Strategic Moves (7 page)

“I guess we’ll know when the accountants are done,” Stone said.

 

 

When they were back in the car Adele said, “Now I’d like to see your mother’s pictures.”

Stone mixed them a drink in the living room, then took Adele upstairs in the elevator and switched on the lights that washed the wall where the four pictures hung.

Adele went and stood before them, gazing intently at one after the other. She turned and put her hand on her breast. “They take my breath away,” she said.

“They still do that to me, too,” Stone replied.

“If you should ever—”

Stone held up a hand. “Never. They’ll go to the Metropolitan Museum—eventually—to hang with her other work there. The museum shop is already selling reproductions that are somewhat smaller than the originals.”

Adele sipped her drink and looked around the room. “You’ve done this quite well,” she said. “Who was your designer?”

“I was,” Stone replied.

“I’m not at all uncomfortable in your bedroom,” she said, “but I’d like to take one more look at your pictures and then be taken home.”

“As you wish,” Stone said. He waited until she was finished, then took her empty glass and led her to the elevator.

“Did you ever marry?” she asked on the way down.

“Never,” Stone lied. There had been a marriage, with the daughter of a friend, but it was terminated after only a few weeks. He had never felt married.

“Do you have something against the institution?” she asked.

“No, I always assumed I would be married someday; it just hasn’t happened.”

They left the elevator and walked to the car.

“Have you ever come close to marrying?” she asked as he opened the door for her.

“Yes, but I’ve managed to stay out of serious trouble.”

She laughed. “A bachelor would look at it that way.”

“It was just a joke,” he said.

“I wonder,” she replied.

“I’ll have the driver take you home, if that’s all right.”

“Of course,” she said. She reached up and put her hand on his cheek, then kissed him in a meaningful way. “I hope you’ll ask me out again.”

“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked.

“I’m perfectly available.”

“I’ll pick you up at nine on Saturday morning, then.”

“Where are we going?”

“A surprise,” he said. “Bring country clothes and some good boots for walking and a warm coat.”

“I’ll be ready,” she said.

He kissed her again, then put her in the car and sent it on its way. Now he had something to look forward to.

Stone was having breakfast in bed the following morning while doing the
Times
crossword puzzle with the TV on. He was distracted from the puzzle by the mention of Jack Gunn’s name and turned his attention to the TV.

“A moment ago,” the reporter was saying, “the forensic accountants who have spent the past days combing through the business records of Gunn Investments made the following statement.”

A man in a pin-striped suit appeared on camera: “After a thorough inspection of the books and computer systems of Gunn Investments, we have concluded that no money is missing, and no wrongdoing has been committed by anyone in the firm. We did find and have corrected an anomaly in the firm’s computer software that incorrectly transferred some of the firm’s general fund to three of its foreign accounts. Those funds have been returned to the New York account, and the books now balance. We have recommended to the Securities and Exchange Commission that the firm’s customer accounts be unfrozen, and we have recommended to the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York that no charges be filed against any member of the firm.”

The camera returned to the reporter. “There you have it. Gunn Investments has been given a clean bill of health, and Jack Gunn is scheduled to make a public statement in about an hour. We’ll have that for you. In the meantime, David Gunn, Jack Gunn’s son, has returned to Miami after a week-long sail in the Caribbean.” The camera showed a handsome young man in sailing clothes being mobbed by reporters at a marina.

“I knew nothing about all this until we sailed into the harbor this morning,” he said. “I’ve been at sea and out of touch for a week, and I’m returning to New York today to be of any help I can in sorting this out.”

Stone turned the volume down and went back to his puzzle, but he couldn’t concentrate. Herbie had told him that David Gunn had spoken to his sister, Stephanie, a day or two earlier. Now he was saying he’d been out of touch for a week?

But Stone had other things to think about. He put down the puzzle, called the caretaker of the Maine house, and asked him to get the place in order for guests and to meet him at the airstrip on Saturday morning, then he called Mike Freeman.

