programmed from—unplug your telephone, plug the wire into the box, then plug the wire from the box into the telephone. This will cause all your telephone extensions to be encrypted when you are called from another encrypted phone. Talk to you soon.
Stone did as instructed.
48
Felicity called late in the afternoon. “Can we meet for dinner somewhere different? I’m gaining weight.”
