Lucid Intervals (22 page)

“All right, all right, no evidence. Her prints, not his, were on the sliding door, and that did it for my investigators. Mr. Fisher is off the hook.”

“I’ll let him know,” Stone said. “Thanks for calling.”

“Would you like to have dinner sometime?” she asked.

Stone was stopped in his tracks for a moment. “I have a guest in town at the moment, but maybe in a week or two.”

They exchanged cell numbers.

44

T
he Plaza was boring. Felicity sent to her office for a computer system, and after it arrived at the hotel she was mostly fully occupied while Stone watched old movies on TV and talked to Joan on the phone.

“Herbie came by,” Joan said. “He was pitifully grateful to you for getting the murder charge dropped.”

Stone sighed. “Well, that’s what he pays me for. I thought he was a fool for giving me such a large retainer, but I’m beginning to suspect I’m going to earn every buck.”

“Nothing unfair about that,” Joan said.

“Seen anything of Dolce?” Stone asked.

“If I had, she’d be dead,” Joan replied. “I’ve been to the range a few times to practice my shooting.”

“Please do
not
shoot anybody,” Stone said, “not even Dolce.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a lot more trouble than not shooting anybody. Talk to you later.” Stone hung up.

Across the room Felicity was just finishing a call. “Well,” she said, hanging up, “we found Hackett’s old colonel just as you said, at his cottage in Sussex.”

“And … ?”

“He remembers hosting Hackett at lunch one day and drinking a lot of port, but he doesn’t remember giving him the dossier; maintains he was too drunk.”

“He admitted being drunk at lunch, but wouldn’t admit giving Hackett his dossier?”

“My man believed him about being too drunk,” she said. “Looks like we’re at a dead end.”

“Are you convinced now that Hackett is not Whitestone?”

“Not entirely,” she said.

“I think it would be best if we both proceeded on the premise that Hackett is Hackett and Whitestone is dead,” Stone said.

“That would be convenient for you, wouldn’t it?” she said archly.

“It would be realistic for both of us,” Stone replied. “May I now be released from the bondage of your investigation?”

“Not quite,” she said. “I still expect you to report any new information that arises from your working relationship with Hackett.”

“That would be a conflict of interest,” Stone pointed out.

“Not when you took the work at my suggestion, so I could find out more.”

“You are a spider,” Stone said, “who toys with her victims mercilessly.”

“That’s an inappropriate metaphor,” she said. “I am simply tenacious where my work is concerned. The safety of my country depends on it.”

The phone rang, and Stone picked it up.

“It’s Jim Hackett.”

“Hello, Jim.”

“You’re in the clear; Dolce appears to have left town.”

“How could you know that?” Stone asked.

“We’ve been watching her bank accounts but, regrettably, not her bank. She went into the head office yesterday and cashed a check for half a million dollars. The manager knew her personally and said she arrived and was taken away in a chauffeured black car. Said she was taking a vacation. When our computer caught the transaction I spoke to the manager.”

“Why do you think she left town?”

“Because she bought one-way airline tickets to Hong Kong, Rome, Johannesburg and Dubai, using her credit card, and all those flights arrived before we learned about it. I had each of them investigated, and a woman answering her description was on each flight.”

“So she still could be in New York?”

“I think we’ve made things too hot for her here,” Hackett replied. “It seems more likely that she was actually on one of those flights; we just don’t know which one.”

“So you think it’s safe to return to my house?”

“I do. I’ll send a car for you.”

“Don’t bother; I’ll take a cab,” Stone replied. He thanked Hackett, hung up and reported the conversation to Felicity.

“All right,” she said. “If you think it’s safe, we’ll go. I’ll pack and send someone over for the computer.”

AN HOUR LATER
Stone walked into his house. Everything seemed perfectly normal, and Joan was in her office. Felicity had taken another cab to her office.

“Did you have a nice vacation?” she asked.

“I suppose so,” Stone replied.

“Herbie came by again to thank you.”

“Don’t let him know I’m home, please. I don’t want to be thanked again.”

“Will you be home for a while now?”

“I believe so; it seems Dolce has left the country.” He told her about his conversation with Hackett.

