Dirty Work (18 page)

44

Sir Edward Fieldstone stood in the middle of Rockefeller Center and tried to watch the skaters. He did not like being in the midst of all these . . .
people
 . . . these foreigners, these colonials, these Americans with what he assumed were Brooklyn accents. His idea of New York accents had been formed by watching a great many World War II movies, American ones, mostly. His idea of a New Yorker was William Bendix.

He had stood there, increasingly annoyed, for twelve minutes before the cell phone in his hand vibrated. He opened it and put it to an ear. “Yes?”

“Good afternoon, Sir Edward,” Marie-Thérèse said.

“If you say so.”

“Now, now, mustn’t be unpleasant.”

His annoyance, and the thick body armor he wore under his jacket, caused him to begin to perspire. “May we get on with this, please?”

“Of course. You are to walk west on West Fiftieth Street, to your right. When you come to Sixth Avenue, cross and turn left.”

“What . . .” But the connection had been broken.

“I’m to walk west on Fiftieth Street, cross Sixth Avenue, and turn left,” he said, lowering his head and hoping the microphone pinned to the back of his lapel was working.

“The van won’t be able to follow you,” Carpenter replied, “because the traffic on Sixth Avenue moves uptown, and you’ll be walking downtown, and I don’t think we can take the risk of backup on the ground. But the chopper will keep you in view.”

Sir Edward looked up.

“Don’t look up,” Carpenter said, “and don’t lower your head when you speak. The microphone can pick up your voice. Speak as little as possible, and when you do, try not to move your lips.”

What was he, a ventriloquist? He hated that he had allowed Carpenter to talk him into this nonsense, but he had to agree that it was their only chance to get at La Biche. He began walking. At Sixth Avenue, he crossed and walked downtown at a leisurely pace. He didn’t like Sixth Avenue; it was full of taxicabs and grubby people and those awful street vendors with their kebobs and foreign food stinking up the atmosphere. His cell phone vibrated. “Yes?”

“At the next corner, cross the street, then continue downtown.”

He followed her instructions, resisting the urge to look behind him. There was no one there anyway, unless La Biche had accomplices.

Stone’s cell phone went off. “Hello?”

“It’s Cantor. The Brit is crossing Sixth and heading downtown. None of my guys have been able to spot a tail yet. He may be clean.”

“Good,” Stone said, then closed his phone.

Sir Edward had walked for nearly eight blocks with no further word. He did not enjoy walking, especially in New York; he preferred his car and driver. His cell phone vibrated. “Yes?”

“Cross Forty-second Street, then turn left into Bryant Park, behind the New York Public Library. Ten paces into the park, stop and wait for another call.” She cut the connection.

“She’s directed me into the park behind the library,” Sir Edward said to the air around him.

“I can’t believe we’re that lucky,” Carpenter replied, “unless it’s not the final meeting place.”

“She told me to stop when I get into the park. Do you think she’ll fire?”

“I don’t believe she will. Now listen, when she’s clear, your signal to fire is to take off your hat, smooth your hair, and put your hat back on.”

“I believe I remember that,” Sir Edward replied. “Just be sure your man doesn’t miss.”

“His weapon mount is gyro-stabilized,” she replied. “The copter’s movement won’t muss his aim.” She glanced at Mason, who was standing beside her wearing a harness that held him in the helicopter and a baseball cap backwards. She thought he looked ridiculous.

“I hope to God you’re right.” Sir Edward crossed Forty-second Street, walked another few yards, then turned into Bryant Park. He counted off ten paces and stopped. His cell phone vibrated. “Yes?”

“Very good, Sir Edward. Do you see the line of park benches to your right? The ones in the center of the park?”

“Yes.”

“Go and sit on the fourth bench, at the end closest to Sixth Avenue.”

Sir Edward looked at the benches: They were strung out in a line with a few feet between them. He counted, then went and sat on the bench as he had been instructed. He looked around.

“What’s happening?” Carpenter asked.

“She told me to sit on this bench.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“Then let’s wait for something to happen.”

“I don’t see any alternative,” Sir Edward said, “unless she’s drawing a bead on me now.” Someone sat down beside him on the bench.

“Who is that? The man in the hat?” Carpenter asked.

“Good afternoon, Sir Edward,” the man said.

“Barrington? What are you doing here? The meeting was to have been with Miss du Bois.”

“Stone Barrington is there?” Carpenter asked.

“Yes,” Sir Edward replied.

“Yes, what?” Stone asked.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sir Edward said.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Ah, myself. Where is Ms. du Bois?”

