Lucid Intervals (16 page)

“You have a very efficient secretary,” Felicity said. “What is her name again?”

“Oh, no you don’t. You’ll hire her for some secret mission.”

“I might just do that,” she replied, sipping her orange juice.

“I’m not telling you her name.”

“It’s Joan.”

“I’m not telling you her last name.”

“Oh, come on, Stone.”

“I’ll tell you if you’ll tell me why you and/or the Foreign Office want to find Stanley Whitestone.”

“That’s just eating you up inside, isn’t it?”

“It is. And I think I deserve to know.”

“Hah!”

“Tell me,” he said, kissing her on the ear.

“Let’s not bring sex into this,” she said.

“Why not? Sex goes with everything.” He kissed her on the neck and ran a hand under the covers.

She turned toward him. “Maybe,” she said, “when we’re finished.”

THREE-QUARTERS OF AN
hour later, Stone lay panting and sweating. “All right,” he said. “Tell me why you and/or the Foreign Office want to find Stanley Whitestone.”

“I didn’t say I’d tell you that.”

“Oh, yes, you did.”

“I said maybe.”

“The implication was that, if I performed well, you’d tell me.”

“You may have inferred that; I certainly didn’t imply it.”

“All right, my participation in this project ends now.”

“What are you going to do about your dinner party?”

“I’m going to use it to cement the relationship between Hackett and Eggers, so I’ll get a nice bonus. I’m not going to bother to get Hackett’s fingerprints.”

Felicity leaned over and kissed his penis, then slipped it between her lips.

“That’s not fair,” Stone breathed.

“I can stop at any time,” Felicity said, pausing.

“Don’t stop.”

“You’ll get Hackett’s prints?”

“Yes.”

Felicity continued.

32

S
tone had his bill typed up and handed it to Felicity on her way out. “You’ll expedite it?” he asked.

“I said I would.”

“Paid in days, not weeks?”

“Probably.”

“What?”

“I can do only so much. As it is, I’ll have to phone the foreign minister personally. I may not be available for dinner tonight.”

“You know where to find me.”

“Thank God I like the food at Elaine’s,” she said, and headed for the ambassador’s Rolls.

Stone walked back to his office to find Joan waiting for him.

“Here,” she said, placing a pile of papers on his desk, “these are the closing documents for Herbie’s new penthouse.”

“When is the closing?”

She looked at her watch. “In eight minutes.”

“Does Herbie know?”

“He’s waiting outside, clutching a cashier’s check for three million one hundred fifty thousand dollars. He wanted to bring cash, but I wouldn’t let him.”

“Why did he want to bring cash?”

“He had some idea that the IRS would find out about the apartment.”

“Why would they care?”

“I tried to explain that they wouldn’t be interested, but he wouldn’t believe me.”

“Send him in.”

Herbie appeared at the door in another new suit, and his hair had grown out enough to make him look like a normal person. “Hey, Stone,” he said.

“Come in, Herbie, and sit down.” Herbie sat down. “What’s all this about the IRS?”

“I just don’t want them to know that I own an expensive apartment.”

“Why not?”

“What if they try to take it away from me?”

“Why would they do that?”

“To make me pay my taxes.”

“Herbie, when the lottery people gave you the check, they paid both the state and federal taxes on that income in full.”

“They did?”

“That’s the way they work.”

“So I don’t owe the IRS anything?”

“I didn’t say that. How much did you make last year?”

Herbie shrugged. “A hundred and a half, maybe.”

Stone was surprised. “From what source?”

“Some from the ponies, some from poker.”

“But you had to pay your bookie and your loan shark a bunch of money, didn’t you?”

“That was how much I lost,” Herbie said. “A hundred and a half was how much I won.”

“Well, if you combine those numbers, you ended up with a loss.”

“I did?”

“Your accountant will explain it to you. He will also explain how, if you’re going to earn your living as a gambler, you’d better keep some records.”

“But if I do that, the IRS will tax me.”

“If you had kept records for the last year, you’d have a very large deduction to take, and you wouldn’t owe any taxes.”

