by Stuart Woods
Pablo accepted the agreement. “I will revert to my original name, Erwin Gelbhardt,” he said. “I have a valid passport in that name.”
“Joan, this is Mr. Gelbhardt,” Stone said.
“How do you do, Mr. Gelbhardt,” Joan said, and they shook hands.
Gelbhardt signed both copies of the agreement and handed them back to Stone. Stone signed them both, handed one back to Pablo and the other to Joan for filing.
“But I prefer to be called Pablo,” Gelbhardt said.
“Pablo it is,” Joan replied, and left the office.
“Now, Pablo,” Stone said, “what sort of information will you supply to the CIA, in return for being left alone?”
Pablo thought for a moment. “Well, how about the longitude and latitude of the current location of Osama bin Laden?” he replied.
TWENTY-NINE
Stone stared across the desk at his new client. The man did not exhibit any sign of insanity. “You actually have that information?” he asked.
“I do,” Pablo responded.
“Who knows that you have it?”
“No one. I came across it quite by accident, and the person who gave it to me died almost immediately after telling me.”
“Is there anyone who believes you have that information?” Stone asked.
“Not to my knowledge,” Pablo replied.
“Then let’s keep it that way for the time being.”
“I should have thought you would want to dangle it before Lance Cabot and his colleagues as an incentive.”
“Do you have any reason to believe that bin Laden might move to another location?”
“No.”
“Then let’s first dangle other information before Lance, and save that little piece until we really, really need to use it.”
“I must tell you, Stone, that as a patriotic American, I have a moral imperative to give that information to my government.”
“Are you morally impelled to give it to them today, tomorrow, or next week?”
“I suppose not.”
“Then please let me choose the moment for transmitting it, so that you may derive the maximum benefit for being a patriotic American.”
“I take your point,” Pablo said.
“Now, what other information do you have for them?”
“I can give them the details of every arms transaction I have been involved in for the past twelve years,” Pablo replied. “I should mention that I have what is often referred to as a photographic memory, although it might be more accurate to describe me as visually and audibly memory-efficient.”
“Do you have documents to support your recounting of these transactions?”
“Alas, such transactions are never committed to paper, except as notes, which I have always destroyed at the conclusion of the business.”
“What we very much need, then,” Stone said, “is a transaction that they can confirm independently, as a means of confirming your veracity.”
“I am unaccustomed to having my veracity questioned,” Pablo said, “having built a reputation for truthfulness over these many years.”
“You will have to try not to be offended by the disbelief of others,” Stone said. “Each person you speak to will have his own very good reasons for disbelieving you, unless the truth can be more objectively confirmed.”
Pablo sighed. “Ah, that is human nature, I suppose.”
“It is the nature of the intelligence bureaucracy,” Stone said, “where every person is responsible to those above him and must, therefore, cover his ass.”
Pablo laughed. “I think you are right; I am unaccustomed to dealing with bureaucracy. In my business, decisions are made quickly, albeit with verification on both sides.”
“As in ‘you show me yours, and I’ll show you mine’?”
“Precisely.”
“Please remember, as we progress, that we are not dealing in the sale or purchase of hardware, but a trade of information in return for the safety of you and yours. What we are likely to get, if we are successful, is a sheet of paper with some writing and a signature on it.”
“I understand. Tell me, Stone, do you have a very good safe in your offices?”
“I do.”
“Then I must ask you to deposit there any paper on which you have written any information about me, so that, if your offices should be . . . disturbed, that information will not fall into other hands.”
“I will do so,” Stone replied. He looked at his watch. “Now,” he said, “I think you should go to a place where you feel secure and wait there while I conduct some preliminary discussion with what we must think of as the opposition. If you will give me a phone number, I’ll call you when I have progress to report, probably tomorrow.”
“Please memorize this,” Pablo said, then gave him the number. “Repeat, please.”
Stone repeated the number.
Pablo stood and offered his hand. “I feel better now,” he said. “I look forward to working with you.”
“I look forward to that, too,” Stone said, shaking the hand.
When Pablo had gone, Stone called Lance Cabot.
“Holly Barker.”
“Holly, it’s Stone. May I speak to Lance?”
“I’m afraid he’s out of the office for the rest of the day,” she said. “Did you get any sleep this morning?”
“I did, though not enough. Will you ask Lance to call me at his earliest convenience?”
“Sure. Anything I can help you with?”
“Not yet,” Stone replied. “Bye-bye.” He hung up, then called Dino and made a dinner date. He called in Joan, scribbled Pablo’s phone number on a notepad, ripped off the page and handed it to her, along with the letter from the IRS. “Start a file on Mr. Gelbhardt,” he said. “Keep it in the safe, along with any other material pertaining to him, and keep the safe locked at all times.”
“Anything scary about this client?” she asked.
“He’s a pussycat, but there might be those who wish to harm him in some way, and they may not be as nice—hence, the safe.”
