Strategic Moves (23 page)

“From us,” Todd replied. “Back when Congressman Charlie Wilson was funding the Agency to arm the Taliban against the Russians, we flew in hundreds of mules, and they have long working lives.”

“Mr. Bacon is correct again,” Pablo said. “What’s more, the Taliban have a breeding program to supply new animals.”

“This is preposterous,” Lance said, but he didn’t sound very sure of himself.

“No, Lance,” Holly said, “not only is it not preposterous, it’s perfectly feasible, and it’s just the sort of thing the Taliban would do.”

“Let me tell you a little more of what Mohammed X told me,” Pablo said. “There are half a dozen entrances to these caves, some of which he has marked, and dozens of air shafts for ventilation and escape. Fires are permitted only at night, when the smoke would not be detected. The caves are very deep, some leading more than a hundred feet below the mountains. They even have electric generators for powering lights and equipment.”

“And on what fuel do they run?” Lance asked.

“Propane gas, transported in canisters by the mules. They have a large stockpile of them, bought in Pakistan.”

“I want this Mohammed X found and brought in,” Lance said.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Pablo replied. “I learned after arriving here that Mohammed X was run down by a hit-and-run driver in Marbella and killed instantly, shortly after our lunch that day. By that time I was on the way to meet your airplane and didn’t know about it.”

“Are you saying he was murdered?” Lance asked.

“I don’t know, but it hardly matters, does it? Murder or accident, he’s still dead.”

“I want that checked out with the Marbella station of the national police,” Lance said to no one in particular.

Pablo, who was standing, put a hand on his abdomen. “Will you excuse me for a moment, please?” he asked.

“There’s a powder room off the kitchen, downstairs,” Stone said, and Pablo left the room.

Lance had a hand on one ear, apparently listening to someone through an earpiece. He sat down, looking a little dazed.

“Something wrong, Lance?” Holly asked.

“On the contrary,” Lance replied. “Our Afghan/Pakistan desk at Langley is saying that everything Pablo has told us is entirely feasible. The director has already ordered a satellite moved to the area.”

“If Pablo is right,” Holly said, “the satellite is not going to see very much. Apparently, they’ve been working on those caves for some time without being noticed.”

“We’ll see,” Lance replied. “Where is Pablo?” he asked. “I have some more questions for him.”

“I’ll see,” Stone said, then left the room. He went down to the kitchen and closed the door to the garden, then came back. “I’m afraid Pablo has left us,” he said to Lance.

“Left us? What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s no longer in the house. He has apparently decided to be somewhere else.”

Lance pointed a finger across the table. “
You
did this, Stone. You set this up.”

“I set up everything,” Stone said, “but Pablo, naturally, has a mind of his own and your actions during the past few days have hardly filled him with confidence in you.”

Lance turned to a technician. “Shut down video and audio,” he said, then waited while the man flipped switches and disconnected cables.

“What are you so upset about, Lance?” Stone asked. “Pablo has given you an extraordinary amount of information this week about underground arms sales, and if he’s right about Tora Bora, he’s given you the greatest intelligence coup since missiles were found in Cuba.”

“That remains to be seen,” Lance said, gathering papers and packing his briefcase. He turned to Holly. “I want a chopper at the East Side Heliport in fifteen minutes,” he said. “Full fuel. I’m not driving back to Langley, and I’m not taking the train, either. Holly, you come with me. Todd, you get yourself back to Newburgh and tend to your new charter business. I want a report soonest on the repairs to the C-17.”

“Oh, Lance,” Stone said, “I almost forgot. You asked about the jamming of your audio and video signals?”

“Yes?”

Stone held up the device. “This did the trick, and a patent application was filed this morning. The inventor tells me he is able to furnish preproduction models that will also block cell phones at a cost of twenty-five thousand each, minimum order of twelve. He expects to be in production in about a year.”

“Tell him I want two dozen,” Lance said, then walked out the dining room door.

“Have a nice flight home!” Stone called after him.

Stone went downstairs to his office and flopped onto the sofa, drained. He was grateful that the marathon questioning of Pablo was over, and he doubted if he would hear from the man again. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

There was a rap on the door, followed by a familiar voice.

“Hey, Stone.”

Stone didn’t open his eyes. “Not now, Herbie,
please
.”

“I think you’re going to want to know this, Stone.”

“All right,” Stone said with a whimper, “tell me.”

“The DA is investigating me.”

Stone opened his eyes. “
What?
”

“No kidding. An investigator with the DA’s office has been questioning my doorman about my comings and goings.”

“Do you have any idea why they’re interested in your comings and goings, Herbie?”

“No, and I don’t understand it.”

“Herbie, without giving me any details, have you been involved in anything that might even remotely resemble an illegal activity?”

“No, Stone,” Herbie replied, sounding wounded. “I’m just living my life, that’s all.”

“Herbie, I’m going to tell you a secret that will transform your life, if you will only believe it.”

“What’s that, Stone?”

“If you’re an honest man, you don’t have to worry about being investigated. The DA can’t find anything incriminating about you if you haven’t done anything incriminating. Does that make any kind of sense to you?”

“Well, yeah, I guess.”

“Do you believe what I just said?”

“Well, it’s logical.”

“No, Herbie, you have to believe in your heart that you are innocent, and then you will feel better. Work on that.”

“Okay,” Herbie said. “See you later.”

“Please, God, no,” Stone whispered to himself, closing his eyes again.

There was another rap on his office door. “Stone?”

“What is it, Joan?”

“One of those technicians from upstairs wants to do something to our telephones.”

Stone thought about that for a moment. “Send him in, please.” He tucked a pillow under his head and waited.

A man wearing a tool belt came in. “Mr. Barrington, I need to take a look at your office phones.”

“Are you going to remove the bugs?”