“Oh.”

“Please, talk to your accountant.”

“I don’t have one.”

“You need one desperately,” Stone said, digging a card out of his desk. “Call this guy; he’s first-rate.”

“Can’t you be my accountant?”

“Certainly not. I’m your lawyer; I have little financial expertise. That guy can tell you how to hang on to your money and to live on the income from it.”

“Okay, I’ll call him. By the way, I want the apartment in Sheila’s and my names.”

“Too late,” Stone said. “All the documents are in your name; it would take a long time to change them, and you couldn’t move into the apartment today.”

“Oh, we moved in last week,” Herbie said.

“How did you do that?”

“I swiped a key from the real estate lady.”

“Herbie, we close today, with the apartment in your name.”

“But I told Sheila …”

“You tell Sheila to call me for an appointment. I’ll sort it out.”

Joan buzzed. “The seller and his attorney and the real estate agent are here.”

“Send them in,” Stone said, moving to the conference table. “Herbie, say nothing during these proceedings. All you do is sign your name where I point, and keep your mouth shut.”

Somewhat to Stone’s astonishment, Herbie did just that, and in a little over half an hour everything was signed and the transaction completed. The seller’s team left.

Stone handed Herbie two sets of keys. “Here are the keys you’re supposed to have. You can move in now.”

Herbie pocketed the keys and shook Stone’s hand. “Thanks, Stone, you’ve been great.”

“See that accountant, Herbie, or soon you won’t have any money left.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow,” Herbie promised and then ran out of the office.

Joan came in. “How’d it go?”

“Very smoothly,” Stone replied. “Good job on the document package.”

“It’s what I do,” she said.

“Among many other things. Felicity was very impressed with how quickly you put together the dinner party for tomorrow night.”

“It was easy, once each guest knew who the other guests would be.”

“Oh, you’d better hire a waiter and somebody to help Helene in the kitchen.”

“I have already done so.”

“I suppose you’ve planned the menu, too.”

“Hot hors d’oeuvres, then crab soup to start, followed by beef Wellington,
pommes soufflées
and haricots verts. Crème brûlée for dessert. You can pick the wines.”

“Thank you very much, and give yourself a ten percent raise.”

“Oh, good!” she squealed and gave him a big hug.

Stone reflected that if she quit, he’d have to shoot himself.

33

S
tone went into the dining room to check the table setting and to distribute the place cards. The hired waiter came into the room, and Stone took him to the chair where Hackett would be sitting. “Is Bob Cantor here yet?” Cantor was coming to handle the fingerprinting.

“Ten minutes ago,” the waiter replied.

Stone picked up the three wineglasses at Hackett’s place and polished them with his linen handkerchief. “Now these three glasses are free of fingerprints,” he said. “When you clear away each course, take the empty wineglass into the kitchen, holding it by the stem, not touching the bowl, and give it to Bob, understand?”

“Got it,” the waiter said.

BILL EGGERS AND
his wife arrived exactly on time for dinner, which meant ten minutes before anyone else. The waiter served them drinks.

“I wanted to tell you, before the others arrive, that Jim Hackett met with our intellectual property people this afternoon, and they pleased him. He’s on board with Strategic Services, and he’s said that if we do a good job, he’ll give us more business.”

“I’m delighted to hear it,” Stone said.

“You’ll find your rainmaking reflected in your bonus.”

“I’m delighted to hear that, too.”

“Jim has also said that he’d like you to take on some projects for him.”

“I’m glad to do that as long as you’re on board with it.”

“I am.”

“Did he say what sorts of things he’d like me to do?”

“No. In fact he specified that, while nothing he assigns you will be a conflict of interest with Woodman and Weld, the details of your assignments would remain strictly between you and him. I’ll rely on you to avoid conflicts.”

“I will do so.”

Felicity came downstairs and was reintroduced to the Eggerses, then the doorbell rang, and the former commissioner and his wife, Mitzi, walked in. It was the first time Stone had seen them since the wedding. Stone shook the commissioner’s hand, and Mitzi offered him a cheek while Felicity observed, then was introduced.

