Smooth Operator (Teddy Fay) (2 page)

S
o, what’s going on?” Stone said as the Coast Guard cutter skimmed across the water.

“Where’s your cell phone?”

“In my pants.”

“Get it out of your pants.”

Stone dug in the bag of clothes he was carrying, pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket. “Now what?”

“You have to call Ann Keaton. She’s been trying to reach you all day. When you didn’t answer, she got frustrated and called me.”

“What does she want?”

“Damned if I know. She just wants you, and now isn’t soon enough. I tried to stall her and she read me the riot act, implied that if I didn’t locate you, the President would want to know why.”

“She’s trying to get me for the President?”

“She didn’t say that. She didn’t mention Kate except as a threat.”

“I guess I better call her.” Stone punched in the number on speed dial. “Ann, what the hell is going on?”

“Finally!” Ann said. “Can’t you leave your cell phone on?”

“It’s on and I’m calling. What is it?”

“Kate wants you at the state dinner.”

“What state dinner?”

“The one tonight, honoring the French president.”

“Tonight? Do you know what time it is?”

“Yes, I know what time it is,” Ann said impatiently. “I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.”

“The President wants me at a state dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re the chief of staff.”

“That’s right. I’m the chief of staff, and I don’t know. I know
everything
, and I don’t know this.”

“All right, what
do
you know?”

“Dino will drop you at the heliport. You’re taking a helicopter to Washington. A car will meet you there and take you to the White House.”

“I don’t get to land on the lawn?”

“That’s just in the movies.”

“No, they actually do it.”

“Well, you don’t. You land at the heliport. A limo will be waiting.”

“I can’t go to a state dinner. I’m wearing a bathing suit.”

“No problem. Your car will stop at Henry Cassini’s to pick up your new tux. They’ve had your measurements for two hours, they swear they’ll be ready.”

“You know my measurements?”

“I know which pant leg you put on first.”

“I thought that was a state secret.”

“It is. We’ll have to disappear the tailor after he makes the tux.”

“Seriously, what’s this all about?”

“I wish I knew. I don’t like things I don’t know.”

“Me neither. Will I see you this evening?”

“I’m afraid not. I have to go out to dinner with the congressman Kate bumped to make room for you at the table. Listen, I have to go. Will you apologize to Dino for me? I may have said some things that could be considered disrespectful to the office of the commissioner.”

“Don’t worry,” Stone assured her, “I’ll handle it.” He clicked off the phone.

“So,” Dino said, “what did she want?”

“She wants to know who you slept with to get the job.”

A
nn Keaton hung up the phone with a huge weight off her mind. Ann was an excellent White House chief of staff under normal circumstances, and she prided herself on handling crisis situations. Run in a last-minute guest for a fully booked state dinner? No problem. She had changed the guest list, arranged for a place at the table, even taken care of getting the new place card printed. And, when it turned out it would take some time to reach the surprise guest who didn’t even know he was coming, she had arranged to have a tuxedo made, just in case when she finally located him he would not have access to his.

And then Stone Barrington had thrown a monkey wrench into her carefully laid plans by being totally unreachable.

Well, she’d handled the situation, and it had only taken a limousine, a helicopter, a Coast Guard cutter, and an intervention
by the New York City commissioner of police. All in all, a pretty good day’s work.

Now, was there anything else?

Oh, yes.

Ann sighed and picked up the phone.

—

PAUL WAGNER KNEW
it was Ann. Her calls were important, and he’d assigned her her own special ring tone. He whipped his cell phone out of his pocket and slipped into his loving-boyfriend mode. Ann couldn’t see his face, but it was important to get just the right vocal intonation.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said.

“Paul. Listen—”

Paul laughed. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. I’ve had dinner reservations for two weeks. Do you know how hard it was to get them?”

“Something came up.”

“It always does.” Paul said it good-naturedly, but with just enough barb in it to keep her talking. “What’s up?”

“It’s silly, but I have to go out with a congressman.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s a spur-of-the-moment thing. He got bumped from his table to make room for a late addition of Kate’s.”