“I don’t buy it,” Joan replied, “and I’m not letting down my guard.” She took the .45 from her drawer and placed it on her desk. The phone rang, and she picked it up. “It’s Felicity,” she said to Stone.

Stone went into his office and picked up the phone. “Well, hello, there. Long time no speak.”

“I’ve just had a call from London,” Felicity said. “My document-recovery people at Camberly have found James Hackett’s service record.”

“You mean he has two service records?”

“Since no soldier does, I very much doubt it.”

“What does it contain?”

“A solid mass of sodden pages, now one.”

“So it can’t be read?”

“No, it cannot, but there’s something else.”

“What’s that?”

“The photograph attached to the dossier is just barely legible, and it is not the one of the young James Hackett on the dossier he furnished.”

“So Hackett is Whitestone?”

“We don’t know that.”

“You’re confusing me.”

“That’s not surprising, since I am confused myself,” Felicity admitted.

“Do you want me to confront Hackett with this information?” Stone asked.

“I don’t know yet,” she replied. “I’ve got to think about that. I’ll be working late tonight on this, so don’t count on me for dinner. If I finish in time, I’ll drop by Elaine’s.”

“Okay, see you there,” Stone said. He hung up and tried to sort through everything he knew about Hackett, tried to make sense of it.

It didn’t work.

45

S
tone joined Dino at Elaine’s.

“What’s the matter?” Dino asked, sipping his Scotch.

“Why do you think something’s the matter?” Stone asked.

“It’s obvious,” Dino said. “You think I can’t read you by now?”

Stone told him about the latest development in the Hackett/ Whitestone saga.

“Now I know why you look the way you do,” Dino said. “I’m baffled, too.”

“So are Felicity and her people,” Stone replied. He looked up to see Herbie Fisher walk into the restaurant with a young woman, very pretty, very nicely dressed.

“You see what I see?” Stone asked.

“I do,” Dino replied. “I guess the tradition in the Fisher family is abbreviated mourning.”

“I guess,” Stone agreed.

Herbie stopped by their table. “Hey, Stone. Hey, Dino. I’d like you to meet Stephanie Gunn, with two
n
’s. Stephanie, this is Stone Barrington and Dino Bacchetti.”

“How do you do, Stephanie,” Stone said.

“I’m very well, thank you. And you?”

“Very well. So is he.” He nodded toward Dino.

“Can’t he speak for himself?” she asked.

“I’m very well, thank you,” Dino said.

“See?” Stone said. “Fully functioning person.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” Stephanie said. “I believe I’ve heard Herbert mention your name, but not Mr. Bacchetti’s.”

“Dino is hardly ever mentioned by people who know him,” Stone said.

Stephanie laughed.

“Well,” Herbie said, “if you’ll excuse us.” He led the girl toward their waiting table.

“What’s wrong with this picture?” Stone asked.

“Well, both Herbie and his girlfriend sounded uncharacteristically normal,” Dino replied.

“That’s it: I’m unaccustomed to that. Maybe Herbie has entered another lucid interval. If so, that’s twice it’s happened.”

“That’s a record for Herbie,” Dino said. “Do you suppose that having his girlfriend jump off his penthouse terrace to her death has somehow matured him?”

“There were signs of maturation before,” Stone replied. “Like when he asked Sheila to sign a prenup.”

“I agree, that’s unusually sensible of him,” Dino said. “Have you talked with Bob Cantor about this?”

“No, Herbie’s uncle Bob wouldn’t believe me if I told him.”

They ordered dinner and were halfway through when Felicity showed up, sat down and ordered a single-malt Scotch on the rocks.

“No Rob Roy?” Dino asked.

“Not tonight,” she replied, taking a swig of the pungent liquid. “I need to go directly to the source, without the sugar and fruit.”

“I know the feeling,” Dino said.

“You look perplexed,” Stone said.

“I think that sums up my mood very nicely,” Felicity replied, “at least, until I finish this drink and start another one.”

“What is driving you to drink?” Stone asked.

“I’ve been back and forth with my documents people for the past four hours. They’ve found the photograph of Hackett that was on the file I sent them but not on his own folder; it was affixed to the dossier of one Timothy Timmons, another soldier in the regiment.”

