Three Stone Barrington Adventures

by Stuart Woods

“It has already been done,” Pablo replied. “My source just phoned me.”

  “Also, Mr. C. wants to feed your interview back to his offices so that some of his colleagues can watch and listen, in order to substantiate the factual nature of your interview. Any problem with that?”

  “None whatever,” Pablo replied.

  “Did you find the maps you need?”

  “In fact, such a map is being FedExed to me from another country as we speak, a map that has been annotated by my source. I think Mr. C. and his colleagues will find it very interesting.”

  “Good. Do we need to rehearse what you’re going to say in the interviews?”

  “No,” Pablo replied. “But you may feel free to stop me if you think I am incriminating myself beyond the terms of our agreement with Mr. C.”

  “I have drawn the agreement to be all-encompassing,” Stone said, “so I don’t think we have to worry about that. With any luck at all, by this time next week you will be free to move about as you please, and your family can join you.”

  “We’ll see. They may wish to remain where they are for a time, and I may join them.”

  “Will you feel secure in Europe and other places after your interviews?”

  “My assumption is that no one will know what I have said.”

  “That is my assumption, too,” Stone replied, “but we are dealing with human beings, here, who might have a tendency to leak. You should keep that in mind.”

  “I will do so.”

  “Have you seen the television reports of the recovery of the Mercedes from the swimming pool?”

  Pablo chuckled. “Yes, I have. I’ve been very much enjoying them.”

  “You should know that Mr. C. does not share your amusement, and it would be unwise to bring up the subject when you meet, and if he should bring it up, be humble and contrite. We don’t want him angry.”

  “I understand, and I’ll try my best not to needle him.”

  “If he needles you, remain calm.”

  “Remaining calm is one of the things I do best,” Pablo replied.

  “Mr. C. has asked about your whereabouts, and since I don’t know, I’ve given him a truthful answer. I don’t think there is anything to be gained by letting him know where you are residing during your stay in New York.”

  “I entirely agree,” Pablo said, “and as soon as I feel free to travel, I may relocate elsewhere.”

  “I guess that couldn’t hurt,” Stone said.

  “Flexibility of travel has always been very important to me,” Pablo said. “Tell me, do you know if Mr. C. knows about my airplane?”

  “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “I must give that some thought,” Pablo said.

  “I’ll see you Monday morning,” Stone said. “Call me if you need anything.”

  “Now that my shoes have been repaired by Mr. Jim, I need nothing,” Pablo replied. “Good day.” He hung up.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Stone was at his desk when Mike Freeman called.

  “Good morning, Mike.”

  “Good morning, Stone. I spoke to Lance Cabot a few minutes ago, and he was hinting that Strategic Services should pay for the hard landing his Mercedes experienced. He and I had only a verbal agreement about the trip we made for them, except for the charter agreement, which is in writing.”

  “Does the charter agreement say anything about responsibility for equipment belonging to the charter company?”

  “No,” Mike replied.

  “Good. The other thing to look at is the terms of your verbal agreement. Did anything in your conversation with Lance mention your being in charge of the extractee or any cargo aboard the aircraft?”

  “No, there was no mention of it. He told me that two of his people would be aboard the aircraft and would take charge of Pablo.”

  “Then it appears that you have no liability for Pablo’s actions. The cargo, including the Mercedes, was government property and was put aboard by government employees, so no liability there, unless you actually caused damage to it, which you did not. I think you’re in the clear, and that’s certainly the attitude you should adopt in dealing with Lance.”

  “Good. I feel better already.”

  “Nor should the gentleman in Rye who owns the pool have any claim against you.”

  “Even better.”

  “If Lance gives you a hard time, just refer him to me.”

  “I’ll do that. Lance hinted that Pablo did not escape his clutches.”

  “Pablo did escape his clutches, but he will be speaking to Lance and his colleagues soon.”

  “Voluntarily?”

