by Stuart Woods
* * *
• • •
Joan buzzed Stone. “Dino on one.”
“Good morning,” Stone said.
“Not really,” Dino replied.
“What’s the problem?”
“Ken Burrows has become a problem.”
“Ken has always been a problem.”
“He’s backsliding on indicting the Thomases for anything.”
“Maybe that’s not a terrible thing,” Stone said.
“How is it not a terrible thing?”
“Three ways,” Stone said. “First, the Thomases have sold up and will soon scatter to the four winds.” He paused.
“And what are the other two ways?”
“I forget,” Stone said. “But trust me, they’re no longer a problem.”
“So, you’re going to start leaving the house like a normal human being?”
“I’m not going to let the bastards turn me into a turtle.”
“Okay, how about dinner tonight?”
“Patroon, at seven-thirty?” Stone said.
“Done. Just me. Viv is somewhere in South America.”
58
Tigner got on the Internet, and before bedtime he had bought himself a light motorcycle and tucked it into the garage, next to the Mercedes station wagon. He would not register it, since he didn’t plan to own it for long.
The following morning, he read a long piece in the Times by Jamie Cox, the reporter who had written the original piece, and now the book about the Thomas family. She also outlined the political career of Hank Thomas, and she seemed to think he might become a candidate for president again, with Senator Joseph Box out of the way. His interest was piqued, since he was working for the Thomas family—if what Harod had told him about their employer was true, and he had no reason to think it wasn’t.
He had breakfast, then went out, found a bookstore, and bought a copy of Cox’s book about the Thomases. He went home and started reading, and didn’t stop until he had finished it, at bedtime.
After that, he went to his computer and googled Stone Barrington. He began to feel he knew the man he was reading about. The Thomases wanted him dead as revenge for taking the Tommassini files to the district attorney and the Times, all of which had caused them so much trouble.
Tigner didn’t sleep well that night. The following morning he went shopping and bought some new throwaway cell phones, then he made a phone call.
* * *
• • •
Jamie Cox rose at the Bel-Air Hotel, in Los Angeles, where she had spoken to a group the previous evening, the last stop on her book tour. She was packing her bags for the trip back to New York when her phone rang. She checked the number before answering; it was her secretary at the Times. She called back.
“Jamie Cox’s office,” she said.
“June, it’s Jamie. What’s up?”
“I went through your phone messages first thing this morning. It was the usual stuff—they loved your book, they hated your book, like that. Except for one, from somebody called Rasheed.” She spelled it.
“What did the message say?”
“I’ll play it back for you,” June said. “Hang on a sec.”
Jamie got out her recorder and pressed record when she heard the message. “Good day,” a young man’s voice said. “My name is . . . Well, you may call me Rasheed. I have read your book and many of your pieces in the newspaper. You seem to think your story is over now, but it is not. I have further information for you about the Thomases and their connection to a recent assassination attempt. Also, concerning your friend, Stone Barrington, who is in danger. If you wish to hear this information, go and buy a throwaway cell phone and call me on the following number.” He spoke the digits twice. “Leave a message containing your new number, and I will call you and give you the information.”
“That’s all,” June said. “Got it?”
“Yes, thank you, June.” Jamie played the message again, then used her throwaway to call Rasheed’s number. She heard only a beep. “This is Jamie Cox,” she said. “I am very much interested in your information. I am flying to New York this morning, and I will call you again after I’m in the city, late in the afternoon.” She hung up and called Stone Barrington.
“Hi, there,” Stone said. “Is your book tour over?”
“Yes, thank God. I’m leaving L.A. this morning, and I’ll be home late this afternoon.”
“I hope by ‘home’ you mean my house.”
“I accept the invitation.”
“Dinner tonight, then.”
“May we have it at home? I’ll probably be very tired.”
“Certainly.”
“By the way, I received an interesting phone message on my Times line. I’ll play it for you now. Can you record it?”
“Sure, give me a second. All right, I’m recording.”
Jamie played her message back.
“That certainly is interesting,” Stone said.
“It sounds like you’d better watch your ass,” she said.
“I’ve made a habit of that lately,” Stone replied. “Have you called him?”
“Yes, but only to leave a message that I’ll be back later today. We’ll call him together.”
“Good. See you when I see you.”
They both hung up.
Stone called Dino and played the message for him.
“That’s pretty vague,” Dino said.
“What did you think of the voice?”
“Young man, in his twenties, probably. A slight accent of some sort—educated, well-spoken.”
“I’ll buy all of that.”
“Has she returned the call?”
“She’ll do that when she’s back in New York.”
“I’d be interested to hear what he has to say.”
“I’ll record it for you,” Stone said. “Later.”
“Later. Watch your ass,” Dino said, then hung up.