“You’ll pardon me, but just who is so all-fired important he’s interfering with our dinner?”

“Stone Barrington.”

Paul put just the right jealous-boyfriend inflection into his voice. “The man you used to be involved with?”

“He’s not coming to see me, he’s coming to see Kate. I have to take care of Congressman Jenkins, from East Podunk.”

“Sweetheart—”

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I’m just in a bind.”

Paul kept her on the phone as long as he dared, picking up as many details as possible, most of them silly and inconsequential, like tracking Stone down on the Hudson River and having to get a tux made at the last minute. Paul needed all the information he could get. It had seemed like a cushy job, cozying up to the attractive White House chief of staff, and he was happy to do it, but they weren’t going to keep paying him unless he had something to show for it.

Paul had no idea whether this particular tidbit was worth anything, but evaluating the intel wasn’t his job. His job was passing things along.

Paul punched the number into his cell phone.

A
bdul-Hakim sized up the young man seated across the kitchen table from him. Salih was young and inexperienced, but his inexperience was what made him valuable. He was not on any watch lists, nor was he likely to be. An American citizen, the son of upstanding convenience store owners, he had no blot on his record.

“Are you ready?” Abdul-Hakim said.

“Yes,” Salih said.

Abdul-Hakim was sure he was. It was Abdul-Hakim’s job to know, just as it was his job to know every aspect of the operation. A handsome, clean-cut, Middle Eastern man in an Armani suit, Abdul-Hakim could have passed for a corporate CEO. In fact, he could have passed for many things, and did.

“One more thing,” Abdul-Hakim said.

“What’s that?”

Abdul-Hakim placed a box of rifle shells on the table. “Use these.”

“Why?”

Abdul-Hakim’s smile was frosty. “Because I am asking you to. Use them, and leave the expended shell casing behind.”

He reached in his jacket pocket, took out an ID, and slid it across the table. “This is also for you. A driver’s license, in the name of Nehan Othman. This is what you will present at security, so they will not have a record of your name.”

“I understand.”

Abdul-Hakim slid a fat envelope across the table. “Ten thousand now, ten thousand more when it is done. I will not see you again until it is over.” He stood up.

Salih stood also. “I will walk you out.”

“No, you will not. You will wait here at least ten minutes before you even stick your head out the door.”

Salih sat back down.

—

ABDUL-HAKIM’S CELL PHONE
rang as he came out the front door of the apartment house. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. It was the money man, the man paying him to set up and run the whole complicated operation. What could he possibly want now?

Abdul-Hakim tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. “I just spoke to him. We’re all set.”

“Something came up.”

S
tone was ushered off the helicopter into a black limo driven by a liveried youth who looked barely tall enough to reach the gas pedal. He took off without a word and without even glancing at his passenger, drove skillfully into downtown D.C. and pulled up in front of the exclusive tailor shop of Henry Cassini. A sign on the door said C
LOSED
, but the lights were on inside. This was not unusual. Cassini lived above the shop and often worked late.

Before Stone could even ring the bell the door was yanked open by the tailor himself. An older man with sculptured white hair who was always impeccably dressed in finer suits of his own design, Cassini had a reputation for being genial and deferential to his customers. Tonight, however, he seemed slightly hassled.

“Come in, come in. I just finished.” He cast an appraising eye
over Stone and nodded. “They got the measurements right. Good. It’s in the changing room. Put it on and come out.”

The tux fit perfectly, as did the shoes supplied with it. Stone adjusted the bow tie and stepped out into the shop.

Cassini was pacing anxiously. “Let me see, let me see. Ah. Yes. Perfect. Turn around. Good. They got it right. You’re all set. Take your wallet and keys, anything else you need. Your clothes will be sent on to your hotel.”

Cassini ushered Stone back out the front door, where the driver was waiting by the car. Stone hopped in, and once more the driver took off without a word, and headed for the White House.

