Stuart Woods 6 Stone Barrington Novels (105 page)

AFTER BREAKFAST, SARAH LEFT THE house, and Stone called Lance Cabot.

“Hello?” He sounded sleepy.

“It's Stone; I'm ready to deal on this thing, if you're ready to talk.”

“How soon can you get the money together?”

“I faxed my broker yesterday; the funds can be transferred with a phone call. But not until you've told me everything.”

“Lunch?”

“Where?”

“At the Connaught again?”

“I've moved out of the Connaught.”

“Why?”

“I discovered yesterday that Hedger had put a tail on me. Last night, I moved to another hotel, a lot farther from the embassy.”

“Which hotel?”

“I'll keep that to myself.”

“What's the matter, do you think Hedger and I are in league?”

“I doubt that.”

“How can I reach you?”

“I've rented a cellphone.” Stone gave him the number.

“All right, there's a restaurant out west of London called the Waterside Inn, in a village called Bray; do you know it?”

“I'll find it.”

“I'll pick you up, if you like.”

“No, I have some other things to do; I'll meet you there.”

“One o'clock?”

“Fine.” Stone hung up and called Mason's number.

“Yes?”

“I'm on for lunch with Cabot at one o'clock.”

“I'll send one of our taxis.”

“No, it's at a place called the Waterside Inn, in Bray.”

“Oh, yes; I hope Cabot is paying; the Waterside is not in my budget.”

“It's his turn. I'm meeting him there; I'll need a car that passes for a rental, but nothing cheap, please, since Cabot is buying lunch.”

“The car will be outside the house at noon; do you know how to get to Bray?”

“Haven't a clue.”

“I'll send along a map.”

“Thank you.”

“I'm also going to wire you.”

“Oh, no you're not; with Cabot's background, he'll know what to look for.”

“Not the way we do it, he won't; we have something quite new. Someone will be there at half past eleven to equip you; if you don't like the equipment, you don't have to wear it, but I urge you to; if Cabot is going to explain himself, we'll want it recorded.”

“I don't want a tail of your people, either; he might spot it.”

“There'll be a van tracking the car and listening to the wire, but it will be at least a mile away, so don't worry.”

“I'll think about it.”

“Good-bye.” Mason hung up.

Dino, who had heard Stone's half of the conversation, spoke up. “I'll tail you.”

“No, no; Mason is going to have a van tracking me from a mile away. You take the morning off.”

“And do what?”

Stone tossed him the
Times
. “There's a very nice exhibition of Royal evening gowns at the Victoria and Albert Museum.”

“Yeah, sure; where can I do some shopping? If I come home without something for Mary Ann, she'll kill me in my sleep.”

“Try Harrod's; it's an easy walk from here.” Stone found a London map in the kitchen and showed Dino Harrod's. “There's a really good pub right here, for lunch,” he said, showing him the Grenadier, in Wilton Row. “King's Road is down here, if you want to do some further shopping; Hyde Park is up here, if you feel like a stroll. It's all very close together.”

“Okay,” Dino said. “It's Harrod's; anything else will have to wait until I see how my feet do. After walking a beat, I swore I'd never walk farther than to the can, if I could help it.”

“There are taxis everywhere.”

“Right. You got any English money? I didn't have time before I left New York.”

Stone gave him a wad of notes. “Spend it in good health; it's Hedger's.”

“That'll make it more fun,” Dino said.

 

At eleven-thirty sharp, the doorbell rang, and Stone opened the door to find Carpenter standing there, holding a briefcase. “Come in,” he said.

She smiled, the first time she had exhibited teeth, and they were very nice teeth, indeed. “Thank you.” She stepped in and took a seat in the drawing room. “Horrible decor,” she said, looking around.

“A dead man did it.”

“I'm not surprised. Please bring me the jacket you're wearing to lunch.”

Stone went away and came back with a blue blazer.

“Nothing with brass buttons,” she said. “You should wear a suit, anyway; the Waterside Inn is quite elegant.”