“Good morning, Stone. Did you hear the good news about Jack Gunn?”

“Yes, I just saw it on TV,” Stone said.

“That’s a great relief,” Freeman said.

“I’m planning to use the Mustang on Saturday and Sunday,” Stone said, “if you don’t need it. I’ll be back no later than noon on Monday.”

“Fine, enjoy yourself.”

“Have you heard anything more from Lance Cabot?”

“No. I think he’s expecting me to call him today. I’ll do that, and I’ll say, while we are interested in doing work for the Agency, we don’t want to participate in the sort of mission he mentioned.”

“I think that’s a good move, Mike.”

“Let’s have lunch next week sometime.”

“I’d like that,” Stone replied. They said goodbye and hung up.

Stone was already at his desk when Milton Levine called.

“Morning, Milt.”

“And to you, Stone. Thanks for the referral of Peter Collins.”

“You’re very welcome. How did it work out?”

“We’re pretty much squared away. Turns out Collins had a permit for the gun, and the man who was shot agreed it was an accident. I pleaded him to one count of unlawful discharge of a firearm and he got probation and community service.”

“Nothing for the hostage-taking?”

“None of the people involved wanted to press charges, and the hostage negotiator testified to Collins’s cooperation, so the whole thing pretty much went away. He’s back at the office this morning.”

“I’d like to be a fly on the wall at the first meeting between Collins and Jack Gunn,” Stone said.

“So would I, but my guess is they’ll put it behind them, and it will be business as usual. I owe you a good dinner for the referral.”

“Anytime, Milt,” Stone said, and they hung up.

Stone felt a sense of relief that all the problems that had cropped up in the past few days seemed resolved. Now he could leave for the weekend with nothing on his mind, and he relished that prospect.

“Hi, Stone.”

Stone looked up to see Herbie Fisher leaning against the door-jamb.

“Good morning, Herbie.”

“I hear you and Adele hit it off last night.”

“We had a very pleasant evening,” Stone replied.

“And I hear you’re off to some surprise place this weekend, too.”

Stone frowned. “You certainly hear a lot, Herbie.”

“The women in the family are constantly talking to one another,” Herbie said. “Don’t tell one of the family, unless you want them all to know. Where are you taking Adele?”

“I’m going to take your advice, Herbie, and not tell you. Otherwise, it won’t be a surprise, will it?”

“You heard that Jack is off the hook? David too?”

“I heard.”

“Jack’s spending the day calling clients and telling them everything’s okay.”

“Good idea.”

“Say, Stone, would you like to invest some money with Jack? He doesn’t take a lot of new clients, but Stephanie could have a word with him.”

Stone thought about the unaccustomed large chunk of cash sitting in his accounts, from his Woodman & Weld bonus and the sale of his old airplane to Strategic Services. “That’s an interesting idea, Herbie. Let me get back to you on that, will you?”

“I’m putting everything with Jack, myself,” Herbie said.

“Everything?”

“Sure, why not? Stephanie will be watching over it for me.”

“It’s a good idea to put her in charge of your money, Herbie. She probably doesn’t have a bookie.”

Herbie found that very funny. “No, she’s a lot more conservative than I am.”

“
Everybody
is a lot more conservative than you are, Herbie.”

“Well, yeah, I guess.”

“Anything else on your mind?”

“No, I was just passing by,” Herbie said.

“When are you off on your honeymoon?”

“In a few days. We’re rebooking everything.”

“Have a good time,” Stone said, turning back to his work. Investing with Jack Gunn seemed like a pretty good bet, he was thinking.

On Saturday morning Stone picked up Adele and drove to Teterboro Airport, to Jet Aviation, where the Mustang sat out on the apron, waiting for them.