“Got it.”
“Deposit his check and pay the taxes on it today, please.”
“Got it.”
There was a knock at the door, and Herbie Fisher stood there. “Hey, Stone.”
“Hey, Herbie, come in.”
Herbie took a seat.
“You don’t look so happy,” Stone said. “What’s going on?”
“Well, I’m not seeing very much of Stephanie.”
“Why not? You still live together, don’t you?”
“Of course, but she leaves the apartment at seven in the morning and misses dinner a lot of the time.”
“Well, she’s just started a new job, hasn’t she?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Are you still going on your honeymoon?”
“Eventually, when Stephanie can take a break from work.”
“What, exactly, is she doing at Gunn?”
“International stuff. She sometimes gets calls in the middle of the night about something that’s happening with an overseas market.”
“Is she making lots of money for you yet?”
“Not yet, and not a hell of a lot for herself. She and David only get a ninety-thousand-dollar salary each; they could do better at a bigger firm, right out of college.”
“But they both will do very well indeed over the long run, right?”
“Right, I guess, when Jack decides to retire or kicks off.”
“How’s Jack’s health?”
“He’s in better shape than I am,” Herbie replied.
“More time at the gym, Herbie,” Stone said. “Now, if you haven’t got anything specific to bring up, I have to get back to work.”
Herbie stood up. “Yeah, sure; I’m just glad to know you’re here, representing me.”
“That’s very flattering, Herbie. See you soon.”
Herbie shambled out, and Stone got busy making notes for when Lance retur
ned his call.
THIRTY
Stone and Dino arrived on the sidewalk simultaneously, then walked into Elaine’s together. Their drinks were on the table almost as soon as they sat down.
“Have I got a tale to tell you,” Stone said.
“People been telling me tales all day,” Dino replied. “Did you know that criminals lie all the time?”
“I seem to remember that they do,” Stone said. “But you always catch them at it, don’t you?”
“Most of the time,” Dino said. “Now, tell me your tale.”
Stone began with the story of the sale of Strategic Air Services to the CIA, then continued with the trip to Iraq, the extraction from Spain, and, finally, Pablo’s short drive out of the airplane and his subsequent hiring of Stone.
“You’re shitting me,” Dino said when he was done.
“About which part?”
“The whole thing. You made it up out of thin air, didn’t you?”
“I swear, every word is true.”
“You were in Iraq?”
“Well, not so’s you’d notice it, but even if my feet didn’t touch the ground, I was there—and in the Azores and Spain, too.”
“You know, I did see something on TV about a Mercedes found in a swimming pool in Rye.”
“That’s the one. How else could it have gotten into that guy’s pool?”
Stone looked up to see Lance Cabot walking into the restaurant. He shucked off his coat, hung it up, and pulled up a chair. “You rang?” he said to Stone.
“I did, but a return phone call would have done.”
“I was in town anyway,” Lance said. “Good evening, Dino.” They shook hands.
“How you doing, Lance?”
“I’m not sure yet; that depends on what Stone has to say to me.” He ordered a drink, made a toasting motion, and took a gulp. “Well?” he said to Stone.
“You might want to wait until your second drink,” Stone said.
“Why? Is your news that bad? I presume you do have news of some sort, or you wouldn’t have called me.”
“The news is quite good, if you’re willing to be flexible.”
“Uh-oh, what’s the deal?”
“I have a new client: Erwin Gelbhardt, aka Pablo Estancia. And he wants to make a deal.”
Lance froze, just sat and stared at Stone. “You have a conflict of interest,” he said finally. “You’re under contract to me; you can’t represent both sides.”
“First of all, I’m not currently in your employ, and second of all, this is not, strictly, a legal matter. All it requires is some conversation about terms, then the signing of a letter, then my client begins to talk.”
“You’re representing a man who is a fugitive from justice.”
“He’s not a fugitive from justice, Lance, just from you.”
“He’s wanted by the IRS.”
“Let’s not characterize the IRS as justice.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants you off his back—also, the backs of his family and personal staff.”
“And in return?”
“He’s willing to tell you, in detail, about every arms transaction he has made for the past twelve years. Then he just wants to retire peacefully to this country and live out his life. He is sixty-eight, after all, past retirement age.”
“Can he document what he’s going to tell us?”
“Pablo, as he likes to be called, points out quite correctly that such transactions do not take place on paper. However, he purports to have an astonishing memory for detail.”
“Okay, I’ll hear what he has to say, and then we’ll talk.”
Stone shook his head. “Nope.”
“You want something up front?”
“Yes. I want his deal in writing, and when he’s finished talking I want a letter from you confirming that he has kept his word and that you have no further interest in interrogating him. I also want a letter from the attorney general stating that the United States has no interest in prosecuting him for any of his actions over the past twelve years.”
“When can he surrender himself?”