“Well, sir, without acknowledging that there are any bugs on your phones, I would like to take a look at them. Only take a minute.”

“All right, go ahead,” Stone said.

The man went to Stone’s desk and used a screwdriver to take the plastic top off the phone. There was a snipping sound, then he put the phone back together and repeated the process with the phone on the coffee table.

“Don’t forget the secretary’s phone,” Stone said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you do all the ones upstairs?”

“Yes, sir, all the way to the top of the house. The kitchen, too.”

“Thank you.”

The man went away, and Stone closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. The phone rang, and Joan came on the intercom. “A Willa Crane for you.”

Stone picked up the phone. “Good afternoon, Willa.”

“You sound tired,” she said.

“I’ve just finished a four-day, ah, deposition,” Stone replied.

“Oh, the one with the CIA?”

“I will not confirm or deny that.”

“I will consider it confirmed, then.”

“I’m afraid your boss is not going to make any cases from what transpired—unless he has extended his jurisdiction to Europe and the Middle East.”

“He will be very disappointed to hear that,” she said.

“In that case, you shouldn’t tell him, but let Lance Cabot explain.”

“Good idea. You free for dinner?”

“Sure. I should have recovered my health by then.”

“Can we go to Elaine’s?”

“Oh, you liked it there, did you?”

“It wasn’t bad; I enjoyed the crowd.”

“Okay, eight-thirty at Elaine’s?”

“See you there,” she said, and hung up.

Stone closed his eyes and lay back. After what seemed only a moment later Joan spoke. “It’s six-thirty; I’m leaving.”

Stone opened his eyes. “Six-thirty? You’re kidding.”

“You’ve been out like a light.”

Stone struggled to a sitting position. “I certainly have.”

“A cold shower will bring you around.”

“Brrrr,” Stone said.

As Stone was leaving the house the phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Dino. I can’t make dinner; work.”

“I’m devastated,” Stone replied. “Have you gone off me?”

“Long, long ago,” Dino replied, then hung up.

 

 

Stone walked into Elaine’s to find his table uncharacteristically vacant. He sat down and accepted his usual Knob Creek, which the bartender had begun pouring as he was getting out of the cab.

Elaine came over and sat down. “So, where’s Dino?”

“He’s not going to make it tonight.”

“Is he in the hospital? We could send flowers.”

“He
says
he’s working.”

“That means he’s eating somewhere else. If it’s at Elio’s, I’ll kill him.” Elio’s, a rival restaurant down Second Avenue, had been started by an old headwaiter of hers many years before.

“How would you know?” Stone asked, forgetting for a moment that Elaine always knew everything.

“I have spies.”

“You are conducting a spying campaign against Elio’s?”

“I don’t have to; people tell me things. You tell Dino to watch himself.” She got up and moved to another table.

Willa had not yet arrived, so Stone got out his phone and called Dino.

“Bacchetti.”

“If you’re at Elio’s, you’re a dead man.”

“So that’s what she thinks?”

“She says she has spies.”

“I’m at work.”

“You’d better have witnesses.” Stone hung up, chuckling.

Willa breezed through the door wearing a long sheepskin coat. A waiter hung it up for her. “Whatever he’s having,” she said to him, then sat down.

“What good taste in whiskey you have,” Stone said, kissing her as her drink arrived.

“Same to ya,” she said, raising her glass and knocking half of it back.

“Tough day at the office, huh?”

“You could say that,” she said with a deep sigh. “How about you? You sounded wasted when I called.”

“Last day of my, ah, deposition. A lot of tension had built up, for various reasons. I was letting it all out when you and half a dozen other people interrupted my sweet reverie.”

“Sorry about that.”

“One of those who interrupted was a client of mine, name of Herbie Fisher. He says your office is investigating him.”

Willa appeared to choke on her bourbon. “Listen,” she said hoarsely, coughing and clearing her throat, “I am
not
investigating Herbert Fisher.”

“In that case, you should tell your investigators to be more subtle when questioning the doormen in his building.”

“Stone, I tell you again,
I
am not investigating Herbert Fisher.”

“Ah, then it’s some other enthusiastic but judgment-impaired law-school dropout in your office, is it?”

“I cannot comment on that. I can tell you only that
I
am not investigating Herbert Fisher, and neither, to the best of my knowledge, is anyone else in my office.”

Stone peered at her narrowly. “That sounded like an almost complete denial,” he said. “Let’s discuss that ‘to the best of my knowledge’ part.”

“It means what it says,” she replied, sinking the rest of her drink.

Stone waved for another for both of them. “Somebody in your office is investigating Herbie?”

“To the best of my knowledge, no.”

“Stop saying that! You’re a deputy DA. Don’t you know
everything
that goes on in your office, or are you pleading incompetence?”

“I am
highly
competent,” she replied through clenched teeth, “but I do not know
everything
that goes on in our office
all the time.
Is that clear enough for you?”

“As through a glass, darkly,” Stone replied. “Let’s take this down a level to the rumor category. What have you
heard
about one or more ADAs in your office investigating Herbie Fisher?”

She took a gulp of her second bourbon and faced him. “Let me ask you another question, and please give me a
precise
answer.”

“Shoot.”

“Are you now representing or have you ever represented
anyone
in the immediate or extended family of Herbert Fisher?”

Stone thought for a moment about what that question might mean. “You’re investigating his
wife
?”

“Answer my question, if you want to go on talking about this.”

“No, I am not now nor have I ever represented anyone in the immediate or extended family of Herbie Fisher.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes is the answer to your question.”

Stone struggled to remember what his question was and finally remembered. “Investigating his wife for what?” he asked.

“I warn you, this is the last question on this subject I will answer. Got that?”

“Got it.”

“Here’s my answer: I cannot tell you.”