6 Stone Barrington Novels (181 page)

THEY PILED BACK
into the car and drove back to the Stanford apartment building. As they got out, Lance looked at Stone.

“Are you armed?”

“Ah, no.”

“Do you recall my advising you that you should be armed at all times, until we catch this man?”

“Ah, yes.”

“Then why aren't you armed?”

“I forgot.”

“Wait here.”

“I'll keep to the rear,” Stone said.

“You're vulnerable, and that makes us vulnerable. Stay here.” Lance turned and led his two men into the building.

Stone looked up at the top-floor windows. A moment later Billy Bob appeared on the roof, a cell phone clapped to an ear, a briefcase in the other hand. He looked down at the street for a second, saw Stone, then starting running along the rooftops toward Lexington Avenue.

Stone grabbed his cell phone and pressed the speed dial button for Lance's number. Busy. He began jogging toward Lexington, watching the rooflines of the buildings he passed. Once he caught a glimpse of
Billy Bob's head, then he didn't see him anymore. As he reached the corner, the light changed, and a flood of traffic started downtown, among the cars and trucks, a red Hummer.

“Shit,” Stone said aloud. He tried Lance's number again.

“Yes, Stone?”

“He got out over the roof and made it down to Lex, where the red Hummer was waiting.”

“Why didn't you stop him?”

“Stop him? He was five floors up. I don't know how the hell he got from the roof down to the street.”

“And you couldn't shoot him, because you weren't armed.”

“No, but I wouldn't have had a shot at him, even if I had been armed. I only got a glimpse of him. Anyway, I didn't know we were out to kill the guy.”

“We'll be right down,” Lance said.

Stone waited by the car, and a minute later, Lance and his two men came out of the building.

“Which way did he go?”

“Downtown on Lex, but that was three or four minutes ago; he could be anywhere by now.”

“Outstanding,” Lance said sourly.

“I don't need the attitude, Lance; there was nothing I could do, except watch him drive away. Tell me, how did he get away from you?”

“The living-room television was on when we burst in,” Lance said. “It was displaying the images from four video cameras that we never saw. He saw us enter the building and scampered, first cleaning out the safe.”

“Well, at least you have photographs of the passports in the safe and the serial numbers on the currency.”

“Yes, there is that. I'll flag the passports at all ports of entry and exit.”

“What would you like me to do now?”

“Do you actually own a firearm?”

“Several.”

“I want you to go home, select one, strap it to your body in some fashion and don't take it off until I tell you to, unless you're in the shower. Is that perfectly clear?”

“Stop giving me orders, Lance.”

“While you're at home, read your contract with us; it allows me to give you orders and obligates you to follow them.”

Stone thought about that.

“Trust me, it does. Until we find this man I want you to think of yourself as on active duty with us. Keep your cell phone handy at all times. If I need you, drop whatever you're doing and follow my instructions. Is that perfectly clear?”

“I'll read the contract,” Stone said.

“Sorry we can't drop you,” Lance said, getting into the car and driving away.

Stone got a cab home, went straight to his office and pressed the intercom button on his phone. “Joan, please get me that contract that I signed with Lance Cabot last year.”

“Right.” A moment later she came into his office and handed him the contract.

“Thanks.”

“You'll be glad to hear that Woodman and Weld sent over a check for fifty thousand dollars.”

“I am
very
glad to hear that.”

Joan went back to her office, and Stone began to read the contract with increasing alarm. How the hell had he ever signed such a document? Lance could do with him as he wished and probably shoot him, if he objected. He went upstairs, opened the big safe in his dressing room, and chose a Colt Defender that he'd had custom-converted
from a .45 to a 9mm. He shoved it into a holster and threaded that and a double magazine holder onto his belt.

“All right, Lance, goddammit,” he said aloud, “I'm armed.”

TIFF WAS LATE
for their dinner date at Elaine's, and Stone was on his second Knob Creek when she arrived.

“I want one of those,” she said, sitting down. “A double.”

Stone gave her order to a waiter. “Rough day?”

