6 Stone Barrington Novels (135 page)

Carpenter sat in the pool dining room of the Four Seasons with the director of the FBI and his deputy. Their main course arrived, and Sir Edward had not returned from the men's room.

“I'd better go and check on him,” she said to the director.

“Keep your seat,” he replied, and waved over his bodyguard. “Find the men's room and check on Sir Edward,” he said to the man. “He may be ill.”

“I'm sure it's nothing,” Carpenter said. “He probably ran into someone he knew. I think we should start without him.” She picked up her knife and fork and cut into the venison on the plate before her.

“How long have you been an intelligence officer, Felicity?” the director asked.

“Twelve years, sir,” she said. “I read law at Oxford, then joined the service.”

“Sir Edward tells me your father was also in your service.”

“That's correct,” she said, “and my grandfather, as well.” Something across the room caught her
attention. The director's bodyguard was crossing the big room, walking fast, nearly running. He arrived at their table.

“What's wrong?” the director asked. “Is it Sir Edward?”

“Yes, sir,” the agent replied. “Please follow me, and let's move quickly.”

Everyone left the table and followed the agent from the dining room, drawing stares from other patrons. They entered a kitchen area, then came to a large door with an
EXIT
sign above it.

“What's happened?” the director asked.

“Please wait here just a moment, sir,” the agent said. He walked out the door and returned a few seconds later. “Please hurry, your car is waiting.”

Carpenter followed the three men into one of the black SUVs, and it drove away quickly.

“Now tell me what's happened,” the director said.

Carpenter thought she knew what had happened. She got out her phone.

 

Stone and Dino were finishing dinner at Elaine's when Dino's cell phone went off.

“Bacchetti,” he said into the phone. He listened for a moment, then spoke. “I'm on it. You on your cell phone? Don't go back to where you came from, go somewhere else. I'll get back to you.” He hung up.

Stone looked at Dino. “What's wrong? You don't look good.”

“It looks like . . .” His phone rang again. “Bacchetti. . . . Yes, sir, I've just heard. I have men on their way. . . . Yes, sir, I understand how this
looks. I'll be there personally in ten minutes. . . . Yes, sir, I understand.” He hung up. “Come on,” he said to Stone, and they both ran for the door.

They were in the rear seat of Dino's car, headed downtown with the siren going before Dino spoke again. “Don't let anybody slow you down,” he said to the driver, then he got out his cell phone again.

“Wait a minute, Dino,” Stone said. “What's going on?”

“Looks like your client just popped Sir Edward Fieldstone in the men's room at the Four Seasons.” Dino dialed a number. “This is Bacchetti. I want four homicide detectives, a crime-scene team, and twelve uniforms at the Four Seasons, on East Fifty-second Street,
now.
Close the block, don't let anyone into the restaurant, but let the patrons out as they finish dinner. Screen off the men's room, and don't let anybody in there until I'm on the scene and say so. I arrive in six minutes.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Stone said, sinking back into the seat.

“So you had this all fixed, huh?” Dino said.

“At the
Four Seasons
?” Stone moaned. “Holy shit.”

“That about sums it up for me,” Dino said. “I just had the commissioner on the phone, and if he ever finds out that I was involved in that little business of yours in Bryant Park I'll be walking a beat in the far reaches of the Bronx for the rest of my career.”

“I don't believe this,” Stone said. “It was all fixed—everything.”

“I like your idea of all fixed,” Dino said. “Call your client.”

“What?”

“Call her. You've got her cell phone number.”

“What am I supposed to say to her?”

“Ask her what she's going to do next.”

“Why do you think she'll tell me?”

“Just ask her. Go ahead, call.” Dino handed Stone his cell phone.

Stone dialed the number, which he now knew by heart, while Dino stuck his ear next to Stone's.

“Yes?” she said.

“It's Stone. What have you done?”

“They didn't send the money.”

“Of course they sent it. I confirmed it. Didn't you call the bank?”

“Yes, but it wasn't the bank. It was obviously one of Sir Edward's people. They lied to me and to you, Stone. I had it confirmed twice that the money never arrived.”

