Unintended Consequences (11 page)

“Stone, is this an insurance scam? You only paid two hundred and twenty-five thousand.”

“The replacement cost is three hundred and fifty thousand, maybe more. I got a deal.”

“Okay, I’ll get on it. See ya.” She hung up.

He stood up and stretched and found that he hurt all over. The collision with the truck had shaken him up more than he had known. He resumed his nap.

•   •   •

A
t eight he met Helga at Le Grand Véfour, which turned out to be a spectacular monument to the Belle Époque, with a menu to match. He was going to have to start eating more simply if he wanted to preserve his waistline and his digestive tract.

“How was your day?” Helga asked, after the champagne had been served.

“I was involved in a traffic incident,” he said, “and I guess I was a little shaken up, because I ache a lot all over.”

“Poor baby,” she said, patting his cheek. “I was trained as a masseuse, you know.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I’ll make it all better later.”

“You’re on.”

“Did you have your lunch with Marcel?”

“I did.”

“And how did that go?”

“Well, he made me a very good offer for our hotel, but I don’t want to sell it. We may be able to do some business in Europe, though.”

“You can’t do better than doing business with Marcel,” she said.

“Tell me the worst thing you’ve ever heard about him.”

She looked at him, surprised. “The
worst
? I haven’t heard anything worst. Everyone says he’s a perfect gentleman.”

“Do you know anyone who’s ever been involved in a business deal with Marcel?”

“Yes, my former husband, in Stockholm.”

“How did he find the experience?”

“Profitable.”

“Did he enjoy dealing with Marcel?”

“How could one not enjoy knowing Marcel?”

“I don’t mean his personal charm, I mean his business practices, his dealings. Did your husband like dealing with him?”

“Well, he never complained,” Helga said. “Why are you asking this?”

“If I’m going into business with Marcel, I want to know more about him.”

“He does have a reputation for getting what he wants,” she said. “He will go to great lengths if he really wants something.”

“What kind of lengths?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Is he ruthless?”

“I suppose anyone who has made as much money as Marcel must have a ruthless streak. Is that a bad thing?”

“It depends on how ruthless. Have you ever known anyone who has done business with Marcel, then regretted it later?”

“He does have a reputation for being very charming with people in his business dealings, then dumping them after he gets what he wants.”

“Socially dumping, you mean?”

“Yes, but a man like Marcel has no more hours in the day than you or I. No busy person has time for everybody. After all, he’s not a politician who has to keep everybody sweet.”

The waiter came with the menu, and the subject changed, but Stone thought about duBois all through dinner.

23

S
tone woke early and stretched. His soreness was gone, and he had Helga to thank for that. She was not in bed, and he could hear her in the bathroom, singing in Swedish. The doorbell rang; he found a robe and let in the room service waiter.

Helga came out of the bathroom in a robe, still singing. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Terrific,” he said, “thanks to you.”

“Anytime. I don’t get chances often to maintain my skills.”

“I’m happy to be your patient anytime,” Stone said, then they turned their attention to breakfast.

“What does the day hold for you?” Helga asked.

“I’m going to the opening of the Paris Auto Show with Marcel.”

“That should be very interesting. He’s introducing the Blaise to the world, you know.”

“Would you like to come with us?”

“Thank you, but I’ve already seen the Blaise—with you—and I’m not very interested in cars. I rarely drive mine. Will we have dinner this evening?”

“I’d love that, if you can find a simpler restaurant. The way we’re going, I’ll get fat.”

“There are more than eight thousand restaurants in Paris, and very few of them are bad. I’m sure I can come up with something.”

“Then you’re on.”

•   •   •

S
tone got downstairs a little before ten to find Rick waiting for him out front, leaning against Marcel’s Maybach. “Good morning, Rick.”

“Good morning, Stone.” He opened the door and let Stone in, then went around the car and joined him in the rear seat. “This cabin is more like an airplane than a car, isn’t it?” he asked, playing with his seat adjustment.

“A good comparison,” Stone said as the car moved away. “I’m surprised to see you this morning after hearing your theory yesterday. Don’t you feel at peril?”