Stone went away and came back with a suit jacket. She examined the buttons and nodded, then opened her briefcase. She removed a small leather case, which held a selection of buttons. “Oh, good,” she said; “an excellent match.” She took some scissors and snipped off one of the four small buttons on Stone's left sleeve, then deftly sewed on one of her buttons. “There,” she said. “Good match?”

“Excellent. Do you mean that tiny button is a bug?”

“In conjunction with this,” she said, holding up a fat Mont Blanc pen, made of sterling silver. She clipped it into Stone's inside left-hand pocket. “The button transmits to the pen, and the pen transmits up to three miles, but we'll keep the van within two, just to be sure. They pick up the transmission and record it.” She took out the pen and unscrewed the cap. “It's a working pen, too.”

Stone examined the pen and tried to unscrew the other end.

“You can't do that without a special tool; don't worry, it has a fresh rollerball refill inside; you won't run out of ink.”

“Good,” Stone said, replacing the pen in the jacket pocket.

“The only limitation is that the button has to be within six feet of whoever you're talking to. I used a sleeve button because you can put your hands on the table and get it closer to Cabot. Don't have any conversations with him from across the room.”

“I'll remember that,” he said. “Tell me, how did a nice girl like you get into this business?”

“Isn't that what you're supposed to ask a whore?” she asked wryly.

“Spies, too.”

“I'm not a spy; I catch spies.”

“Come on, how?”

“I was recruited my last year at Oxford; my father had worked for the same firm, but he was killed in the line of duty when I was sixteen. I suppose I wanted to finish his job. How did you get from being a cop to being a lawyer?”

“I was recruited for the police department my last year in law school,” Stone said. “Fourteen years later, I was retired for medical reasons. I took the bar exam, and a friend found a place for me with his law firm.”

“You look pretty healthy to me,” she said, looking him up and down.

“It was a bullet in the knee. I got over it, except in cold weather.”

“Oh,” she said, retrieving a map from her briefcase. “Sit down, and I'll show you how to get to the Waterside Inn.”

Stone sat on the arm of her chair and caught a faint whiff of perfume. He wondered if intelligence agents often wore perfume to work.

“Here we are, in Chester Street; you go down to the corner, turn left at Hyde Park Corner, that's the big roundabout, here, and go straight out Knightsbridge, past Harrod's, straight on out, as if you were going to
Heathrow. You'll end up on the M4 motorway; get off at the Bray exit and follow the signs to the village. You'll see signs for the inn once you're in the village. It's at the end of a street that runs dead into the river, on your left.”

“What river?”

“The Thames; it's pretty much
the
river around here. Have you driven on the right side before?”

“No, but it doesn't look too hard.”

“It isn't, but watch out for the first right-hand turn you make. Americans invariably turn into the right lane, instead of the left. The streets are littered with smashed rental cars.” She stood up. “Well, I have to go. Your car should be here shortly; I'd allow three-quarters of an hour for the drive; it could take an hour if traffic is bad.”

He walked her to the door, and with a final, fleeting glance at him and a little smile, she left. He wished he had more time to get to know her.

AT TWELVE O'CLOCK, THE DOORBELL rang again. A man Stone had never seen before held out a set of car keys. “It's the Jaguar S-type, parked along there, British Racing Green,” he said. “Here's a car rental receipt from a firm in Knightsbridge; sign it here and here, and fill in your American driver's license number. Ring Mason when you're finished with the car and someone will collect it.”

“Thank you,” Stone said. The man left. Stone filled out the form, then turned to Dino. “You want a lift to Harrod's? I'm going right past it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Let's go, then.” Stone put on his jacket, checked to be sure the pen was still in place, and led the way out the door, locking it behind him. Sarah had given them each a key.

“Here we are,” Stone said, climbing into the Jaguar and adjusting the seat.

Dino got into the passenger seat, and Stone pulled out of the parking place, went to the corner, and turned left.

“Isn't there supposed to be a steering wheel over here?” Dino asked.

“Nope, it's over here.”

“It's very weird sitting here with no controls,” Dino said. “I keep wanting to put on the brakes.”