Stone settled back in the seat and watched as the lights flashed by in the gathering darkness. It was late for a White House dinner. He’d have missed the reception and would be lucky to get a cocktail before sitting down.

Stone felt himself tensing up. And it wasn’t just the thought of keeping the President waiting. Kate Lee was a friend, wouldn’t think him rude in any case, even if she hadn’t summoned him peremptorily at the last minute. No, something else was wrong.

The car took a right-hand turn, and Stone realized what it was. The car behind followed them into the turn. It had been following them for some time.

“Take a left at the light,” Stone said.

The driver was startled just to be spoken to. He half turned in his seat. “That isn’t the way.”

“Don’t turn around. Just keep driving. Do what I say. I know
you have your orders. I’m countermanding them. If you don’t want to listen to me, tomorrow you can spend your last day on the job hearing a lot of people tell you why you should have.”

“What’s going on?”

“We’re being followed. Don’t turn around! Don’t do anything out of the ordinary. Take a left at the light if you want to make sure. Watch the rearview mirror. When the lights come with us, you’ll know I’m right.”

The driver turned left at the light.

The car followed.

“Oh, my God!”

“Take it easy. Don’t speed up or slow down. Don’t react at all. Get back on course.”

The driver made two rights and a left, coming out on the street they’d been on before.

The other car came with them.

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know. Let’s assume they’re friendly until they prove differently.”

“Like how?”

“Like that,” Stone said, ducking low in his seat.

The block was dark. The window on the passenger’s side of the other car slid down, and a long barrel emerged. The barrel flashed. A burst of gunfire shattered the rear window of the limo.

“Stay low!” Stone warned. “Do you have a gun?”

The driver was horrified. “No.”

“Neither do I. All right, I have to get out.”

“Now?”

“Yes, or they’ll run us off the road and kill us both. Are there any curves in this road?”

“What?”

Another burst of gunfire made them duck.

Stone gritted his teeth.

“I need a curve in the road to hop out. Are we near anything like that?”

“We’re coming up on a traffic circle.”

“Perfect. Step on it.”

The young man hit the gas.

The circle had several streets running off of it. Nearly three-quarters of the way around was a dark alley.

“Keep right through the circle. Slow down as you hit the other side, then go like hell. Whatever happens, just keep going. As soon as I’m out of the car, drive straight back to the dispatcher and turn it in.”

“Out of the car?”

“Don’t think, just drive. Slow down now.”

The driver slowed the car.

Gunfire raked the side window. The car in pursuit was overtaking them. The alley was just ahead.

“Go!” Stone yelled.

The driver hit the gas.

Stone wrenched open the door and flung himself from the
car in a sideways roll, arms folded over his chest, chin tucked in. He landed on his side, rolled over several times. He came out of the roll slightly dizzy, stumbled to his feet, and staggered down the alley.

As he had hoped, it had all happened too quickly. The tail car had followed the limo past the mouth of the alley. It would have to back up, or go around the circle, or try to find him on a side street, any one of which would give him the time he needed.

Stone ran down the alley. His left leg hurt, but nothing seemed broken. He came out of the alley into the street and tried to flag down an oncoming cab. The driver went on by. So did the next cab. The third cab stopped.

Stone hopped in. “Take me to the White House.”

The driver turned around and stared. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. And hurry.”

The driver shrugged and took off.

Stone leaned forward, checked his appearance in the rearview mirror. His hair was mussed, his face was smeared with dirt, and the right-hand sleeve of the tux jacket had separated at the shoulder. Inches of white shirt could be seen between the jagged edges of the seam.

Stone leaned forward to the driver. “Scratch that. Take me to Henry Cassini’s.”

“They’re not open this late.”

“I know. Take me anyway.”

“You’re the boss.”

The driver pulled up in front of the tailor shop. Stone hopped out and leaned on the bell.

A few minutes later a very indignant Henry Cassini pushed aside the curtain in the door. The look on his face changed when he saw who was ringing.

The little tailor pulled the door open. “What is it?”

“There’s a problem with the tux.”