Two Dollar Bill (18 page)

That would seem a good idea, in the circumstances.

A young man in a bad suit with spiky hair stepped up to their table. Hello, Mr. Barrington, he said, and Mrs. Calder.

Stone looked at him, baffled. Could you excuse us, please?

Well, yes, but the U. S. Attorney probably won't. Do you have any comment for our viewing audience?

What viewing audience? Stone asked, looking around.

The young man pointed to his lapel, to which was pinned a round object. Right here, he said. Twenty million Americans watch us every night, right after the news. Our viewers want to know your side of the Internet sex scandal.

The headwaiter suddenly appeared at their table, looking distastefully at the young man. Is everything all right, Mr. Barrington? He asked.

This gentleman seems to be using a hidden camera to videotape your guests, Stone said. I think he needs your assistance in leaving.

The headwaiter took the young man's elbow and marched him toward the stairs. My apologies, Mr. Barrington, he called over his shoulder.

I'm sorry about that, Stone said to Arrington.

Arrington shook her head. Not the way I wanted to reenter New York life, she said, folding her napkin and laying it on the table. I'd like to go now, and we'd better find another way out of the restaurant. I have a feeling there will be a knot of cameras at the front door.

Stone waved for a check.

WHEN STONE GOT BACK to his house, after putting Arrington into a cab for the Carlyle Hotel, a thicket of seedy men with cameras surrounded his doorstep.

What do you want? Stone asked, playing the innocent.

A hail of questions swept over him. He held up his hands for silence. Listen carefully; I'm going to give you a statement.

They became suddenly rapt.

This morning somebody called me about a videotape on a government Web site. I haven't seen it; I had nothing to do with it; I'm sure it did not contain images of any government official. Sounds to me like you've all confused that image with some innocent person. Go away. He elbowed his way through the crowd and let himself into the house, leaning on the door to catch his breath.

Hi.

Stone jumped about a foot. Sandy, what are you doing here?

Lance sent me over to look at your alarm system, remember?

Oh, yeah, I forgot.

It had been disabled.

What?

Somebody had set it up so that it seemed to behave normally when you entered your code, either arriving or departing, but it was doing absolutely nothing. They could have kicked in the door, come upstairs and shot you in your bed, and the alarm would have been completely useless. I'm referring to video shooting, of course.

Did you fix it?

Yes, but I've already told your secretary this I would be very careful from now on about who you let into the house. Be suspicious of plumbers and, especially, electricians.

I will be suspicious of them. Thank you.

Call Lance if you need me again.

I certainly will. Maybe you'd better leave through the garden, unless you want to be on Hard Gossip tonight. I don't think Lance would like that.

Right.

Stone let him out into the garden and instructed him on how to reach the street, then he went to his office.

Joan came in. Did Sandy tell you about the alarm?

Yes, he did.

What's going on?

I wish I knew.

She leaned against the doorjamb and grinned. So, how's Arrington?

As you saw her.

She going to be around for a while?

Maybe; she's looking at apartments.

How nice.

Get out of here, please.

Joan went back to her office, chuckling.

Stone called Lance.

Yes?

Thanks for sending Sandy back. Turns out, the alarm system had been disabled, but he fixed it. Do you have any idea what's going on?

It seems that Billy Bob has decided to make your life hell.

Why?

I would imagine, because you're making his life hell.

No, you are.

You're helping; he's seen you doing so. Because of you, his wife has kicked him out of her very nice apartment, and he can't go back to his own place. He's pissed off.

I suppose he is. Of course, he left a corpse in my house and stole fifty thousand dollars from me.

Billy Bob is a sociopath; he doesn't consider your feelings when he acts. His actions are taken only to gratify himself, and right now, he finds it gratifying to make you miserable.

I know about sociopaths; I dealt with a lot of them as a cop.

I doubt if you ever dealt with one as ingenious and as well financed as Billy Bob. The man has technical resources, too, so he's clearly not working alone. He's managed, in one fell swoop, to cause both you and Ms. Baldwin a great deal of difficulty. I imagine that a nude photograph of her is on half a dozen bulletin boards at the Justice Department by now. This could, conceivably, end her career, depending on how she handles it. You know how our Attorney General feels about exposed body parts.

How are you going to catch Billy Bob?

It might help if we had the cell phone number he called you from.

Don't start with that again, Lance. Tiff is now not speaking to me at all, so I can hardly get her to give it to me. Maybe her people can track him down with the number.

That is not what we want, is it?

Does it really matter who puts the guy in prison, as long as he ends up there?

They want him for financial crimes; we want to destroy an operation that is stealing military hardware and selling it to God-knows-who. Which do you think is more important?

I think they're equally important.

We'll see if you still think that after Billy Bob lobs one of his newly stolen grenades through your bedroom window.

You think he's that pissed off?

I don't know, and I don't want to find out the hard way.

What's your next step in finding him?

I've got every available man on the streets with several photographs of him; we're trying to track down the red Hummer.

How many red Hummers can there be in New York City?

We're going to find out, I assure you. By the way, I understand that Arrington Calder is back in your life.

What the hell do you know about Arrington and me?