“That’s a familiar name,” Stone said.

“Oh? How?”

“Hackett told me that he had a friend called Tim Timmons, who left the regiment before he did and went to work for a security company. He later persuaded Hackett to leave and join him there. Eventually they both left and formed their own company. Timmons was later killed in some sort of bomb blast, and Hackett got his share of their company.”

“That’s very interesting,” Felicity said, “since it’s all we’re going to learn about Mr. Timmons.”

“Why is that?”

“His dossier was in the same state as Hackett’s: sodden. Only the photograph survived.” She emptied the glass of Scotch and signaled a waiter for another. “I’m increasingly baffled by all this.”

“Let me suggest the simplest explanation,” Stone said.

“Please do.”

“Some addled clerk in the regimental offices inadvertently stapled the same photograph to two dossiers.”

“That’s too simple,” she said. “He affixes the same photograph to the dossiers of two men who were friends, later business partners? I don’t like coincidences.”

“Like them or not,” Stone said, “they happen.”

“There’s more,” Felicity said. “In addition to faxing my people Hackett’s dossier, I snipped slivers from the folder and several pages and had them analyzed.”

“And?”

“And they were identical in makeup and age to the folders found in storage at Camberly.”

“So the dossier is authentic?”

“Either that or Hackett has gone to a great deal of trouble to make it seem so.”

“I gather you’re inclined to the latter explanation.”

“Well, yes, I am,” she said, sipping the new Scotch.

“Felicity,” Stone said, “I think there is only one way for you to proceed in this matter.”

“And what is that?” she asked.

“Since you are unwilling to accept any evidence that Hackett is Hackett and not Whitestone, you will just have to operate on the basis that they are one and the same. Otherwise, you’ll go crazy.”

“I may have already gone crazy,” she said. “I reported to my superiors this evening that Hackett is very likely Whitestone.”

“And you’re having second thoughts?”

“And third and fourth thoughts.”

“Have you had their reaction to this report?”

“No. They’ll read it first thing in the morning, when they arrive at their desks in London.”

“And what is their reaction likely to be?”

She pulled at the Scotch again. “I’m not sure,” she said. “And I’m very worried about that.”

“Are you afraid of what they will ask you to do about Hackett/ Whitestone?”

“Yes, very much.”

46

S
tone and Felicity lay, sweating and panting, in each other’s arms. They had awakened at daylight and had made love in various ways until they had both crashed and burned in an overwhelming mutual orgasm.

A noise pervaded the otherwise silent room. Stone frowned; he knew that noise. It was the clanging of an old British telephone, old enough that it didn’t have a volume control and, thus, loud enough to play havoc with an eardrum.

“That can’t be your cell phone, can it?” he asked.

She sat up in bed. “Oh, yes,” she replied. “They control that ring from the other end.” She scrambled out of bed and ran naked across the room to where she had left her purse. “It’s the sound of a red telephone ringing,” she said, digging through her bag. “Yes, Minister?” she said, finally.

Stone could hear the tinny blare of a man shouting from across the Atlantic.

“Yes, Minister,” Felicity said. “Yes, Minister.” There was a long pause and more blaring. Then Felicity said emphatically, “No, Minister. Most certainly not on the available evidence.” She held the phone away from her ear as the shouting resumed.

Stone could nearly understand the shouted words. He was almost certain he heard the word
termination
, but he could not be sure in what context.

“Then I suggest you do exactly that, Minister,” Felicity said. “I have one or two other suggestions for you that I may offer at a later date, but you may have my resignation within the hour if that is your wish.” She held the phone away again, in anticipation of more loud noises.

This time Stone thought he heard a more placating sound.

“Perhaps we should talk later in the day, Minister,” she said, “when we have both had time to consider our positions. Good-bye, Minister.” She snapped the phone shut and threw it at her pillow, which was next to Stone.

Stone picked up the phone and placed it on the bedside table next to him. “Come here,” he said, raising an arm. She got back into bed and snuggled close to him.

“I knew he would go off the deep end,” she said.

“Which minister was that?” Stone asked. “Foreign or home?”