“She will arrive in due course,” Stone replied.

Sir Edward looked around him. The park was fairly crowded with all sorts of people. Which one could be the woman? The bag lady pushing a shopping cart? The woman in a business suit with a briefcase? The girl on Rollerblades?

“Where is she?”

“Relax, Sir Edward,” Stone replied.

On the sidewalk behind the benches, a man in a suit and hat pushed a wheelchair bearing an old woman, who was hunched over, a large handbag in her lap. Sir Edward kept looking, trying to identify La Biche.

The wheelchair came to a halt between Sir Edward’s bench and the next. The man bent over the woman, apparently his mother. “There, dear, is that comfortable for you?” he asked her.

“Very comfortable,” she replied in an old lady’s voice. She reached over and plucked the tiny receiver from Sir Edward’s ear. “Good afternoon, Sir Edward,” she said. Her voice was no longer old, and her accent was as British as Sir Edward’s. “I am Marie-Thérèse du Bois. May I introduce Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti of the New York Police Department.”

“How do you do, Sir Edward?” Dino said. He was still bending over the wheelchair. His head close to that of Marie-Thérèse.

45

Sir Edward looked around himself. “I’m surrounded,” he said, lowering his head to be closer to the microphone behind his lapel.

It took Marie-Thérèse only a moment to locate it and pull it free. “Sir Edward is quite safe,” she said into the microphone. “And I wish to point out that an attempt on me is very likely to hit either Lieutenant Bacchetti or Mr. Barrington. If that should happen,
The New York Times
will have the story before the ambulances arrive.” She picked up Sir Edward’s earpiece, which was resting on his shoulder, and put it into her own ear. “Did you read that loud and clear?” she asked.

Sir Edward removed his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, and put the hat back on.

Carpenter, in the helicopter, looked at Mason, who shook his head. “No shot,” he said. “And we don’t want to knock off one of the local constabulary, do we? Never mind your mate.”

“I read you loud and clear,” Carpenter said into her own microphone.

“Then kindly go and park that chopper over the East River,” Marie-Thérèse responded. “You’ll still be able to read our transmissions, but you don’t want to make me nervous by hovering, do you?”

Mason switched off his headset. “How soon can we have men in the park?”

“I estimate four minutes, if they run,” Carpenter replied.

“Looks like we’re stuck with the situation, doesn’t it?”

Carpenter switched on her headset again. “Pilot, head for the East River and hover there,” she said, so that La Biche could read her. She switched to her channel two. “Everybody converge on Bryant Park, behind the New York Public Library. Subject is seated next to Architect. Use extreme caution, and don’t fire unless certain of success without collateral damage.”

“Thank you so much,” Marie-Thérèse replied. She watched as the helicopter moved east, along Forty-second Street, then she leaned forward in her wheelchair so that she could see Stone. “Let’s get on with it,” she said. “We won’t have long before Sir Edward’s cavalry arrives.”

“Sir Edward,” Stone said, “did you bring the letter?”

Sir Edward reached into an inside pocket, produced an envelope, and handed it to Stone.

Stone read the letter and handed it to Marie-Thérèse. “It’s as advertised.”

She looked over the letter. “And the money?”

Sir Edward produced another envelope. “Here is a deposit receipt from Manhattan Trust. Call the number at the top of the page, use the code word ‘structure,’ and the bank will wire the funds to any account in the world. The transaction is irrevocable from my end.”

“I certainly hope so, for your sake, Sir Edward, because if there is any problem with the transfer, you will be in violation of our agreement.”

“I believe I’m due a signed document from you,” Sir Edward said.

Stone handed him a letter. He looked at it and put it into a pocket. “It is satisfactory,” he said.

“All right, let’s go,” Marie-Thérèse said. “Sir Edward, you will push my wheelchair.”

“What? I’m not going anywhere.”

“We’re all going into the library. It’s a lovely building, you’ll be impressed.”

“We’ll be done in a couple of minutes, Sir Edward,” Stone said. “Please don’t make a fuss.”

The four set off together, Sir Edward pushing the wheelchair, Stone and Dino walking on either side of Marie-Thérèse. They entered the library through a side door and took an elevator to the main floor.

“Stop here,” Marie-Thérèse said. “Sir Edward, you will accompany these gentlemen to the main entrance of the library, then you will be free to go.” Grabbing the wheels, she maneuvered the wheelchair through a rest room door bearing a handicapped-use sign.

“Let’s go,” Stone said, indicating the way for Sir Edward.