“He’s not going to surrender himself,” Stone replied. “He’s going to meet with you for three eight-hour days at a place in New York of his choosing. You may record video and audio of the meetings.”
“Twenty-four hours of interrogation?”
“Three days of conversation. You won’t need more than that; he talks fast.”
“Five days.”
“Four, and not a minute longer.”
Lance picked up a menu. “What’s that big chunk of veal with the polenta called?”
“Osso buco.”
Lance snared a passing waiter and ordered, then sat very still, apparently thinking hard, while waiting for Stone and Dino to order.
“Where do you want to meet?” Lance asked when the waiter had gone.
“I’ll give you a choice: a conference room at Woodman & Weld, or the dining room at my house.”
“Well, let’s see,” Lance said. “The Woodman & Weld venue has the advantage of the Four Seasons right downstairs.”
“Are you really going to put four days of lunches at the Four Seasons on your expense account, Lance?”
“You have a point,” Lance said. “The boys in accounting tend to get itchy about that sort of largesse.”
“Tell you what: my housekeeper is an excellent cook; I’ll spring for lunch every day, if you do it at my house.”
“I’ll have to send people in to sweep the place,” Lance said.
“I’m okay with a free sweep of my house,” Stone said, “but I want two simultaneous recordings of the proceedings, and you leave one with my client, just so we won’t have to worry about who said what at some later date. Also, the recordings will never be seen on television or outside the intelligence apparatus of the government while my client is still alive.”
“You mean that if I want to put all this on 60 Minutes, I’ll have to shoot Pablo first?”
“You will never lay a hand on Pablo, neither figuratively nor literally.”
“If I get the feeling that I’m being had, I’m going to be very, very angry,” Lance said.
“Pablo’s wish is not to have you, but to tell you everything he can. And, if you and your people behave yourselves and treat him like the gentleman he is, you may get a bonus or two when we’re done.”
“What sort of bonus?” Lance asked.
“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”
Lance held out his hand. “Deal. One thing, though: I am not going to get between Pablo and the IRS. Life is too short. Any deals with them will have to be separate from our arrangement.”
Stone pretended to think about that. “You’re sure you can’t help him with the tax people, even a little?”
“Not even a little,” Lance replied.
Stone shook his hand. “Deal. You’re a hard man, Lance.”
“We start Monday morning at nine?”
“Good.”
“I’ll have my people stop by to sweep and install the recording equipment.”
“Good.”
Lance was looking very smug by the time his osso buco arrived.
THIRTY-ONE
Lance dropped by Stone’s office the following afternoon, and Stone was ready for him. Joan got them both a drink, and Stone handed him an agreement to read.
Lance read it quickly, but apparently thoroughly. “This seems to reflect our discussion of last evening,” he said, then signed two copies and handed one to Stone.
“Here is your letter to Pablo,” Stone said, handing him a single sheet of paper. “You can have it retyped on your letterhead.”
Lance read it. “This is a little stronger than I had conceived of.”
“That won’t cost you anything, Lance.”
“Oh, all right.”
Stone handed him another sheet of paper. “This is the letter to be signed by the attorney general.”
“You really do have a lot of balls, Stone,” Lance said, reading the letter. “You presume to write the attorney general’s correspondence for him?”
“If he objects, the president can sign instead—on the proper letterhead, of course.”
“I’ll put it to the general.”
“You’d better put it to him right away and get his signature, because I want all these documents signed and sealed before the start of our fourth day together.”
“Or what?” Lance asked insouciantly.
“Or you won’t get the bonus.”
“Ah, I see, you’re saving the best for last.”
“Something like that.”
“Give me a hint.”
“It’s something you want, and nobody else can give it to you.”
Lance thought, then he chuckled. “Surely you’re not talking about—”
“I’m not talking, period,” Stone said. “This conversation is at an end.”
“Oh, all right. I’ll see you Monday morning at nine. Will you be offering breakfast, as well?”
“If you can ask questions while chewing. Who are you bringing with you?”
“Holly will be here, and at least one person who may remain anonymous. Also, there’ll be a court stenographer with his little machine.”
“As long as they’ll all fit at my table.”
“Will you have anyone else there besides Pablo? If so, they’ll have to be cleared.”
“Just the two of us,” Stone said. “Occasionally, Pablo and I may have to consult privately, and as our agreement states, I can instruct him not to answer, if necessary.”
“Ever the lawyer, Stone,” Lance said. He shook hands and left.
Joan came in when he had gone. “So that’s the elusive Lance Cabot?”
“Elusive? Why do you say that?”
“Well, I’ve heard you talk about him for years—usually disparagingly—but I’ve never seen him until now. He’s very good-looking and beautifully dressed, too. It’s strange having two of you in the office at once.”
“I’ll introduce you next week.”
Joan left, and Stone called Pablo.
“Hello?” He sounded relaxed, but alert, as he always did.
“Mr. C. has just left my office. We have concluded arrangements, and I’d like to tell you what they are.”