“Relax,” Stone said, negotiating Hyde Park Corner. “That's the Duke of Wellington's house over there,” he said, pointing, “and that's Hyde Park behind it.”

“Got it,” Dino said.

They drove a couple of blocks through heavy traffic, and Stone pulled over in front of the department store. “Here's Harrod's,” he said.

Dino looked out at the line of store windows. “Which one?”

“The whole block,” Stone replied. “It's the largest store in the world.”

“Jesus,” Dino said, “I'll need a map.”

“Just wander, and ask somebody if you get lost.”

“Okay, pal; when will I see you?”

“I'll come back to the house after lunch; if anybody calls and asks for me, except Sarah, you don't know me.”

“I might be better off,” Dino said.

“Maybe, but you wouldn't have nearly as much fun.”

Dino closed the door and walked into Harrod's.

Stone drove on out Knightsbridge, which became the Cromwell Road, and soon he was on a four-lane highway, and soon after that, on the M4 motorway. Traffic was heavy, but he made good time. He got off the motorway at the prescribed exit and took the opportunity to check the traffic behind him. No one exited after him that he could see, and he felt tail-free, except for Mason's van, which was nowhere to be seen.

He followed the signs to the village and the restaurant and parked the car. The Thames was before him, broad and slow-moving, with pretty houses on the
other side. He went into the restaurant; it was precisely one o'clock. Lance was not there yet, and the maître d' seated him outside on the terrace, under an elm tree. He ordered a kir royale and sipped it. Lance, he figured, was driving around the village to see if either he or Stone had a tail. Another fifteen minutes passed before he entered the restaurant.

Stone shook his hand. “A very elegant place,” he said.

“Wait until you taste the food.”

They had only desultory conversation until the food arrived, then Lance took a look around to be sure they were not being overheard. “I'm going to have to pat you down,” he said to Stone.

Stone laughed. “Don't worry, I haven't worn a wire in years, not since I was a cop.”

Lance got up, walked behind Stone and, on the pretense of pointing at something on the river, ran his hands expertly over Stone's body, down to the crotch.

“Don't have too much fun there,” Stone said.

“What's this?” Lance asked, patting Stone's jacket pocket.

Stone removed the pen and handed it to him.

Lance inspected it closely and unscrewed the cap.

Don't try to unscrew the other end, Stone thought.

Lance didn't; he returned the pen, and Stone put it back into his pocket.

“Now,” Lance said.

Stone leaned forward, as if to listen closely, putting his left hand on the table.

“I'm going to tell you everything I think you need to know.”

“If it's everything
I
think I need to know, we'll be fine.”

“There is a company west and south of here, in
Wiltshire, a very secret company that makes very, very high-tech parts for the British military. We're talking very specialized metallurgy, machine tools, incredibly tight tolerances, and computerized design. For the past year, a man who works there, making these parts, has managed to make a duplicate of one extremely important component.”

Stone interrupted. “Surely parts of that kind are stringently catalogued and accounted for.”

“This man has been working in this facility for nearly thirty years, and he has accumulated a reservoir of trust, which leads his employers and colleagues to give him wide latitude. He's brilliant, and he's crotchety, and nobody likes to piss him off, so they leave him pretty much to himself.”

“I see.”

“This gentleman is nearing retirement, and he feels that his pension plan and what he has managed to save are insufficient to keep him in the style to which he would like to become accustomed. You see, he has a little horse-betting habit, which, over the years, has taken its toll on his nest egg.”

“Do you mean to tell me that an important employee of a high-security facility could be betting the ponies and losing and not be noticed?”

“Apparently, he has been very discreet, and he has not been noticed,” Lance replied. “In any case, he has made it known to someone who knows someone I know that he has built this very special device, and that it is for sale. I have bid on it, and he has accepted my offer. All that remains to be done is to meet with him, retrieve the device, pay him half a million dollars in cash, and pass the device on to someone else.”

“It sounds too simple,” Stone said.