“You don't know the half of it. Because of your CIA buddy, I had to sit still for an hour on a conference call with the AG, while he chewed me out in front of a dozen people.”

“I take it Lance's claim to Billy Bob trumped yours?”

“The AG tried to take it to the president, but the White House chief of staff slapped him down. He is very, very pissed off.”

“The experience will be good for him,” Stone said.

Tiff sucked up a quarter of her drink, swallowed it and sighed. “Okay, how did you get involved with the Agency?”

“I can't tell you much,” Stone said. “I read my contract this afternoon, more carefully than the first time, and well . . .”

“You mean, if you tell me, you'll have to shoot me?”

“No, but if I tell you too much, they'll probably shoot
me.
I met Lance a couple of years ago in London, and I became embroiled in an Agency operation that I didn't even understand. I thought the whole thing was completely screwed up, until Lance explained that that was what I was supposed to think. He asked me to sign on as a consultant—Dino, too, and another friend of mine named Holly Barker. I was flattered, the money was good, and it sounded intriguing.”

“And none of that turned out to be the case?”

“All of it turned out to be the case, but I find myself in a position where I have to follow orders, something I have never enjoyed doing.”

“Welcome to the club. Why does the Agency want Rodney Peeples?”

“Look, we've got to agree on what to call him; it's too confusing. Can we just call him Billy Bob?”

“Oh, all right. Why do they want Billy Bob?”

“I can't tell you that, on penalty of God knows what. Why do
you
want him, Tiff? Surely that can't be a secret, since you're out of the picture anyway.”

“The guy has pulled off a series of scams. He used the car dealership in San Mateo to screw a dozen loan companies out of millions, financing nonexistent cars; he used the accounting firm in Oklahoma to set up phony tax shelters that nobody in his right mind, except a doctor or dentist, would invest in, soaking a group of them for more than thirty million dollars; and now there are half a dozen Dallas zillionaires—all of them heavy contributors to Republican causes—who got rooked out of millions and who are screaming bloody murder and wanting Peep . . . Billy Bob's balls nailed to the barn door, and people like that get listened to by this administration.”

“Okay, I get the picture.”

“And, as far as the AG is concerned, I dropped the ball. Shit, I went to that apartment to arrest him. I can't help it if the Agency one-upped us.”

“No you can't,” Stone said sympathetically.

“Try explaining that to the AG.”

“What you need is a good dinner and lots of sex.”

“You're right, and that's the only good idea I've heard all day.” She picked up a menu. “Let's get started.”

STONE GAZED UP
at Tiff, who sat astride him, lit by shafts of moonlight through the window. Tiff was moving rhythmically up and down, a small smile on her face.

“I've got an idea,” she said.

“Better than this one?” Stone asked, panting.

“Nothing to do with this.”

“Then let's concentrate on this and talk about it later.”

“What's the matter, can't you think about two things at once?”

“Not at the moment.” He gave her a bigger thrust.

“Oooo,” she said. “Being able to hold two opposing thoughts at once is a sign of high intelligence.”

“I'm thinking about this and doing it at the same time. That's as smart as I get.”

“Come now, Stone.”

“I'm trying.”

“Can you watch a TV movie and do a crossword at the same time?”

“If the movie's bad enough.”

“So, the sex would have to be bad for you to be able to discuss my idea at the same time?”

“Bad sex is an oxymoron.”

“Surely you've had bad sex at some time.”

“Not that I can recall.”

“You're getting smaller, I can feel it.”

“You're distracting me.”

She reached behind her and took his testicles in her hand. “Is this distracting?”

“Not in the least.” He thrust again.

“I see I've got your undivided attention.”

“You have.”

“So, can we discuss my idea now?”

Stone thrust again.

“Now you're trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?”

“Sort of.”

“Then concentrate on the task at hand.”

“You think of this as a
task
?” she said.

“I was speaking figuratively.”

“You like my figure, then?”

“Oh, yeah.”

She bent over him and swung her breasts across his lips. “Have some.”

He caught a nipple and gently bit it.

“What were we talking about?” she asked.

Stone thrust again. “Coming.”

She increased her tempo. “Now?”

