Strategic Moves

by Stuart Woods

  “I’m glad you can afford to eat out, Stone,” Stephanie said, “in your reduced circumstances.”

  “I’m investment-reduced,” Stone replied amiably, “not dinner-reduced.”

  The couple continued to their table.

  “That was Herbie Fisher?” Willa asked.

  “You expected a wild-eyed monster, huh?”

  “Not exactly, but I didn’t expect a nebbish, either.”

  “And a nebbish who married well,” Stone replied. “Stephanie is the daughter of Jack Gunn.”

  “So he can afford the very best representation in criminal matters,” Willa said.

  “I’m glad you understand that,” Stone replied.

  Stone took Willa home and got back to his house to find that two more men had been added to Cantor’s workforce.

  “Stone,” Cantor said, taking a small black box from his pocket and pressing a button. “This will keep us from being overheard. There’s a bug on every phone in the house, including your office and Joan’s. You want me to duplicate them all?”

  “Every one of them.”

  “How much time have I got? The video installation takes longer, if you don’t want them to notice.”

  “Six o’clock Monday morning,” Stone said.

  “I can do that, probably by midnight tomorrow.”

  “Good man.”

  Cantor pressed the button again and gave Stone a thumbs-up.

  Stone woke the following morning and, when he went downstairs to retrieve the Times, found Cantor and his crew in the kitchen, drinking coffee and eating breakfast.

  “We raided the icebox,” Cantor said.

  “That’s okay.”

  “And we’ll be done by lunchtime.”

  “Great news,” Stone said, pouring himself some coffee.

  “The stuff these people have installed in your house leads me to believe that these people are not exactly your garden-variety industrial spies,” Cantor said. “This looks more like government work, and of a high order.”

  “I’m glad to know my tax dollars are being spent on the best,” Stone said.

  “But my stuff is more than good enough to pick up what you want.”

  “Good. When we’re all done, make two copies of everything. I want my client to have a copy.”

  “Easily done,” Cantor said. “Keep this in your pocket; it will work from there. If you come to a point in your meetings where you don’t want your image or voice recorded, just press the button. All they’ll get is static and snow. When you want to let them record again, press the button once more.”

  Stone put the device in his pocket. “Right,” he said, then he went back upstairs with his coffee, a muffin, and the Times and settled in for a morning of reading, watching the Sunday morning political shows, and doing the crossword puzzle.

  He thought about alerting Pablo to his suspicions about Lance, but decided not to. He would be on hand to protect his client.

  FORTY

  At eight o’clock sharp on Monday morning Stone’s doorbell rang, and he admitted Pablo. Holding a finger to his lips, he walked his client through the kitchen and out to the back garden.

  “What’s up?” Pablo asked.

  “The whole house is wired for pictures and sound. I wanted to talk to you for a few minutes without their seeing or hearing us.”

  “All right.”

  Stone showed him the device Cantor had left him. “I’ve installed my own system, parallel to theirs, and something else, as well. If I need to talk to you without being seen or overheard, all I have to do is press this button, and their system won’t see or hear anything.”

  “I want one of these,” Pablo said, fingering the device. “Can you get me one?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Stone said. “I’ve learned over the weekend that the Manhattan District Attorney is aware of our meetings with Lance and believes he may be able to develop cases from what you have to say.”

  “That’s very unlikely,” Pablo said. “I have been very careful not to conduct business in the United States that might result in the breaking of U.S. law.”

  “Fine, I just wanted you to know. Another thing: I think we may want to conclude these meetings earlier than Lance believes we will. I’m thinking, before noon on Thursday.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Pablo said.

  “Can you drop off the grid for a few days or weeks afterward?”

  “I can.”

  “Then, when I decide the time is right for that—and this is after you’ve given them their bonus—I’ll say something to the effect that I want a break, because I don’t want to tire you out.”

  “All right.”

  Stone explained to Pablo what to do in that eventuality.

  “Thank you, Stone; I’m grateful.”

  “After that, call me only on my cell phone from another cell phone, one with the GPS chip removed.”

  “I have such a phone,” Pablo said. He took a notepad from his pocket and scribbled something. “Here is the number.”

  Stone entered the number into his cell phone, under the first name he thought of, which was Willa Crane. “Okay, let’s get some breakfast.” They went into the kitchen, where Helena whipped up something for them.

  Shortly after nine the doorbell rang, and Joan, who had been warned about the recording system, let Lance and his group in and led them to the dining room, where breakfast had been laid out on the sideboard. Pablo remained in the kitchen.

  Lance, Holly, and Todd Bacon made up the CIA interrogation team, and there were two technicians with them to operate the video and audio equipment.

  Everyone sat down at the table and had some breakfast.

  “Where is our guest?” Lance asked.

  “He will join us when we’re ready to begin,” Stone said.

  When the dishes had been taken away, Joan brought in Pablo, seated him at the center of the table, next to Stone and directly across from Lance, who had Holly and Todd on either side.

  “Good morning, Pablo,” Lance said. “I believe you’ve met every-one.”