“You've got to stop this, Marie-Thérèse,” he said.

“I've no intention of stopping,” she replied. “They broke their agreement, and now they're fair game.” She hung up.

Dino snatched his cell phone back and pressed redial long enough to get the number.

“What are you doing?” Stone asked. “That was a conversation with a client.”

“A client who has just announced her intention of committing a crime,” Dino replied. “Your obligation now is to report that to the police and render whatever assistance you can, which you have just done.” He called another number. “This is Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti at the Nineteenth Precinct,” he said. “I want a wall-to-wall surveillance on the following cell
phone number.” He read out the number. “Nail it down in a hurry and call me back with a location. Highest priority. Do not—repeat—
do not
attempt to detain the holder of the cell phone.” He hung up. “I'm going to nail the bitch,” he said.

“What else can I do to help?” Stone asked.

“Think. Think of another way to get to her. Do you know where she's sleeping?”

“No.”

“No idea at all? Hotel? Apartment? Safe house?”

“I have no idea. The only thing I have is the cell phone number, and you have that now.”

“I hope to God it's enough,” Dino said. “Did I mention that at the time she shot Sir Edward, he and Carpenter were having dinner with the director of the FBI?”

“Oh, shit.”

“That's right, pal.”

The car was waved through a roadblock at Fifty-second and Park, then screeched to a halt in front of the Four Seasons. Stone and Dino got out of the car.

“Stay with me,” Dino said, “and keep your mouth shut.”

“What could I possibly say?” Stone replied.

Dino and Stone walked into the downstairs lobby of the Four Seasons to find a phalanx of uniformed police officers standing in front of the men's-room door. A man in a pin-striped suit was yelling at them. “You don't understand! I've got to get into that men's room
right now!
”

Dino tapped the man on the shoulder, spinning him around. He flashed his badge. “Sir,” he said, “go upstairs and ask the headwaiter to direct you to the other men's room.”

“What other men's room? There isn't one.”

“Believe me, he'll find you one,” Dino said. He pointed at an officer. “You. Escort this gentleman upstairs.”

The cop took the man's elbow and steered him up the staircase.

“Out of my way,” Dino said to the uniforms, who parted like the Red Sea. He pointed a thumb at Stone. “He's with me.” Then he led the way into the men's room. A team of EMTs were bent over two bodies, one of them in a dark suit.

“Are they dead?” Dino asked.

“Yep,” an EMT replied, “both of them.”

“Then get the hell out of my crime scene.”

The EMTs gathered their gear and left.

Dino bent over Sir Edward. “One in the chest, one in the head. Very professional.” He looked at the men's-room attendant. “Poor schmuck,” he said. “Wrong place at the wrong time.”

A uniform stuck his head through the doorway. “Lieutenant, we got an FBI guy up at the bar. He's the only witness.”

“Let's go,” Dino said to Stone. He marched up the stairs and to the bar, where an EMT was doing something to the back of a young man's head. There was a glass of brown liquid before him, no ice. He took a big swig.

Dino removed the glass from his hand and set it on the bar. “This is how the FBI recovers from a tap on the head?” he asked. “I'm Bacchetti, NYPD. What happened, and get it right the first time.”

“I was sitting here, watching the people entering the hall to the dining room. My partner was in the dining room with the director, his deputy, and his guests.”

“Who were . . . ?”

“Deputy Director Robert Kinney, Sir Edward somebody or other, the dead man, and a woman who works—worked for him.”

“Go on.”

“Sir Edward came down the hall looking for the men's room. I went with him, and then the woman—”

“Wait a minute, what woman?”

“There was a woman sitting next to me at the bar.”

“She was sitting next to you, or you were sitting next to her?”

“Well . . .”

“I'm glad we got that cleared up.”

“Anyway, I went down with Sir Edward and checked out the men's room. There was nobody in there but the attendant. I was waiting outside the door for him to finish when the woman came downstairs.”

“Describe her.”

“White female, thirty to forty, five-six or -seven, a hundred and thirty pounds, long, dark hair, wearing a black cocktail dress and black gloves.” He looked longingly at the glass on the bar. “A real looker.”

