Paris Match (6 page)

“Sometimes they need an opinion or information from
outside the Langley bubble. At least, that’s my view: I’ve never asked them why they wanted me under contract.”

“So you’re a contractor?”

“Not in the sense of someone who does black bag jobs and shoots people in the head. I’m an attorney under contract.”

“That’s your cover story, isn’t it?”

“There’s the phone,” he said, pointing. He gave her the Woodman & Weld phone number. “Call it and ask for me.”

“Well, of course they would back up your story. It wouldn’t be much of a cover if they didn’t.”

“What else can I do to convince you?” he asked.

She thought about that for a moment. “I don’t think you can,” she said at length.

Stone refilled their glasses. “Google me,” he said. “You won’t find a word about the CIA in the results.”

“Oh, please.”

Stone made a strangled noise.

“Tell me,” she said, “what does it take to get an American spy into bed?”

Stone took her face in his hands and kissed her. “A kind word,” he said, “that doesn’t refer to the CIA.”

“Please?”

“That will do nicely.” He took their glasses in one hand and her in the other and headed for the bedroom.

  
  
11

A
shaft of sunlight struck Stone’s face as he slept. He threw up an arm, as if to protect himself from the paparazzi, but a check revealed the light to be coming across the neighboring rooftops. The bed next to him was empty; Mirabelle had snuck out early.

Stone staggered toward the bathroom, blinking to recover his full vision. The sound of the shower struck his ears. He walked into the bathroom and saw the lovely form of Mirabelle through the mist on the shower glass.

“Good morning!” she shouted over the roar of the water. “Please join me!”

Stone did so, and the rush swept away his sleepiness. Mirabelle had him in her hand, squeezing gently. “Is it awake?” she asked, biting him on a nipple.

He started. “It is now!”

“Ah, yes, I can feel it returning to consciousness.” She bit him on the other nipple. “It’s awake!” She put both arms around his neck and hoisted herself to him.

Stone cupped his hands under her cheeks to support her weight, freeing her hand to guide him inside her. “There,” she said, nibbling on an earlobe. “There is where it belongs.”

Stone pressed her against the tiles, then pressed home their union. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Good, good,” she was saying rhythmically. “All the way in. Yes!”

They came together noisily, and Stone’s knees weakened. They sank to the shower floor, still entwined, and let the warm water run over them. A moment later they were toweling each other.

“I’m starving,” she said. “When is breakfast?”

“I’ll order.” Stone picked up the bathroom phone and ordered, then hung up. “Twenty-five minutes,” he said.

“Good,” she said, taking him by the penis and leading him into the bed. “Time for one more.”

They used the time well.

—

WHEN THEY
had breakfasted and Mirabelle had dressed, he walked her to the door. “Goodbye, my spy,” she said, kissing him. “You did not disappoint.”

“I’m so glad,” Stone said wryly.

“How about dinner in the country tonight? There are fewer bald Russians to frighten us there.”

“I’m game.”

“That you are. I’ll meet you here at seven, and we’ll take your tank to protect us from the automatic weapons fire.”

“You make it sound so cozy,” Stone said.

She kissed him and slipped out the door.

Stone was lying in bed with a second cup of coffee and the
Times
when the phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Ann.”

“Hello, there!”

“I returned your call last night but got only voice mail.”

“I got your message, and I was waiting for it to be late enough to call you. There’s a seven-hour time difference. Why are you up so early?”

“A dream woke me,” she said. “I dreamed you were making love to another woman.”

“My goodness.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“It’s all right if you make love to other women, Stone, just don’t tell me about it.”

“That’s very generous of you. How is the campaign going?”

“Splendidly. Kate has crafted a stump speech for herself, including some funny stuff, and always a sly reference to the pregnancy.”

“How’s that going down with the crowds?”

“Like champagne. Carson’s appearances, by comparison, are like a dose of castor oil.”

“Fortunately, I’ve never tasted castor oil, but I understand the comparison.”