  “Yes, and under mutually agreed-upon terms.”

  “So we have an ultimately successful conclusion to our mission?”

  “It would seem so, but let’s wait until everything is concluded before feeling relief. Your portion of the mission would seem to be complete, though, unless there’s something else you agreed to with Lance that hasn’t been done.”

  “No, our mission was to pick up the cargo in Iraq, the extractee at a specified location, and deliver them to Stewart International.”

  “Well, I’ll handle the final delivery of Pablo part, except for the car.”

  “The stuff on TV has been hilarious,” Mike said. “I’ve had trouble keeping a straight face when talking to Lance.”

  “Hang on to that straight face, Mike; Lance is not amused.”

  “Will do.”

  “By the way, I had a call from Stephanie Gunn Fisher, and she mentioned that you had withdrawn your funds from the Gunn company.”

  “Yes, and it’s safe elsewhere. Did you take your money out?”

  “I never put it in, fortunately.”

  “I’m relieved to have ours out. What’s going to happen there?”

  “Who knows? They seem to have come through their audit in good shape, though.”

  “Talk to you later,” Mike said, and hung up.

  Joan buzzed him. “Dino is holding on two.”

  Stone pushed the button. “Hey, Dino.”

  “It was fun last night watching you and Eggers go at it.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

  “Something you said struck me.”

  “What was that?”

  “When he asked you who you were going out with.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “First time I’ve ever known you to be without at least one woman on the available list.”

  “It’s certainly a dry spell,” Stone admitted.

  “You want a date tonight?”

  “You mean with somebody besides you?”

  “I’ve been seeing this assistant DA lately.”

  “You sly dog; you never said a word.”

  “Her name’s Doris Trent.”

  “Sounds like an old soap opera.”

  “Maybe, but she’s pretty nice.”

  “Are you offering me your girl, Dino?”

  “Certainly not. She has a friend.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “I hear she’s all right. What the hell, you might like her. Her name is Willa Crane.”

  “Oh, all right. Where are we dining?”

  “I thought maybe the Park Avenue Café.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I thought we’d come to you at seven for a drink, give you a chance to impress the lady with your good taste, then dine at eight.”

  “All right. I’ll get Helene to do us some of her hors d’oeuvres.”

  “See you then.”

  Later, Stone showered and got into a suit and necktie, because he knew that’s what Dino would wear, then he went downstairs to the library.

  Helene, as requested, had laid out some things to nibble on and had placed a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Grande Dame champagne in a silver ice bucket. Stone removed the plastic wrap from the tray and tossed it, then got some champagne flutes from the bar cabinet. At ten past seven, the doorbell rang. Stone picked up the phone and pressed the
electric unlock. “Come in,” he said.

  He walked to the living room and waited for the elevator to stop, then open. Dino emerged with two women: one was very small and cute; the other was tall and, Stone had to admit to himself, drop-dead gorgeous, with long, straight black hair, dressed in a black-and-white sheath that reminded him of a pinto pony. He held his breath while introductions were made.

  “Stone Barrington, this is Doris Trent,” Dino said, indicating the small one.

  Stone heaved a sigh of relief. “Hello, Doris.”

  “And this is Willa Crane,” Dino concluded.

  Stone shook her hand. “Hello, Willa,” he said. “Please come into the library.” He led them into the next room, seated them, and began to open the champagne. “Would anyone like anything else besides champagne?” he asked.

  Heads were shaken. He popped the cork and poured, then set the tray of food on the coffee table and took a good look at Ms. Crane, wondering about her.

  He took a glass for himself and sat down next to her. “Willa, what do you do?”

  “I’m a deputy district attorney,” she said.

  Deputy. That meant she was a career prosecutor and senior in the office. He supposed she was thirty-five.

  “Tried anyone interesting lately?”

  “Well,” she said, “I thought about prosecuting a client of yours, but I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Uh-oh,” Stone said. “I hope we’re not headed toward a conflict of interest here.”