Jim Hackett was the last to arrive, with a beautiful woman called Vanessa, to whom, Stone surmised, Hackett was not married. They settled in for cocktails, while the waiter brought hot hors d’oeuvres.

“Stone,” Hackett said, “I expect Bill has told you I met with his people this afternoon.”

“Yes, he has.”

“I was pleased with what I heard, and I thank you for arranging it,” Hackett said. “Dame Felicity, it’s good to see you again after so much time has passed.”

“I’m pleased to see you, Mr. Hackett,” Felicity replied.

“It’s just plain Jim, please.”

“And it’s just plain Felicity.” Her gaze seemed to be boring into Hackett. “We met at a dinner party in London some years ago, as I recall.”

“That’s correct.”

“I thought at the time you seemed familiar. Had we ever met before that?”

“No, I don’t believe so, though I did meet your father once, at lunch at the Garrick Club. He was a very impressive gentleman.”

“The Garrick was his favorite,” Felicity said. “I understand you are a native of the Shetland Islands.”

“I am.”

“You grew up there?”

“Yes. My father was a crofter—he tended the sheep—and my mother was the weaver.”

“You’ve made quite a leap from those days, haven’t you?”

“From those days to these required a number of leaps,” Hackett said. “The army got me out, and then I got out of the army.”

“How did you come to be in the security business?”

“I was in the Paratroop Regiment, and on occasion we served as armed guards for various high-ranking officers and other dignitaries. A mate of mine left the regiment and joined a security firm, and then invited me to join when my enlistment was up. The two of us were adept at devising new security procedures, and eventually we went out on our own. My partner was killed in a car-bomb explosion, and I was left with the business.”

“What was his name?” she asked.

“Tim Timmons,” Hackett replied. “He had no family, so his half of the business came to me.”

Stone could practically see her memorizing this information.

STONE HAD PICKED
particularly good wines from his cellar, and they went down well at dinner. Even Felicity and Mitzi seemed to take to each other, and Hackett went out of his way to be charming to Felicity. Stone tried to just watch and listen. The waiter appeared to be doing his job with Hackett’s wineglasses.

WHEN THE GUESTS
had gone, Stone went into the kitchen and found Bob Cantor. “How did it go?” he asked.

“I’ve got clear prints of the thumb and four fingers of his right hand,” Bob said, handing Stone a sheet of paper. “I’ve scanned and printed them for you.”

“Great job,” Stone said. “Talk to you later.” Stone went back into the living room and handed Felicity the prints. “All five fingers, right hand,” he said.

“Perfect,” she replied. “I’ll get them checked in the morning.”

They went upstairs and undressed for bed. “Well,” he asked, “what did you think about Hackett?”

“I was mesmerized,” she said.

“Was there anything about him that reminded you of Stanley Whitestone?”

“Everything and nothing. First I would think that I had detected some word or movement that was Whitestone, then it would be gone, submerged in Hackett’s personality. He gave a bravura performance.”

“So you think it was a performance?”

“At least to the extent that everyone performs at a good dinner party, and, by the way, it was a good dinner party. You’re an excellent host.”

“I suppose your people will be checking out this Tim Timmons?”

“Oh, certainly,” she said, “and I expect we’ll find that the facts will jibe with Hackett’s account of them.”

“Then why bother?”

“Because everyone makes mistakes, even James Hackett, and when he does, I want to be on top of things.”

“I have to tell you that I’m convinced Hackett is who he says he is.”

“Why?”

“Because nobody could so completely morph his identity into that of another. I mean, you knew Whitestone, and Hackett had no hesitation in talking to you all evening.”

“You know the films of Laurence Olivier, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“That’s what Olivier did—submerge himself into character—and I think that’s what Hackett has done. I think Hackett is the Olivier of liars.”

“What is Whitestone’s background?”

“You’ve heard some of it: Eton and Cambridge, recruited there.”

“Who was his father?”

“The bastard son of a marquess who was sent into the church and served out his years as a small-parish vicar.”