Oh, everything, I should imagine. Do you think I would have signed you on without the most thorough investigation of your habits? And Arrington certainly seems to qualify as a habit. I understand there's some question about the paternity of her son, too.

You're unbelievable.

Would you like me to find out whether you or Vance Calder is the father?

You can do that?

Certainly.

How?

I don't think I should go into that.

Well, don't, please; Arrington is very sensitive about it, and I don't want to run her off. What else do you know about my life?

Stone, if you've lived it, if it's happened to you, I know about it. I know everything about everybody who works for me.

That's very scary.

Why? Isn't your conscience clear, Stone?

Of course, it is.

Maybe I should have allowed my people to put you through our polygraph program.

Thank you, no.

Are you refusing to take a polygraph, Stone? In the Agency, that's the first step on the road to perdition.

Stone didn't want to know what the CIA considered perdition. I'm not refusing; I just would prefer not to do it.

You're lucky you're dealing with me and not some case officer out of Langley, you know. I don't think you would enjoy the rigors of full-time employment with us.

I cannot but agree.

Watch your ass, Stone; Billy Bob is dangerous. Lance hung up.

Stone remembered that he had forgotten to go armed again. He went upstairs, opened the safe and strapped everything on. Then he took his mother's picture from the wall, wrapped it carefully in a bedsheet and tucked it away at the back of a closet.

STONE WENT to the kitchen and made himself a ham sandwich, his lunch having been interrupted. He was eating it when the phone rang. He let Joan pick it up. A moment later, she buzzed him.

It's Arrington, on line one, she said.

You're sure it isn't somebody from the National Perpetrator?

There's no such publication.

Well, there should be. He punched line one. Hello?

You're talking with your mouth full.

He gulped down the bite of sandwich. There, is that better?

Much.

I'm sorry our lunch was interrupted.

So am I, but I know it wasn't your fault. At least, I'd like to believe that it wasn't your fault.

Thank you for that resounding vote of confidence.

You're welcome. Would you like to have dinner tonight?

I would. There's only one place we can go where we'll be safe from photographers.

Where's that?

Elaine's. The photographers are scared of her.

All right. My driver is bringing my car up from Virginia this afternoon; I'll pick you up at eight-thirty.

You're on.

Until then. She hung up.

Stone hung up, too, hope renewed.

THAT NIGHT, Stone left the house and settled into the wonderfully comfortable rear seat of Vance Calder's dark green, long-wheelbase Bentley Arnage. Arrington kissed him lightly.

Do you remember this car?

Yes, from L. A.

It's a bit out of place in Albemarle County, but I couldn't part with it.

It'll be perfect for New York, Stone replied. The traffic moves at an average of nine miles per hour here, and it's better being stuck in this English drawing room on wheels than suffering the broken-down backseat of a New York City taxicab.

I suppose it is.

Have you started looking for an apartment, yet?

Not only have I started looking, I've found one.

Wonderful! Where?

Fifth Avenue, overlooking the park. All I need is a designer, and I have some ideas about that.

Elaine's was only half full when they arrived, and they were shown to Stone's usual table. The waiters fawned over Arrington, welcoming her back, and she stopped to speak to a couple of people on the way to the table.

I'd forgotten what a nice place this can be, she said, as they sat down. One always knows somebody.

True. What would you like to drink?

A cosmopolitan, I think.

Stone ordered that, and his usual Knob Creek came with it. They raised their glasses.

Renewed friendships, Stone said.

We are friends, aren't we? she asked. I mean, in addition to having been lovers, we've always been friends.

Well, not always, Stone thought. Of course we have.

Elaine came through the door at the stroke of nine and spotted them immediately. She came over and gave Stone a hug and a kiss but offered only a hand to Arrington. Hi, she said, then went to another table.

Well, that was rather frosty, Arrington said.

Oh, you know how Elaine is with women, Stone said.

I know she prefers the company of men, but I thought we always got along well.

Once you're a regular again, all will be well. Elaine likes regulars. It doesn't matter to her that you haven't been coming because you live in L. A. and Virginia; all she cares about is that you haven't been coming.

All right, Arrington said, sipping her cosmopolitan. Then her face lit up. Dino was coming through the front door. She waved, and he came over and gave her a big hug.

It's great to see you back, Arrington, he said.

And it's always good to see you, Dino. Please join us for dinner.

Stone aimed a kick at Dino under the table, which he deftly avoided. I'd love to, and I know Stone would love it, too. He waved to a waiter for a Scotch.

And how are Mary Ann and Benito?

My wife and son are both thriving.

And when did you last see them? Arrington asked, archly.

As a matter of fact I just had dinner with them at home, Dino said. Ben is now doing his homework, and his mother is doing whatever she does when I'm here.

Which is, what, every night?

Only five or six nights a week. We have to go out to her father's for dinner one night.

And how is the mysterious Eduardo?

Old, but hardy.

Dare I ask about Dolce?

Mrs. Barrington is in a rubber room, or Stone would be dead now.

Stone made a face at Dino to ward him off the subject, but it didn't help. He had once been married to Dino's sister-in-law, Dolce, for a few minutes, before she turned out to be raving and murderously mad. It was never legal in this country, Stone said.