59
Stone welcomed Jamie back to New York, then, while Fred took her luggage up to the master suite, he made her a drink in the study.
“Is everything all right with you?” he asked, handing her the drink.
“I’ll know more about that after I’ve talked to this Rasheed,” she replied. They clinked glasses and drank. “Are you ready for me to call him?”
“Let’s wait a few minutes. Dino is on his way, and I want him to hear what this guy has to say.”
“All right, I suppose it’s better to have another witness.”
“What do you think this guy has on the Thomases?” he asked.
“Maybe the shooting of Joe Box?” she suggested. “By the way, one of our reporters has learned that he’s walking and talking.”
“Anything of any importance?”
“Not yet. He doesn’t know who shot him or why anyone would try. He let slip that the Thomases have been paying a speechwriter for him, though.”
“Now, why would they do that?” Stone asked.
“Maybe to offer some competition to the rest of the field?”
“That makes sense.”
“Sort of, but only if Hank is planning to run himself. We’ve heard that the Republican National Committee has been putting out feelers for him to come home.”
“And save them from Joe Box?”
She laughed. “Maybe the Thomases did too good a job of remaking Joe, and now they’re having second thoughts.”
Stone laughed. “That’s an amusing idea,” he said. “I expect that Joe is pretty much unhandleable. He could say or do anything.”
“And has,” Jamie echoed.
Dino had let himself into the house and now joined them in the study; he poured his own scotch. “Okay,” he said. “What now?”
“Now Jamie calls her new friend, Ras
heed,” Stone said.
She got out some wiring and a microphone and plugged them into her throwaway. “Here we go,” she said.
They listened as the phone emitted a beep. “This is Jamie Cox,” she said. “It’s a little after seven, and I’m in a quiet place, ready to talk. Please call me on the following number.” She left the number, then hung up.
“Now what?” Dino asked.
“Now he’s supposed to call back,” Jamie said.
“See if you can get him to come here,” Dino said.
“Do you think he’s that dumb?” Stone asked.
“Maybe. It’s worth a try.”
“All right,” Jamie said, “if he gives me an opportunity, I’ll invite him.”
They chatted on for a few minutes, then the throwaway rang. Jamie held her hands up for silence, then picked up the phone. “This is Jamie.”
“And this is Rasheed,” he replied.
“Are you from the Middle East?” she asked.
“I am born in Paris, of an American father and an Algerian mother.”
“Where were you educated?” she asked.
“I was tutored. What you call homeschooled.”
“University?”
“Two years, in Paris.”
“How did you come to be in your current business?”
“I was recruited by a friend,” he said. “He’s now dead.”
“Have you lost a lot of friends in your business?”
“All of them,” he replied. “Which, in a way, is why I’m talking to you.”
“You must be very lonely.”
“I was, but not so much lately; I’ve met someone.”
“Girl? Guy?”
He paused before replying. “I am not a poofter,” he said firmly.
“Girl, then.”
“Yes, a very nice one.”
“Does that mean you are thinking of changing professions?”
“I am, as a matter of fact. I have one more job to do, then I’m a free man.”
“And what, or who, is the job?”
“I would rather not say. You will know soon enough.”
“Are you afraid I’ll turn you in?”
“You don’t have enough information to turn me in,” he replied smoothly. “And remember, you have no idea whether anything I’ve told you is true.”
“That is correct, but why would you establish contact with me, only to lie to me? I think you are telling the truth.”
“You are very perceptive.”
“You referred to a recent attempt on someone’s life: Could that have been Senator Joseph Box?”
“It could have been.”
“Why did you miss?”
“I didn’t miss. The glass deflected the round slightly, and he fell behind a desk where I couldn’t see him.”
“Did the Thomases hire you to assassinate Senator Box?”
“One of them did. I have dealt only with him.”
“Would that be Mr. Damien?”
“Again, you are very perceptive.”
“Did Damien ask you to kill Stone Barrington?”
“Perhaps. But he is safe.”
“Safe because you decided not to kill him?”
“Perhaps. I have talked too long now. Perhaps we will chat again sometime. Goodbye.”
“Wait . . .”
“Yes?”
“There are some friends I’d like you to meet. One of them is Stone Barrington.”
“Then the other must be his policeman friend, Mr. Bacchetti.”
“Now it’s you who are perceptive.”
“Perhaps some other day,” he said, then hung up.
“Okay,” Jamie said, “I gave it my best shot.”
“He’s very talkative,” Dino said, “but what did we learn?”
“Only what he wanted us to learn,” Stone said.
“Well,” Jamie said, “at least you’re off the griddle.”
“At least, that’s what he said,” Dino said. “True or not. Maybe he wants Stone to relax a little, so he’ll be an easier target.”
“You’re a real comfort, Dino,” Stone said.