“Very good description,” Dino said. “At least you learned
something
at the academy. What happened next?”

“She asked me if I was armed, and I showed her my gun. She pulled a black, small-caliber pistol with a silencer from her handbag, took my gun, and pushed me ahead of her into the vestibule inside the men's-room door. She must have clocked me with either her weapon or mine. I passed out. When I came to, she hit me again. I only woke up five minutes ago, and I got on my radio.”

“So where are all your people?”

“On the way.”

Dino looked at the back of the man's head. “Get him to a hospital,” he said to the EMT. “He's going to need lots of stitches.”

The EMT and his partner escorted the agent down the stairs; Dino and Stone followed. They had only just seen him into an ambulance when a procession of dark vans drove into the block, and men in body armor and helmets, carrying automatic weapons, began spilling out of them, “FBI” emblazoned on their backs.

Dino stood in front of the door and held up his badge. “NYPD,” he said. “Who's in command?”

A man in a suit got out of the front seat of a van and walked over, flashing his ID. “I'm Jim Torrelli, agent-in-charge of the New York office of the FBI,” he said. “You're in the way of my men.”

“No, I'm not,” Dino replied. “
They're
in the way of this city's traffic. Please get them out of here.”

“We have a crime scene to secure,” the man said.

“It's an NYPD crime scene, and it's already secured,” Dino replied, not budging.

“We have an injured FBI agent in there,” Torrelli said.

“No, you don't. He's already on the way to a hospital. There are no other FBI personnel inside, just two murder victims, and murder, if I may remind you, is not a federal crime. Now, if you want to hang around and see what happens, you may do so at my invitation, but don't get in my way, and get these storm troopers out of here,
now.
”

Torrelli thought about it for a moment. “Everybody back in the vehicles,” he said. “Return to base and wait for my call.” The men got back in the vans and drove away. “Now, Detective . . .”

“
Lieutenant
Bacchetti,” Dino said, “commander of the detective squad at the Nineteenth Precinct.”

“Can you tell me what happened here?”

“Yeah. The director of the FBI and his deputy took the head of British Intelligence and his colleague out to dinner, guarded by two FBI agents. The Brit went to the men's room, and a young woman hit one of the agents over the head and shot the Brit and the men's-room attendant. She left the premises. That's all I've got, at the moment, but when we're done here, there ought to be enough embarrassment for the FBI to last for years.”

Torrelli's jaw began to work, but he managed to get a few words out. “Has the young woman been apprehended?”

“No, and I don't expect she will be right away.”

“Has she been identified?”

“Yes.”

“Who is she?”

“I'm not at liberty to give you that information at the moment. Maybe later.”

“Lieutenant, if I have to go to the commissioner or the mayor himself, I'm going to know everything there is to know about this case.”

“I'll send you a copy of my report,” Dino said. “Now why don't you go up to the bar and have a drink. We don't need you right now.”

“Can I see the bodies?”

“They're dead. Two slugs in the Brit, one in the attendant. That's all you need to know.”

“I'd like to put the FBI crime lab at your disposal,” the agent said.

“From what I've heard about the FBI lab, I think I'd rather handle it in-house,” Dino said.

The man, who was much larger than Dino, looked as if he wanted to beat him into the ground. “I'll be in my car,” he said, and returned to his van.

Dino and Stone walked back into the restaurant.

“You're going to hear about that,” Stone said.

“Don't worry about it.” Dino got out his cell phone and pressed a speed-dial button. He held the phone to his ear. “Sir, it's Bacchetti. This is where we stand.” He gave a concise report to the commissioner. “And the FBI is already trying to horn in on our scene. I'd appreciate your help in keeping them off my back, so I can get this thing cleared and make an arrest.” He listened for a moment. “Thank you, sir.” He hung up and turned toward Stone. “I don't think we have to worry too much about the Feds.”

“What next?” Stone asked.

Dino's phone went off. “Bacchetti.” His eyes widened. “Location?” He snapped the phone shut. “We've got a fix on her cell phone.”