  “You can hope,” she said, sipping her champagne.

  THIRTY-SIX

  The subject somehow got changed, and eight o’clock was approaching, so they were on their first course at the Park Avenue Café before they came back to Willa’s work.

  “Aren’t you curious about which of your clients I’m considering prosecuting?” she asked. “Want to guess?”

  “Willa,” Stone said, “so many of my clients are teetering on the brink of prosecution that it could be an injustice to even mention a name.”

  Willa laughed, a healthy sound. “All right, it’s Herbert Fisher.”

  Dino began laughing.

  “What’s funny?” Willa asked.

  “Herbie is always on the brink of prosecution,” Dino said, “often for something he didn’t do.”

  “You’re acquainted with Mr. Fisher?”

  “Yes, he’s been in my holding tank a few times.”

  “An habitual criminal, then?”

  Stone spoke up. “An innocent man who seems to have a gift for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, he was married a short time ago, and the experience seems to be lending stability to his existence. Which of the patently false charges against Herbie are you considering pursuing?”

  “How about murder?” she asked.

  “In what degree?”

  “Has he committed more than one murder?”

  “Herbie has never committed a murder, although he was once required to defend his life against Dattila the Hun, whom the press liked to describe as ‘a Mafia kingpin.’ ”

  “Oh, yes, I heard about that. He walked.”

  “It was, as I pointed out, self-defense.”

  “I think he got very lucky,” Willa said.

  “Good luck is not something that haunts Herbie’s life,” Stone replied.

  “Really? I think he’s very lucky to be walking our streets at this moment. If not for the actions of an inexperienced prosecutor, he would be held without bail as we speak.”

  “Wait a minute,” Dino said, “are you talking about the death of his girlfriend, who fell or jumped from Herbie’s penthouse terrace a while back?”

  “No, I’m talking about the girlfriend who received, at the very least, a helping hand from Mr. Fisher.”

  “Well,” Dino said, “I happened to be in charge of that investigation, and also present at a conference between your prosecutor and Herbie’s attorney—Mr. Barrington here—and I thought, given the feather-light weight of the evidence, your prosecutor made a good call.”

  “Thank you, Dino,” Stone said. He turned to Willa. “I was able to demonstrate, through fingerprint evidence, that the young woman in question, Sheila, opened the terrace door without assistance and disappeared over the parapet while Mr. Fisher was spending half an hour or so with a magazine, at stool.”

  “And how were you able to prove that?” Willa asked.

  “I offered to deliver Mr. Fisher for a colonoscopy, but your prosecutor declined.”

  Willa burst out laughing. “That’s preposterous!”

  “Not so much as the allegation against my client.”

  “He’s right, Willa,” Dino said. “Listen, I like nailing murderers, but believe me, Herbie is not a murderer.”

  “Look, Willa,” Stone said, “if you want to charge Herbie, you go right ahead, but believe me, that decision would turn out to be a major embarrassment for your office, and I know you wouldn’t want that.”

  “I might enjoy the trial,” she said.

  “So would I,” Stone replied, “because I would be very well paid, and I would win. I don’t think you would find a lot of pleasure in that.”

  “You let Mr. Fisher know that my office is keeping an eye on him, and that if he makes a wrong move I will fall on him from a great height.”

  “Lieutenant Bacchetti,” Stone said, “will you please note the prejudice toward my client in the deputy district attorney’s words, as well as the threat.”

  Dino took his notebook from his pocket and scribbled something in it. “Duly noted,” he said.

  “Willa,” Doris said, speaking for the first time, “you’re outnumbered; give up.”

  Willa raised her hands. “Okay, okay. However, I am still considering a charge against Mr. Barrington himself.”

  “Oh?” Stone asked, laughing. “And what would the charge be?”

  “Defacing city property,” Willa said, “to wit, our conference table.”

  Stone frowned. “Uh-oh,” he said.