  “I have,” Pablo replied. “Good morning to you all.”

  “Are you ready to begin?” Lance asked.

  “I am.”

  Stone nodded to Joan, who took a seat and opened a steno pad.

  “I would just like to make a comment before we start,” Pablo said.

  “Please go ahead.”

  “As I have told Stone, during my career in the arms trade I have taken great care not to violate the laws of the United States, so it will be a waste of time for you to attempt to trap me into an admission of that sort.”

  “I see,” Lance replied.

  Stone spoke up. “Do you have the documents we requested?” he asked Lance.

  Lance opened his briefcase, which was on the table, and handed Stone two envelopes. “There you are. Please feel free to examine them.”

  Stone opened the two envelopes and found Lance’s letter to him, along with the attorney general’s, both retyped exactly as he had written them and both signed and notarized. Stone showed them to Pablo, then tucked them into his inside jacket pocket.

  “I’ll make copies for you later,” he said to Pablo. “Now, Lance, we may begin.”

  Lance stated the date and time and recited the names of those present, for the benefit of the recordings. “During these proceedings, Mr. Gelbhardt will be addressed as Pablo, which is his preference. First question, Pablo: Please tell us how you left the federal courthouse, where you went, and what you did there?”

  Pablo took a sip of his coffee. “After the attorneys had completed their closing statements and the jury had been removed from the courtroom, I went to the men’s room on the floor below, where a briefcase had been left for me with a change of clothing and a disguise, consisting of a wig and a false beard. I changed, applied the disguise, then took the elevator to the basement garage, walked outside, took a taxi to New Jersey, where, by previous arrangement, I boarded a cargo ship which
had completed its lading and which sailed as soon as I came aboard.

  “I was shown to a comfortable cabin and was given a Merchant Marine uniform and introduced to the crew as a company inspector, along for the ride. The vessel sailed to Oran, in Algeria, where I left it and, using three taxis, went to a private clinic on the south side of the city.

  “There I underwent some cosmetic surgery procedures—I had never liked my nose or my chin very much, you see—and I spent another ten days there, recuperating. I was issued a legal Algerian passport during that time and acquired other identification documents. After that I proceeded to Malta, then to Italy, and finally to Spain, where I purchased a small villa on four acres in Marbella.”

  “Did you do any business during your time in Algeria?” Lance asked.

  “No, I devoted myself to recovery from surgery and to arranging identity documents.”

  “And what did you do when you arrived in Spain?”

  “I had already learned of my acquittal in New York, which came later in the same day I departed, so through my tax attorney in New York, I contacted the Internal Revenue Service and negotiated a settlement for any past taxes due and a declaration that I was no longer in violation of United States tax law.” Pablo took a document from his pocket and handed it to Lance. “Here is a copy of that document, signed by the director of Internal Revenue at that time.”

  Lance read the document aloud for the benefit of the taping system. “And so you were made clean under U.S. law?”

  “Yes,” Pablo replied, “and I have remained so.” He smiled slightly. “Although I recognize that I may have a traffic violation to deal with in the State of New York with regard to my operation of an automobile there.”

  Stone allowed himself a chuckle, while everyone else looked uncomfortable. He began to relax; Pablo was doing just fine.

  FORTY-ONE

  Stone listened, entranced, as Pablo related more than thirty instances of arms sales abroad, giving dates, places, and names of buyers—all without using notes. The CIA team hardly spoke, just made furious notes.

  At five o’clock, Stone held up a hand. “It’s five o’clock, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “We will adjourn and reconvene at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  Lance glanced through his notes. “All right, we will do so, as previously agreed.” He and his party got up and left the house, followed by the recording technicians carrying luggage with the tapes inside.

  Stone showed Pablo to his library, fixed them both a drink, and sat down. “That went very, very well,” he said to Pablo. “You were right; you have a remarkable memory.”

  “It’s more a gift than an acquired skill,” Pablo said.

  “More of the same tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I think so,” Pablo replied. He stared into his drink, then tapped his ear.

  Stone produced Cantor’s device and pressed the button.

  “I have a concern,” Pablo said.

  “How can I help?” Stone asked.

  “I don’t know that you can. This morning I walked the distance from my apartment to this house. Halfway here I became aware of a four-man team following me.”

  Stone sat up straight. “Might they have been foreign?”

  “I don’t think so. They were conventionally Caucasian and dressed in business clothes. One was a woman.”

  “They had to be Lance’s,” Stone said. “Do you know if they saw you depart your building?”

  “I don’t believe so,” Pablo replied. “I was very careful when leaving my apartment, and I saw no sign of being followed.”

  “They have to belong to Lance; the four-man team is a technique they teach at the Farm, the Agency’s training facility. The NYPD also teaches it, but they would have no reason to be interested in or even aware of you.”

  “That’s what I think, as well.”

  “I don’t think you should return to your apartment right now,” Stone said, “but I think we can get you safely back later tonight. We’ll have dinner first.”

  “All right.”

  Stone pressed the button again.

  They took a taxi to Elaine’s, where Dino awaited them.