“Fortunately, neither have I.”

“Was announcing the pregnancy the right thing to do?”

“Absolutely. The very fact of it has kept the Republicans off balance since day one. And they can’t say nasty things about a pregnant woman—their wives would kill them.”

“How is Kate doing in the polls?”

“An average of a seven-point lead. Of course, that can evaporate in a flash, if she should stumble.”

“Kate’s not the stumbling type,” Stone said. “How are you bearing up under the pressure?”

“I’m not sleeping much,” she replied.

“More bad dreams?”

“No, I’m just always thinking—new ideas are flashing through my mind, and I can’t seem to make them go away.”

“Count sheep.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I’m always happy to give advice.”

“I’m getting a lot of attention from the press,” she said. “They usually mention you.”

“In what capacity?”

“As my boyfriend, paramour, companion, or some other sly reference.”

“I certainly don’t mind the connection.”

“Neither do I. Oh, my God!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to get up and go to work.”

“Give my best to Kate.”

“I’ll do that. Have a good day.”

“I’ll try. Call you later?”

“Perhaps it’s best if I call you. I’m a lot busier than you are.”

“As you wish.”

She made a kissing noise and hung up.

Stone went back to his paper but didn’t concentrate very well. He found the crossword impossible.

  
  
12

T
here was a hammering on the door. “
Entrez!
” Stone shouted.

Dino opened the door from the adjoining room. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Nothing left to interrupt,” Stone replied. “She’s gone. What are you up to today?”

“The head of the German intelligence service speaks at ten. Should be interesting. By the way, guess who’s in from London?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

“You forget easily.”

“Oh, God, is it Felicity?” Felicity Devonshire, with whom
Stone had had a long-running affair, was the head of MI-6, the British foreign intelligence service.

“Bright as a new penny, as the Brits would say. She sends her regards.”

“Send mine back, and my apologies for not being in touch.”

“What shall I tell her?”

“Anything but the truth—I’m not up to two women. Tell her I’m overwhelmed with the opening of the hotel.”

“Gee, I hadn’t noticed that.”

“We have a board meeting this afternoon to hear about progress toward the opening.”

“They’re doing major stuff to the lobby and sandblasting the exterior.”

“Good, those are the last things on the list. The rooms are ready for opening.”

“You don’t really need to be here, do you?”

“That’s not what I told Bill Eggers. Actually, the board seems to value my advice. Perhaps it’s because I don’t give them much. Are you learning anything from your European colleagues?”

“Tidbits. We seem to be ahead of them in a lot of areas. I wish the Israelis were here, but they’re not Europeans to the EEC. The Brits have a camera system all around their country that would be the envy of Big Brother.”

“I’m sure you’re working on that.”

“We’ll get what we need when Tom Donnelly is mayor.” Donnelly was Dino’s old boss, who was running for office.

“Then you’ll have a free rein.”

“We’ll see. How’s your evening looking?”

“Mirabelle is taking me to some restaurant in the country.”

Dino looked at his watch. “Gotta run, there’s a car waiting for me.”

“What’s Viv doing with her time?”

“Sitting at Mike Freeman’s elbow at all the meetings, absorbing knowledge.” Dino grabbed his briefcase, gave a little wave, and departed.

Stone got up and dressed—he wasn’t sure what he was dressing for. The phone rang.

“Hello?”

“It’s Rick. The ambassador would like to meet you.”

“What on earth for?”

“I think she’s curious about you. She doesn’t really understand your relationship to the Agency.”

“Neither do I,” Stone said. “When?”

“How about right now? Your tank awaits.”

“I’ll go right down.” He hung up, got into his suit jacket, went downstairs, and got into the waiting van. Twenty minutes later he was being escorted into the ambassador’s office.

Her name was Linda Flournoy, he knew, and she was a billionaire’s widow who had given a lot of money to the Democratic Party. About all else he knew about her was that she was said to throw great dinners and was fluent in French. She was already on her feet when he walked in.