Adele showed an interest in the airplane, so, after loading their bags in the forward luggage compartment, Stone took her along on the preflight inspection, then he hooked up the battery, and they prepared to taxi. Stone got his IFR clearance, then worked his way through the long checklist, started the engines, and asked ground control for permission to taxi. Shortly, they were lined up on runway one with a takeoff clearance. Stone did his final, brief checklist, then pushed the throttles all the way forward and held the brakes on while the engines spooled up. He released the brakes, the airplane accelerated quickly down the runway, and Stone rotated, then retracted the landing gear and flaps. At seven hundred feet, he switched on the autopilot and began flying the Teterboro Six departure, but shortly he was given a vector to the Carmel VOR, then a moment later, direct to Kennebunk.

Adele had been listening on her headset from the copilot’s seat. “Kennebunk? That’s in Maine, isn’t it? Are we going to Maine?”

“We are,” Stone replied. “To an island in Penobscot Bay called Islesboro and a village called Dark Harbor.”

“It sounds wonderful,” she said.

The countryside was mostly white beneath them and got whiter as they flew east and north. Stone showed Adele Islesboro on the chart, then he ran through his descent and landing checklists, to stay well ahead of the airplane. They had only just reached their cruising altitude of thirty-three thousand feet when Boston Center started their descent.

Soon Stone could point out Islesboro and the landing strip.

“The strip looks awfully small,” Adele said.

“It will look larger as we approach,” Stone replied, “and the airplane is very good at short field work. Now, excuse me, I have to concentrate on landing.”

His checklist called for a final approach speed of 88 knots, and he concentrated on reaching and holding that speed while extending the flaps and landing gear. He put the airplane exactly where he wanted it and right on the speed number, then applied the brakes.

“Very good brakes,” Adele said. “I didn’t think we’d be able to stop so quickly.”

“There’s Seth Hotchkiss,” Stone said, pointing at the restored 1938 Ford station wagon parked beside the runway. “He and his wife, Mary, take care of the place.”

“How long have you owned the house?” Adele asked.

“I don’t own it. It was built by my first cousin Dick Stone, who died a while back. He left me lifetime use of the house, and on my death it will go to a foundation he set up.”

“That was very nice of him,” she said.

“It was indeed,” Stone agreed.

Seth greeted them and put their bags into the back of the wagon, while Stone installed the engine plugs and pilot covers and disconnected the battery. Then they drove away.

“Are you having a quiet winter, Seth?” Stone asked.

“Quiet as usual,” Seth replied. “We got some snow last week.”

“It’s very pretty,” Adele commented as they drove through the village.

At the house, Mary greeted them, and Seth took their luggage upstairs.

“I’ve got some clam chowder on the stove,” Mary said. “Would you like some?”

They agreed and had a good lunch in the kitchen, then moved to the living room.

“What’s that sound?” Adele asked.

Stone listened. “Phone,” he said. He took his house key and opened the locked door that concealed Dick Stone’s study. Dick had been about to be promoted to the job now held by Lance Cabot at the CIA when he, his wife, and daughter had been murdered, but Stone didn’t want to tell Adele that they had been killed in the house.

Stone picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Good afternoon, Stone.”

“How on earth did you know I was here, Lance?”

“Stone, are you forgetting where I work? I always know everything. I thought you knew that.”

“I keep forgetting,” Stone replied. He had told his secretary where he was going, but she wouldn’t have told Lance.

“A bit chilly up there, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Stone replied.

“You don’t sound very happy to hear from me,” Lance said.

“Why should I be happy to hear from you, Lance? It’s a weekend, and I’m away from my office.”

“Ah, yes; I forgot that you are a nine-to-five office worker.”

“What do you want, Lance?”

“Well, Stone, first of all I want to tell you how unhappy I was with your performance in my meeting with Mike Freeman.”

“Performance? What the hell does that mean?”

“I expected you to take the Agency’s position in our conversation.”

“I’m counsel to the company,” Stone said. “I take their position in all meetings, with you or anybody else.”

“Stone, you’ve been on the Agency’s payroll for some time now.”

“I’m not on your payroll,” Stone said. “You pay me when I work for you, like any other client. It’s not like I’m on salary.”