“I’m just being realistic.”
“I believe him,” Jamie said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. He just feels credible. I think that, in his way, he’s an honest man.”
“But still an assassin,” Stone said.
“Ah, yes,” Jamie replied. “He said he has one more job to do.”
“I wonder who that could be?” Stone asked.
60
Tim Tigner took his new girlfriend, Karen Landis, to dinner at the new Four Seasons restaurant.
“This is very special,” Karen said. “What’s the occasion?”
“I don’t know yet,” Tim replied, sipping his champagne and tasting his foie gras. “Perhaps you will make it special.”
“It’s up to me, is it?” She laughed. “This is some seduction.”
“Is it not polite these days to leave the decision to the woman?”
“I suppose that’s one way to do it,” she said. “Perhaps it’s not a bad idea.”
“Well?”
“I’ll let you know,” she said.
They continued through their lavish dinner and expensive wine.
“Well,” she said finally, “I’m off tomorrow.”
“May I take that as an acceptance?” Tim asked.
“You may,” she said.
His phone vibrated on his belt. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” he asked, then headed for the men’s room. “Yes?”
“Good evening, I hope I’m not disturbing your dinner.”
“Yes, you are, so please be brief.”
“We’d like the contract completed tomorrow, as early as possible.”
“I will, if I can,” Tim said.
“There’s one other thing we’d like, though I know it may not be possible.”
“What is that?”
“We—my senior partner, in particular—would like to have a word with Mr. B. before you are finished.”
“That’s bizarre.”
“Only if it’s manageable and doesn’t jeopardize the enterprise.”
“If it is, I’ll call you,” Tim said, then hung up. He went back to his table, nursing a new idea.
“I’m ready,” Karen said.
“Then we’re both ready,” Tim replied. He paid the bill, and they left.
* * *
• • •
The following morning, Tim awoke very early. Karen was snoring lightly next to him in bed. He got up, dressed in light clothing, then put on a gray jumpsuit over them. He went to his secret cache of weapons and supplies and chose a few things, tucked them into the commodious pockets of the jumpsuit, and went to the garage. He got the motorcycle started, put on his helmet, and drove downtown.
He drove around slowly for a half hour, then found the perfect vehicle: an elderly but serviceable Honda van with a homemade, stick-on household repairs sign on the rear. He drove around the corner, parked the motorcycle, then returned to the van, and jump-started it. He drove around the corner, past the motorcycle, and into the parking garage of H. Thomas & Son, taking a ticket from the automated machine.
Once inside, he found a parking place, tucked away behind an elevator shaft, looked around to be sure he wouldn’t be observed, then went to work. He got out of the van, walked to the rear, and made sure the doors there were unlocked, then he opened them, got inside, and closed them behind him.
Once inside, he took an object the size of a piece of fruit—say a pear—taped it to the rear of the passenger seat, then secured a thin strand of wire from a ring on the object to the rear door of the van, the one that had to be opened first. He tight
ened it slightly, clipped the end, and put it in his pocket. Then he went forward and got out of the van.
He left the garage and walked around the corner to where the motorcycle was parked, started it, and sat on it as it idled. He took his throwaway cell phone from a pocket and speed-dialed Damien.
* * *
• • •
Damien sat in Henry’s office, with Hank next to him, sipping a cup of mid-morning coffee. He glance at the cell phone, recognized the number, and picked it up. “Just a moment,” he said to his companions, “this may be news.” He pressed a button. “Yes?”
“You know who this is?”
“Of course.”
“You made a request last evening?”
“I did.”
“That has been accomplished. Would you like to visit, briefly, with the gentleman?”
“Of course. Where are you?”
“Downstairs in your garage.”
“Just a moment.” Damien covered the phone. “My man has taken Mr. Barrington,” he said. “Would you like to see him for a moment?”
“I certainly would,” Henry said.
“Why not?” Hank asked. “Where is he?”
“Conveniently located,” Damien replied. “Downstairs, in our garage. We should go now.” Everybody got to their feet.
He spoke into the phone again. “We’re on our way down. Where, exactly, in the garage?”
“Take the elevator down, get off, turn right, and there’s a white van parked in the corner. Don’t speak to me. Open the rear door, and you’ll find the gentleman waiting for you. Remove the tape over his mouth, if you wish him to speak, then replace it when you are done, close the door, and return to your office.”
“Fine,” Damien said.
“We will not speak again for a while,” Tigner said, then hung up.
“Let’s go downstairs,” Damien said to his companions. They went to the elevator and rode down to the garage. Damien led the way. “It should be right around the corner,” he said.
The van was there, and the three gathered around the rear door. “Henry,” Damien said, “would you like the honors?”
Henry reached out, worked the handles, and opened both doors. There was nothing inside.