“Good morning,” she said, extending a hand. She was tall,
elegantly dressed and coifed, and looked ten years younger than her fifty-five years.

Stone shook the hand. “Madame Ambassador, how do you do?”

“Call me Linda,” she said, waving him to a sofa and taking a seat at the other end.

“Linda, it is.” He sat. “And I’m Stone.”

“I’ve heard good words about you from the president and the first lady.”

“They have always been kind to me.”

“I witnessed the effects of what I heard was your influence at the convention,” she said. “To hear some tell it, you were instrumental in Kate’s getting the nomination.”

“Reports of my influence are exaggerated. I was happy to help where I could. I would very much like to see Kate win the presidency.”

“So would I,” she said. “I’m having a good time in Paris, and I wouldn’t mind being reappointed.”

“You’ve been here, what, a year?”

“Fourteen months. Not long enough. Tell me, Stone, why is everybody trying to kill you?”

“I hope not everybody, but I seem to have run afoul of a bunch of mad Russians.”

“So I hear. What do they have to gain by your death?”

“They want the Arrington hotels, but they won’t get them, no matter what they do to me. There’s an element of revenge involved, too.”

“Revenge for what?”

“They think I was somehow involved in the death of a man named Yuri Majorov, who, apparently, was their leader.”

“Him I know about. I heard it was of natural causes, aboard his own airplane.”

“I heard that, too, but apparently Yuri’s brother, Yevgeny, is a suspicious man, and he needs someone to be suspicious of. I seem to fill the bill.”

“All right, I won’t dig any more deeply into this with you, but I’m not getting a lot of answers out of the Agency’s Rick LaRose, either.”

“Rick may be as confused as I am, but he is doing his best to keep my hair from being mussed.”

“I throw a lot of dinner parties around here,” she said. “They’re good business, and I can always use a spare man. May I invite you to something?”

“That would be an honor.”

“You may have to put up with some boring women.”

“Women are rarely boring,” Stone said. “On the whole, I prefer their company to that of men, who are often boring.”

“Tomorrow evening at eight, at my residence?”

“I’d be delighted.”

“I hear it won’t be necessary to send a car for you.”

“Rick has seen to that.”

“Lance Cabot spends money on the oddest things and seems to get away with it.”

“I’m not surprised.”

She stood. “Until tomorrow evening, then?”

“Until then. May I ask, what is the occasion?”

“I forget,” she said. “The dinners all run together. Someone will hand me a one-page memo and a guest list a quarter of an hour before my entrance, so I’ll know whom I’m talking to and why.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll look forward to it,” Stone said. He shook her hand again and made his exit.

  
  
13

M
irabelle arrived at l’Arrington on time. “May I have a martini before we go?” she asked. “It will make the ride go faster.”

“Of course.” Stone went to the ice maker where he had stored the bottle of pre-mixed martinis and poured one into a crystal glass. He handed it to her and poured himself a Knob Creek.

“You should pack a toothbrush,” she said, sipping her drink. “We won’t be back tonight.”

“What sort of restaurant is this?” he asked.

“You’ll see.”

He went and threw some things into a small duffel—a
favor of the hotel—and returned. She knocked off the last sip of her martini. “We’re off,” she said.

—

THEY GOT
into the waiting van, Mirabelle spoke to the driver in rapid French, and he tapped an address into the GPS navigator. “Saves me having to give him directions,” she said, leaning back into the comfortable seat.

“Tell me where we’re going,” he said.

“No.” She looked out the window. “I promise you a good dinner and, if you play your cards right, as you Americans say, perhaps me.”

“What more could I ask?” he said. He watched the city change into forest. “We’re in the Bois de Boulogne, aren’t we?”

“Shut up.”

They had been driving for only half an hour when the van turned into a narrow, winding lane with thickly planted trees on each side. They stopped in front of an old cottage with a thatched roof and window boxes filled with flowers.

Mirabelle spoke to the driver again and got an argument back. “We’ll be at the other end of the lane,” he said in English.