  “What?” Doris asked. “Tell me.”

  “It was at an office Christmas party a while back,” Willa said. “Or so the story goes. It seems that Mr. Barrington and a highly thought of prosecutor were interrupted by other parties while locked in what might politely be described as sexual congress, on our office’s conference table. I’m told the image of the prosecutor’s bare ass remained imprinted on the table amid a circle of lighted candles, until the cleaners returned after the holiday.”

  Doris turned toward Stone. “Well, Mr. Barrington?”

  “On advice of counsel,” Stone said, “I must respectfully decline to answer, based on my rights under the Fifth Amendment of the Constitution of the United States of America.”

  Everybody laughed.

  “So it’s true!” Willa said.

  “You may not infer guilt from my refusal to answer,” Stone said.

  More laughter. Diners nearby were beginning to take note.

  “I can see that I’m going to have to get the details from the prosecutor herself,” Willa said.

  “I wouldn’t advise that,” Stone said, “as she is well known for her right cross, and if that isn’t enough, she has four large Irish brothers who are police officers and who take offense at the slightest untoward reference to their sibling.”

  Willa threw up her hands. “I give up. The threat of violence will prevent me from ever learning what really happened.”

  “It appears you already know,” Dino said.

  “Thanks so much, Dino,” Stone said. “Remind me never to call you as a character witness.”

  Stone and Willa parted company with Dino and Doris outside the restaurant.

  “May I take you home?” Stone asked.

  Willa laughed. “I believe there may be a double entendre couched in your question.”

  “Then take your pick,” Stone replied.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Stone awoke alone, the other side of his bed unmussed. “Oh, well,” he said aloud to himself
, “she made her choice.” He showered, shaved, and had breakfast at his desk.

  Joan came into his office. “Do you need me earlier than usual on Monday morning?” she asked.

  “Good idea,” he said. “I’ve offered these people breakfast, and you could help Helene set up a buffet in time for their nine-o’clock arrival.”

  “Will do,” she replied. The phone rang, and Joan picked up the one on Stone’s desk. “One moment, please.” She pressed the hold button. “A Willa Crane for you?”

  “Thank you,” Stone said. “Good morning, Willa.”

  “And good morning to you,” she replied.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Probably not as well as I would have if I had chosen the other option,” she said.

  “I’ll give you another chance, if you’ll promise not to hound Herbie Fisher to an early grave.”

  “Be specific.”

  “If you can get off a little early today, I’ll pick you up at two o’clock and bring you back on Sunday afternoon.”

  “And our destination?”

  “That will remain a mystery, but rest assured, it will be a comfortable one.”

  “All right, two o’clock. Shall I meet you downstairs?”

  “Perfect. Bring warm clothes.” He hung up and buzzed Joan.

  “Yes, my lord and master?”

  “Will you call Seth Hotchkiss and ask him to meet two of us at the airfield around four-thirty this afternoon, and that we would appreciate dinner around seven-thirty?”

  “Yes, Sahib.”

  “Are you wearing a turban?”

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “Never mind.” Stone hung up.

  As they were waiting to be cleared for takeoff that afternoon, it occurred to Stone that the last time he had taken a woman to Maine, she had ended up dead. A moment’s thought allowed him to rationalize away that possibility.

  “What are we waiting for?” Willa asked from the copilot’s seat.

  “For release by the tower,” Stone replied.

  The tower came onto the radio frequency. “November one, two, three Tango Foxtrot, cleared for takeoff. Climb to six thousand feet on runway heading, expect direct Carmel.”

  That amounted to a good break over the routine departure. “Tango Foxtrot, six thousand, runway heading, rolling.” He lined the airplane up on the runway, pressed a button to center the heading, then pressed the autopilot heading button, switched on the pitot heat, and pressed the switch that brought up the command bars to follow after takeoff. He moved the throttles to takeoff power, let the engines spool up, then released the brakes.