  “Dino,” Stone said, “this is Pablo.”

  Dino shook hands. “Pablo what?”

  “He doesn’t have a last name,” Stone said quickly. “You will have heard of his expertise in flying the Mercedes 550, though.”

  “Ah, my congratulations,” Dino said, laughing. “How did you manage to hit that pool?”

  “I did not hit it,” Pablo said. “In fact, I misjudged the distance to the shore when I departed the aircraft. I had thought the car would land in the sea, and that I would continue drifting toward the land. The wind was from the east.”

  “How did you know that?” Dino asked.

  “There was an indicator of wind direction and strength on the pilot’s primary flight display,” Pablo said. “I saw that on a remote unit in the trailer, on the moving map, as we were descending through ten thousand feet. However, I believe the wind strength decreased at lower altitudes. Still, I made it to dry land. Unfortunately, so did the car. I was greatly relieved to hear that it did not harm anyone.”

  They ordered drinks and dinner.

  “I have not been in this restaurant for many years,” Pablo said. “In fact, I had dinner here with my attorney the night before the last day of my trial.”

  Elaine wandered over and sat down, and Stone introduced her to Pablo.

  “I know you,” she said. “You used to come in here a couple of times a month, long time ago. Gelbhardt, right?”

  “Elaine,” Pablo said, “I have an excellent memory, but you astonish me.”

  “Larry Gelbhardt, the writer, was in here a lot at the time, so your name was easy to remember. Pablo, huh? I like that.”

  “It’s a nickname I picked up during many years of living in Spain.”

  “What brings you back to New York?” she asked.

  Stone interrupted. “I’ll tell you later.”

  “Whatever,” Elaine replied, then she got up and joined another table.

  They had a leisurely dinner, then Elaine bought them an after-dinner drink.

  “Dino,” Stone said, “we need your help.”

  “Okay,” Dino replied.

  “Pablo needs a ride home, but I don’t want him to be followed.”

  “I’ve got a good driver right now,” Dino said. “How you want to work this?”

  Stone told him, then they finished their drinks, and Stone signed for dinner.

  Dino led the way out of the restaurant and got into the rear seat of his car, then slid across to the other side, leaving the door open. Stone, in the meantime, hailed a cab, which drew up behind Dino’s car. Stone got into the cab, then Pablo jumped into Dino’s rear seat and slammed the door. The car moved out.

  “Stay close behind the car ahead,” Stone said.

  “That a cop car?”

  “It is.” He explained what he wanted the cabdriver to do.

  At the next corner, Eighty-seventh Street, Dino’s car turned right and accelerated. Stone’s cab pulled into the intersection and stopped, blocking traffic that wanted to turn right.

  There was a cacophony of car horns behind them, and a black SUV with darkened windows pulled alongside the cab, paused, then took off down Second Avenue, unfortunately getting caught at the next light.

  Stone gave the driver his address and told him to continue downtown at his own pace. When they reached his house, he added a twenty-dollar tip to the fare, then got out of the cab.

  As the taxi drove away the black SUV pulled up to where Stone stood, and the front-seat passenger window slid down. Todd Bacon sat in the car.

  “That was cute,” he said.

  “Following my client around wasn’t part of the deal,” Stone said. “Tell Lance that if he does that again, Pablo will develop severe memory loss.”

  Bacon stared at him for a moment, then his window slid shut and the SUV drove away.<
br />
  Stone let himself into the house feeling better.

  FORTY-TWO

  At nine the following morning the group sat down. Stone spoke first, to Lance. “I sent you a message last night. Was it delivered?”

  “It was,” Lance replied.

  “Do we have an understanding that all this nonsense will end as of this moment?”

  Lance didn’t speak right away.

  “Or we can shut this down right now,” Stone said.

  “Pablo won’t be followed,” Lance said.

  “I don’t know what else you’re cooking up, Lance, but I can tell you right now, I won’t tolerate it.”

  “All right,” Lance said through clenched teeth.

  “Pablo,” Stone said, “you may continue.”

  Pablo began recounting details of further arms sales. After a few minutes, Lance stopped him.

  “The name you just gave us is not in our databases,” Lance said.

  Stone assumed that whoever was watching at Langley was running names through their computers and communicating with Lance through an earpiece.

  “Often my buyers employ noms de guerre,” Pablo said. “I do not always know their names.”

  “Describe the man you just mentioned,” Lance said.

  Pablo immediately gave a detailed description.

  “Thank you,” Lance said. “Proceed.”

  Pablo took up where he had left off.

  At the end of the day Lance called Stone aside. “My technical people tell me that we are having gaps in the video and audio sent from your house,” he said.

  “Any of these gaps occur during Pablo’s testimony?” Stone asked.

  “Not so far.”

  “I am entitled to privacy in my own home and in my consultations with clients,” Stone said. “Neither Pablo nor I signed up to have our private conversations recorded by your people.”

  “All right,” Lance said, “but when this is over I am going to want to know how you did it. My people are driving me crazy.”

  “We’ll see,” Stone said.