Marie-Thérèse locked the door, shed some clothes, and produced others and a wig from her large handbag. A quick check in the mirror, and she left the rest room, abandoning the wheelchair and her other clothes. She returned to Bryant Park and headed toward Sixth Avenue. As she reached the sidewalk, half a dozen men ran past her as she hailed a cab.

Stone paused at the top of the library’s front steps. “That concludes our transaction, Sir Edward.”

“I should bloody well hope so,” Sir Edward replied.

“You couldn’t just play it straight, could you? So much for the word of an English gentleman.”

“Oh, go roger yourself,” Sir Edward said, sweat rolling down his face.

“You should get out of that body armor before you have a heart attack,” Dino said. “Let’s go, Stone.” He led the way down the front steps, and they got into Dino’s car, which was waiting at the curb. “Where to?”

“Home, I guess.” The car moved off.

“And where is Marie-Thérèse now?” Dino asked.

“I don’t know,” Stone said, “and I don’t want to know.”

Marie-Thérèse opened her cell phone and dialed the number on the bank receipt Sir Edward had given her.

“Wire transfer department,” a woman’s voice said.

Marie-Thérèse read off the account number from the sheet in her hand.

“What is your code?”

“Structure.”

“Accepted. What are your instructions?”

“Wire the full amount to the following number at Saint George’s Bank, Cayman Islands.” She recited an account number.

The woman repeated the number for confirmation. “The funds will be in your account tomorrow morning,” she said.

“Why not today?” Marie-Thérèse asked.

“Transfers must be made before two p.m., or they go out the following business day.”

“Make an exception,” Marie-Thérèse said.

“I’m afraid it’s a nationwide banking rule,” the woman replied. “Good day.” She hung up.

Marie-Thérèse dialed Stone’s cell phone number.

“Yes?”

“The bank won’t wire the funds until tomorrow morning.”

“That’s normal. Transfers have to be made by two p.m.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll check with my bank in the morning, and if the funds are not there . . .”

“Please, don’t tell me,” Stone said.

“You’ll hear from me if the money isn’t there.”

“I’d rather not hear from you again, Marie-Thérèse.”

“What about your bill?”

“Consider my services pro bono,” Stone said. “Now please disappear, and have a happy life.”

“Check your coat pocket,” she said. “And thank you for your help, Stone.” She hung up.

Stone felt his pockets. There was something in one of them. He reached in and pulled out an envelope. Inside was a thick wad of one-hundred-dollar bills.

“Looks like about ten grand,” Dino said. “Don’t forget to report it on your tax return. And you’re buying dinner tonight.”

46

Stone and Dino had just sat down at Elaine’s, when Carpenter walked in.

Dino waved her to a seat. Stone ignored her greeting.

“Whatever Dino’s having,” she said to a waiter.

“A nice single malt, on Stone,” Dino said.

“Quite a day, eh?” Carpenter said. The waiter set down her drink, and she raised her glass. “To a job well done by the firm of Barrington and Bacchetti.”

Dino raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

Stone left his glass on the table.

“What’s the matter with you?” Dino asked.

“She was in the chopper,” Stone said to Dino. He turned to Carpenter. “Who was the shooter? Mason?”

“Mason was the best shot in the Royal Marines, a few years back,” she replied. “He keeps his hand in.”

“But you were calling the shot, weren’t you?”

“No, Sir Edward did that, when he took off his hat. I called it off.”

“But you wouldn’t have, if Dino hadn’t been there, would you?”

“If Dino and
you
hadn’t been there. That was very clever of you.”

“I knew it was the only way I could keep her alive.”

“It was.”

“Well, I’ve learned something from this experience,” Stone said.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Never trust an English gentleman, or an English gentlelady, for that matter.”

“It’s like they say in your Mafia,” she replied. “It wasn’t personal, it was business.”

“Forgive me if I take it personally.”

“That’s up to you.”

“Stone and I take a different view of this,” Dino said. “I understand your position. I may even have some sympathy for it.”

“Thank you,” Carpenter replied. “It’s nice to get a little understanding from
somebody.
”

Stone picked up a menu. “Anybody want some dinner?”

“I’m starved,” Carpenter said. “I’ll have whatever Dino’s having.”

“Smart girl,” Dino said. “We’ll try the osso buco,” he told the waiter.

“Same here,” Stone said, “and tell Barry to make it with polenta, instead of pasta. And bring us a bottle of the Amarone.”

“Why do you prefer the polenta to the pasta?” Carpenter asked.