“Believe me when I tell you, there has been nothing
simple about it. I have known about this for seven months, and it has taken nearly every day of that time to set this up—retrieval of the device, payment, shipping, and finally, collecting payment.”

“And with all that time to prepare, why do you suddenly need my money?”

“Because the investor who was to have provided it last week met with a fatal accident, and his funds are no longer forthcoming. You happened to arrive at a moment when you could be useful.”

“Why me?”

“Because you're
here,
” Lance said emphatically. “The people to whom I'm to deliver the device are not the kind who take disappointment lightly; they get ugly quickly. I have given them a schedule, and they expect me to keep it.”

“Why don't they deal directly with your man? Why do they need you?”

“Because they don't know who he is or how he came by the device. Only I know that, just yours truly, and no one else. By the way,
you
are not going to know that, either. You will know only what I tell you, and if that's not enough for you, then—”

“Then you'll have to disappoint your buyers, won't you?” Stone asked coldly.

That stopped Lance in his tracks. “I have another source for the funds, but it is a less attractive one, which will cost me too much in interest. If you don't want into this, say so, and lunch is on me and we won't meet again.”

Stone stared at him for a long moment. “What is the device? What does it do?”

“Please believe me, Stone, you
do not want
that information. In the unlikely event that this should go awry, you will be grateful for not knowing.”

Stone thought he had shown a sufficient amount of reluctance to be convincing. “When does the transaction take place?”

“Within the next forty-eight hours,” Lance replied, “after your funds are safely in a Swiss account.”

“Whose account?”

“Yours; I've brought the paperwork with me; you can instruct the bank not to proceed at any time you choose. But if you're in, then the transfer has to be received in Zurich by the close of business tomorrow, which is noon in New York.”

Stone looked at his watch. “I can transfer the funds today. But first, when do I get paid, and how much?”

“We're paying half a million dollars for the device, and I have negotiated a final sales price of two million, two. Your cut of that is one million dollars. I get more, because I set it up.”

“How and when will I be paid?”

“The device will be transported to a secure location, a bank in southern Europe, where the exchange will take place. The buyers' funds will be transferred to your Zurich account and mine, in the appropriate amounts, before the device is handed over. It's as foolproof as a transaction of this sort can be. I've done a number of them, I know. I much prefer doing business in the conference room of a bank, instead of in a back alley.”

“What about the arrangement you mentioned that will keep this transaction away from prying eyes, such as the Internal Revenue Service?”

“I also have the documentation for an account in the Cayman Islands. You sign both sets of documents—Swiss and Cayman—and I'll fax them to the respective banks, along with a code word. You can then transfer from the Swiss Bank to the Cayman one with one phone call. Once it's in the Cayman bank, you can draw on the
account anywhere in the world—cash can be transferred to you, you can write checks, and you can have a credit card which is paid directly from the Cayman account. Thus, no transaction ever goes through an American bank, and you come to the attention of no one.”

“I like it,” Stone said. “Give me the documents.”

Lance produced a thick envelope from an inside pocket and showed Stone where to sign. “Write your code word—any combination of letters and numbers, up to twelve characters.”

“I don't like the idea of your having the account numbers and the password,” Stone said.

“It's the only way I can transfer your share of the funds to your account. Once I've done that, you can change the account number and the password.” Lance tore off a copy of each account application and handed them to Stone.

Stone put the papers into his pocket. “Where do I transfer my funds?”

“To your account in Zurich, which will be open in an hour; I'll let you know where and when to send them from there.”

Stone stuck out his hand. “I'll speak with my broker as soon as I get back to my hotel; I'll have to fax him, too. The funds will be in Zurich before the day is over.” He glanced at his watch; he had three hours to get it done.

He and Lance parted at the restaurant door.

“I'll call you on your cellphone tomorrow morning, with further instructions,” Lance said. “Make sure it's turned on; from here on in, everything has to be done in a precise manner.”

“Good,” Stone said. Driving back to London, he wondered if he would have gone for this deal if he'd been on his own. Certainly not, he decided. Too risky.