6 Stone Barrington Novels (103 page)

STONE SAID GOODBYE TO LANCE ON the steps of the Connaught, then set off down Mount Street toward Berkeley Square, walking slowly, so that Dino could follow, window-shopping along the way. It was time to see if anyone was following him.

He walked around the square, letting Dino follow from a distance, and, on a whim, walked into Jack Barclay's, the Rolls-Royce dealer. A young man approached him immediately.

“Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?”

“I'd like to look at a Bentley, please.” The showroom was a good place from which to spot a tail, with its large windows overlooking Berkeley Square. Stone couldn't see Dino.

“The Arnage—that's the saloon car—or the convertible?”

“The Arnage.”

“This way.” He led Stone across the large sales floor. “Would this be for UK use or export?”

“UK,” Stone lied, thinking that the young man would send him to an American dealer if he said otherwise.

“Here we are,” the salesman said, stopping before a gleaming black example of the car. “This one is in black with Autumn upholstery.”

“May I see the engine?”

The salesman opened the car's hood to reveal a large engine bay, stuffed with equipment.

“What is the displacement and horsepower?” Stone asked, still unable to spot Dino.

“Six point eight liters, turbocharged; four hundred horsepower and six hundred and fifteen pounds of torque, available at low revs.”

“Acceleration and top speed?”

“Zero to sixty miles per hour in five point nine seconds. Unfortunately, the top speed is electronically limited to a hundred and fifty-five miles per hour.”

“Very impressive,” Stone said, opening the driver's-side door and getting behind the right-side steering wheel. While the salesman droned on about the car's features, Stone was able to sweep the square from his seat, and he still could not spot Dino. Surely he hadn't walked too fast. He got out of the car.

“Would you like a brochure?” the salesman asked.

“Yes, thank you, and your card.”

The salesman dropped both into an envelope and handed it to Stone. “We hope to hear from you,” he said.

“Thank you.” Stone walked out into the square; still no sign of Dino on the busy streets. Had he followed at all? He walked back to the Connaught and went up to his suite. He was relaxing, reading the Bentley brochure, when Dino let himself in from next door. Half an hour had passed since Stone returned to the hotel.

“Where have you been?” Stone asked. “Did I move too fast for you?”

“Nope, and not for the four-man team following you, either.”

“There were
four men
following me?”

“Well, two of the men were women. They were very good, too, working both sides of the street, changing
places. I don't know if I would have made them, if they'd been following me, but since I was following you, it was easier to see what was going on.”

“Any idea of nationality?”

“They didn't appear ethnic, so I'd say English or American.”

“What about the shoes?”

“The men wore expensive shoes with thin soles, so they're not cops, if that's what you're asking.”

“No thick soles and white socks, then?”

“Nope.”

Stone put down his brochure. “My guess is, it's Hedger's people.”

“They must want Lance pretty bad.”

“Then why aren't they following Lance?”

“Maybe they are.”

“Maybe they are, at that; it's something to keep in mind. What did you think of Lance?”

“What struck me,” Dino said, “was how much alike the two of you are.”

“How do you mean?”

“Jesus, Stone, didn't you see the guy? He's waspy, blondish, beautifully dressed. He has that languid look that only very confident people have.”

“Or very good actors.”

“Well, you're not that confident, and you're not that good an actor; from my view of the conversation, you were the guy who wanted something, and he was the guy who was going to decide whether you get it.”

“Just the opposite,” Stone said. “He wants a quarter of a million dollars from me, and I'm demanding full disclosure; he's not ready to tell me yet.”

“Do you have a quarter of a million dollars?”

“Yes, but I'm not about to give it to Lance; he doesn't know that, of course.”

“You better be careful, Stone; you start promising people money, and they're liable to get very upset if you don't come through with it.”

“You have a point.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I'm going to make a couple of phone calls.”

“And the first one will be to Arrington, won't it?”

“Oh, shut up and get out of here; I'd like some privacy.”

“I'll go to my room and see if there's a cricket game on TV.”

“Cricket match.”

“Whatever.” Dino went to his own room.

Stone picked up the phone and dialed the number of the Carlyle hotel in New York, which was lodged in his memory, and asked for Mrs. Calder. The phone rang several times, and then the voice mail kicked in.