“Yes, oh, yes!”

“Me, too!”

They both made noises for a little while, then she rolled over and lay beside him. “Now can we talk about my idea?”

“Talk?” Stone panted. “I can't even move my lips.”

“You don't need to; I've seen to that.”

He took a deep breath and expelled it. “Okay, what's your idea?”

“My idea is that you should tell me everything you know about the CIA's investigation of Peep . . . Billy Bob.”

“Have you had much experience with the CIA?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“Then you can't tell me what they'd do to me, if I told you about their investigation?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well, I think before we discuss your idea further, I should know what the consequences might be. I mean, there's a full range of possibilities, considering the way my contract reads. They could shoot me; they could torture me; they could put me in an airplane and kick me out over the ocean.”

“They wouldn't do that to you.”

“You've just admitted that you've had little experience with them. How do you know what they might do?”

She kissed him on a nipple. “Well, whatever they did to you, it would be worth it.”

“Worth it to you, you mean?”

“Well, yes.”

“So you'd sacrifice me to further your career?”

“Of course. I'm an ambitious woman.”

“God save me from ambitious women.”

“Come on, Stone, I want to know why they're interested in a con man and thief.”

“Maybe they want to hire him.”

“I wouldn't put it past them, but I think it's more than that.”

“What reason do you have for thinking it's more than that?”

“Now you're trying to pump me for information,” she said, slapping him on the belly.

“Isn't that what you're doing to me?”

“Well, yes, but I'm the girl; it's my job.”

“How'd you ever get out of Harvard Law with reasoning like that?”

“How about if I tempt you sexually?”

“I think you've just removed sexual temptation from the equation, considering my current state.”

“I'll bet I could get you going again.”

“You're trying to kill me, aren't you? Are you working for the CIA?”

The phone rang. Stone looked at his bedside clock: a little past two
A
.
M
. “That's gotta be Lance,” he muttered, picking up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi, there, Stone.”

“Billy Bob?”

“Sometimes.”

“Your accent is slipping.”

“Well, we don't need that anymore, do we?”

“Why do you always call in the middle of the night? You aren't in Hawaii this time.” He looked at the caller ID screen on his phone: a 917 number, a New York cell phone.

“Because in the middle of the night, I know where to find you. I hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

“My sleep.”

“Oh, come on, Stone; you're not sleeping, not with the lovely U.S. Attorney in your bed.”

Stone sat up and began looking for a pen. He found one and jotted down the calling number.

“What is he saying?” Tiff asked, trying to listen in on the call.

“Have you been following me, Billy Bob?”

“Well, someone has, obviously. How else would I know Ms. Baldwin is in bed with you?”

Stone found the thought disturbing. “Listen, can we drop this Billy Bob stuff? What's your name?”

“What? You expect me to tell you my real name, so you can use it to track me down? Tell you what: You tell me what you're doing messing with the CIA, and I'll tell you my real name.”

“I'm a consultant to them,” Stone replied. “Now, what's your real name?”

“Well, I don't guess it can hurt. The name I was born with is Harlan Wilson.”

“When did you stop using it?”

“Right after I got out of the army,” he replied.

“How long ago was that?”

“Oh, the CIA can tell you that.”

“They don't talk to me all that much.”

“Sure, they do. You talk all the time. Why, you were at my wife's apartment with them this afternoon, weren't you?”

“How many wives do you have, Harlan?”

“Don't call me that; I prefer Billy Bob.”

“The waiters at Elaine's call you Two-Dollar Bill.”

Billy Bob laughed. “I like that.”

“Where'd you get the two-dollar bills, Billy Bob?”

“I bought 'em at a nice discount from a fella I know.”

“The same fella that stole them from Fort Dix and murdered two army officers?”

Silence. “I'm getting bored with this conversation,” Billy Bob said.

“Oh, you didn't know about the robbery? Surely, you didn't think you could buy money at a discount, unless it was hot.”

Silence. Then he hung up.

Stone replaced the receiver.

“I want to know everything he said,” Tiff said, digging him in the ribs.

“He said you were in bed with me,” Stone said.