“My necktie prefers it,” Stone replied.

“Tuck your napkin into your collar, the English way.”

“I intend to, even with the polenta.”

“So,” Dino said, “what are your plans now, Felicity?”

“Oh, I may stick around New York for a while. It’s time I got back to the work I came here to do, before La Biche so rudely interrupted it.”

“And what work was that?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you, Dino.”

“She’s afraid the NYPD might interfere,” Stone said. “During the past few days Carpenter and her people have broken more New York laws than a Mafia family.”

“Well, as long as they don’t do it in the Nineteenth Precinct, and frighten the patrol cars.”

Elaine came and sat down. “So?”

Stone shrugged.

“It’s a pity you weren’t here a minute ago,” Dino said to her. “You missed Stone’s display of moral outrage.”

“Yeah? We don’t get a lot of that around here, except when the Yankees or the Knicks lose.”

Their dinner came, and Elaine moved on to another table.

“This is delicious,” Carpenter said.

“The best in New York,” Dino replied. “Better than I’ve had in Italy, come to think of it.”

Stone ate half his dinner and stopped.

“What’s the matter with you?” Dino asked. “I never saw you leave osso buco on a plate.”

“I’m still thinking about this afternoon, I guess, and it’s not doing my appetite any good.” He waved at a waiter. “Wild Turkey on the rocks.”

“You haven’t finished your wine,” Carpenter said.

Stone poured his glass into hers. “You finish it for me. Wine isn’t strong enough tonight.” The bourbon came, and he took a large swig.

“Uh-oh,” Dino said. “I’m going to have to send him home in a patrol car tonight.”

“Does it happen often?” Carpenter asked.

“Couple of times a year, maybe. Usually, it’s a woman.”

“It’s a woman tonight,” Stone said.

“Anybody we know?” Dino asked.

Stone looked directly at Carpenter for the first time that evening. “She’s not a hundred miles from this table.”

“Oh, I like the thought of driving a man to drink,” Carpenter said.

Stone stared into his bourbon.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Carpenter said.

“No, I don’t.”

“It’s a war, and we’ve got to win it.”

“You won the First World War and lost a million men, a whole generation of leadership. You won the Second World War and had your cities and your industry reduced to smoking rubble and lost your empire. What do you hope to win this time?”

Carpenter shrugged. “Some sort of peace.”

“At what price?”

“Whatever it takes.”

“I admire your commitment, but not your tactics,” Stone said.

“In every country, even in this one, there are a few who are willing to do what’s necessary to achieve greater good. The public doesn’t care, they look the other way, while we clean up the mess left by foreign policy.”

“Oh, thank God for the few,” Stone said, raising his glass. He took a large swig. “The few make me sick.”

“You’re not going to throw up in my police car, are you?” Dino asked.

“I may throw up on this table if I hear any more of this.”

“Dino,” Carpenter said, “can’t you explain this to him?”

“He wouldn’t understand,” Dino said.

“Oh, I understand, all right,” Stone replied. “It’s just that what I understand makes me ill.”

Carpenter threw her napkin on the table and drained her wineglass. “Well, I don’t think I’ll go on making you sick.” She stood up.

“Do you have any idea what’s going to happen tomorrow?” Stone asked.

“What’s going to happen tomorrow?”

“Marie-Thérèse is going to find out that the money Sir Edward promised her isn’t in her bank—that’s my guess, anyway, having dealt with Sir Edward this once. And if he’s as duplicitous as I think he is, there’s going to be blood in the streets—your blood, and Sir Edward’s and Mason’s, and whoever in your service is foolish enough to stick his head out of doors.”

“You think we should all leave town, then? Run?”

“I think you should leave the planet, if you can, because you still don’t grasp how determined this woman is and what she’s capable of. You wronged her once, and you lost half a dozen people. If you’ve wronged her again . . . Well, there’ll be no end to it, until all of you are dead—her, too.”

“Felicity,” Dino said, “is the money going to be in her bank tomorrow morning?”

Carpenter looked at Dino. “Yes,” she said, turning toward Stone. “I made the banking arrangements myself. Now I’m getting out of here. I’m sick of Stone’s moral superiority.”

“It’s easy to feel morally superior to some people,” Stone replied.

She picked up her handbag and walked out.

Dino turned to Stone. “She says they paid the money. Maybe this is going to be all right.”

“She’s lying,” Stone replied. “That’s all they do, these people, is lie and kill. This is going to be a disaster, you wait and see.”

“Ever the optimist,” Dino said.