“Arrington, it's Stone. I want to apologize for the other evening; it was inexcusable leaving you like that, but I really didn't have a choice. I tried to catch up with you at Heathrow, but you got through security before I could. I'd like to explain, if you'll let me. I'd also like to see you again, but I won't be back in New York for at least a few more days. Please call me at the Connaught.” He left the number and hung up, then he got out his address book and called Samuel Bernard at his home in Washington Square.

“Good morning, Stone,” the old man said, “or good afternoon, if you're still in London.”

“I'm still in London, sir, and I wanted to ask for some more advice.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Bartholomew is Hedger, as you suspected, and he and I have parted company.”

“Why?”

“I've come to the attention of the local police on a related matter, and that put him off.”

“I can see how it might,” Bernard said.

“I had thought that Hedger was working outside his agency, for personal reasons, but today I was followed by a four-man team who seem to be either British or American, probably American.”

“It's unlikely that he would have so many people at his disposal, if he were working on his own,” Bernard said.

“That's what I figured. Now I have another problem: I've learned about something that I think should be brought to the attention of some authority, but I don't trust Hedger. Is it possible that you could connect me with someone at your former employer's that I could talk to without Hedger finding out?”

“I think that would be very dangerous, Stone; I don't know what's going on internally at the Company at this moment, so it's difficult to ascertain how much official support Hedger has. Even if I found someone for you to speak to, there's no guarantee that he wouldn't go straight to Hedger. And he wouldn't be in London, either. If anything happens in the London station, Hedger is going to know it, because if he's not actually station head, he'll be very close to whoever is. Why don't you want to go directly to Hedger?”

“I just don't trust him; he's lied to me a lot.”

“That's what agents do; it's not surprising.”

“I don't yet know enough about what's going on to know whether I might be hurting someone who's innocent of any wrongdoing.”

“Can you give me a general idea of what's happening?”

Stone recounted his conversation with Lance, without mentioning names.

“It sounds as if your acquaintance is going to sell something important to a foreign government or more informal organization, that our government, or at least Hedger, doesn't want them to have. Are you actually going to put up this money?”

“I don't know.”

“I warn you, if you do, you may involve yourself in this matter in an inextricable way.”

“I'd much rather contact some agency that could support me in this.”

Bernard was silent for a moment. “If you don't trust Hedger, then I think you should go to the British.”

“Can you give me a name?”

“I'll give someone yours,” Bernard said. “If you get a call from someone who says he's a friend of Sam's, see him.”

“Thank you, sir,” Stone said.

“Keep me posted,” Bernard replied. “I'm beginning to enjoy this.”

Stone hung up the phone, laughing.

STONE HAD EXPECTED TO GET A CALL from someone soon, but it didn't come. He didn't see any point in going out, just to be followed, so he stayed home, looking in on Dino to find him snoring away. Maybe he wasn't immune to jet lag, after all. Stone found a movie on TV and settled in.

 

Early in the evening, Dino came into the suite, rubbing his eyes. “I don't know what happened,” he said. “I was watching cricket, and then I practically passed out.”

“Jet lag.”

“If you say so. You hungry?”

“Almost. You want to order dinner now, or wait for a while.”

“You don't want to go out?”

“Not really.”

Stone heard an odd noise, and he turned to see an envelope being slid under the door.

“Looks like a message for you,” Dino said.

“That's not one of the Connaught's message envelopes,” Stone said, staring at it.

“Well, are you going to open it? The suspense is killing me.” Dino yawned.

Stone retrieved the envelope, which had nothing written on it. He opened it and took out a single sheet of paper. Written in block capitals was a message:
AFTER TEN MINUTES TAKE THE WEST LIFT UP ONE FLOOR
,
TURN LEFT OUT OF THE LIFT
,
AND WALK TO THE END OF THE CORRIDOR
.
THE DOOR WILL BE AJAR
. It was unsigned. He handed it to Dino, who read it and smiled.

“I love this kind of stuff,” he chuckled. “You have any idea who it's from? A woman, I'll bet.”

“I don't think so,” Stone said. “I called a friend and asked to be introduced to somebody on this side of the water. I think this is it.”

“Whatever you say; I still think it's a woman. It always is with you.”

After ten minutes, Stone did as he was told. He figured out which sides of the hotel the two elevators were on, then took the west one up a flight and walked down the corridor. A door at the end was ajar. He rapped lightly and walked in. “Hello?”

He was standing in a small vestibule with three doors. One of them opened and a woman smiled at him. “Mr. Barrington?” She was of medium height, wearing a gray business suit and lightweight horn-rimmed glasses, dark hair. Stone thought she'd be quite pretty without the glasses and with a little more makeup. “Yes,” he said.

She opened the door to reveal a large sitting room. “Please come in and have a seat; he'll be with you shortly. May I get you something to drink?”

“Some fizzy water would be nice,” he replied.

She went to a cabinet at one side of the large room, opened it to reveal a full bar, and poured two glasses of San Pellegrino mineral water.

She returned to where Stone was sitting, handed
him a glass, and sat down. “My name is Carpenter,” she said. Her accent was clipped, of indistinguishable class, at least to him.

“How do you do?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“For whom are we waiting?”

“For me, old chap,” a voice said from behind him. He turned to find a man in his mid-thirties entering the room, apparently from the bedroom. He was dressed in a severely cut pin-striped suit, and what Stone imagined was a club tie, though he didn't know which club. It was dark blue or black, with a single sky-blue stripe.

“Thank you for coming up,” he said briskly. “Sorry to be so cloak-and-dagger, but from what our mutual friend, Sam, told me, you've picked up a rather elaborate tail.” His accent was terribly upper-class.

“It seems so.”

“My name is Mason.” He didn't offer to shake hands. Instead, he went to the bar, poured himself a Scotch, no ice, then sat down opposite Stone. “Sounds as though you've gotten yourself mixed up in something.”

“How much did our friend tell you?”

“Why don't you tell me the whole thing from the very start?”

“Why don't you tell me what you already know? It would save me repeating myself.”

Mason smiled tightly. “You're a cautious chap, aren't you?”

Stone shrugged.

“Apparently, you think somebody wants to sell something he shouldn't be selling to someone who shouldn't be buying it. That sum it up?”

“Pretty much.”

“And you've fallen out with Stan Hedger, whom you don't trust anymore, right?”

“Pretty much.”

“But you came to London at his request.”

“Yes.”

“And you've attracted the attention of the police. How, may I ask?”

“You may have read in the papers about two gentlemen found dead in the trunk of a car in Hyde Park?”

“I heard of it less than an hour after they were discovered. Are you connected to that incident in some way?”

“One of them was wearing my raincoat.”

Mason burst out laughing. “Goodness, that would put the coppers onto you, wouldn't it. Who's the man in charge, if you know his name?”

“Detective Inspector Evelyn Throckmorton.”

“Oh, yes, he's all right.”

“I was already acquainted with him.”

“How?”

“I used to be a police detective in New York; a friend of mine on the force introduced me to him.”

“Nice to have an introduction in a strange city, isn't it? Well, I think you should forget about the detective inspector and put your trust in me, from here on in,” Mason said. “Sam thought so, too.”

“All right.”

Carpenter got up, went to a briefcase on a table, took out a small tape recorder, set it on the coffee table, and switched it on; then she sat back and prepared to listen.

Mason made a motion that Stone should continue.

Stone looked at the recorder, then at Carpenter, then Mason. He shook his head slowly.

Mason leaned forward and switched off the recorder. “My, my, you
are
cautious, aren't you?”

Stone nodded. “I wouldn't like to hear this conversation played back to me in a courtroom someday.”

“Entirely understandable,” Mason said. “You're a lawyer, Sam tells me.”

“Right.”

“Well, let me put your mind at rest, Mr. Barrington; Carpenter and I are not the police; the organization we work for conducts its business without reference to the police, unless we need them for some small chore or other. Tell me, just between us. Do you believe that you may have committed a crime while in Britain?”

“I didn't shoot those two men, if that's what you mean.”

“Anything else? Drug smuggling? Rape? Incest? Cross the street without looking both ways?”

“No, nothing.”

“You didn't boot poor James Cutler off that yacht, did you?”

“No.”

“That's what I heard; heard you did your damnedest to save the poor chap.”

“I got wet.”

Mason leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and his voice changed, lowered, became friendlier. “Relax, Stone,” he said. “We're here to help. Start at the beginning, now.”

Stone took a deep breath and, once more, started at the beginning.