Rick smiled. “Always. It’s part of the training.”

“It must wear on the nerves to always feel at peril.”

“One gets used to it.”

“I like the new suit,” Stone said. He was wearing a tan gabardine from Charvet.

“Thank you. Lance was very helpful. They didn’t finish the whole order overnight, but I’m getting them at the rate of a suit a day.”

“Have you heard from Lance?”

“I spoke to him last night.”

“How did his escape from our company go?”

“The prefect of police complained to the ambassador about that. The morning papers are full of the mysterious helicopter that plucked an American from the midst of a traffic accident.”

“Is that what they’re calling it?”

“Yes.”

“How did the helicopter get there so fast?”

“They were practicing instrument approaches at Le Bourget when the call came, so they were already in the air.”

“I didn’t know Le Bourget was still in use. That’s where Lindbergh landed after his solo transatlantic, isn’t it?”

“Correct. It’s now a general aviation airport. All the business jets use it. Our Gulfstream 450 was waiting for him there, so he was out of the country before the ambassador could yell at him for his little
faux pas
.”

“How well do you know Lance, Rick?”

“I worked for him when he was station chief of Europe.”

“How did you get along?”

“He sent me to Africa, then the Middle East.”

“As badly as that, huh?”

“Best thing that could have happened to me. You get a lot of street cred in the Agency for working the tough stations, and you get to serve in places like Paris later on.”

“I’ll bet you’ll be back at Langley before long, serving the new director.”

“He brought that up, but I told him that travel is broadening, and that I want to further improve my wardrobe before I go home.”

Stone laughed. They drove on to some suburb Stone had never seen and approached a gate at the huge building where the auto show was being held. Swarms of uniformed police, armed with submachine guns, roamed the rear of the building, and flashing lights were everywhere.

“This can’t be ordinary security for an auto show,” Rick said. “Something has happened.”

To their surprise, the Maybach was waved through without so much as slowing, and after they got out of the car, they were escorted by policemen into the building, where they were met by two large, fit-looking men in black suits with some sort of ID button in their lapels and escorted across the crowded floor to the duBois exhibit, where a phalanx of shiny new Blaises were on display. Marcel duBois saw them coming and waved them to the rear of the exhibit, where there was a small office.

“Before we go out there,” he said, “let me tell you what has happened.”

Stone and Rick exchanged a glance.

“At four o’clock this morning I was awakened to answer a phone call from your Lance Cabot. He told me that information had reached him from intelligence sources that an attempt would be made to attack the auto show shortly after it opened this morning.”

“What sort of sources?” Rick asked.

“Cell phone traffic picked up by your National Security Agency.”

“Ah, yes.”

“I called the prefect of police immediately and put my chief of security and his people at his disposal. When my ten Blaises arrived here on trucks at six o’clock this morning, they were searched and two bombs were found and disabled.”

“That’s a relief to hear,” Stone said.

“Every other car in the show was searched, but mine were the only ones affected.”

“So this was an attack against your company, not the whole show?” Rick asked.

“I or my company—it’s pretty much the same thing. I can tell you that never has a new association so immediately been of such great benefit to me, and I am very grateful to Lance and your Agency.”

“I’ll pass that on to him,” Rick said.

“I have already phoned him and expressed my thanks.”

“He is being sworn in today as director of Central Intelligence,” Rick said.

“Then he has scored a coup on his first day,” Stone said.

“I must tell you that it was not until I saw the morning papers that I heard of your terrible accident after you left my home yesterday, if an accident was what it was. I was extremely embarrassed to learn that a truck belonging to my construction company was involved. The driver was found unconscious at one of our building sites, and I was told that the man who stole the truck and crashed it into you was fired yesterday morning for being drunk on the job. He is being sought by the Prefecture of Police. Please accept my apologies for this terrible tragedy. I spoke to Lance again, and I am making a contribution to a fund being set up for your driver’s family.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Rick said.

“All these events have made me proud to be associated with your Agency,” Marcel said. “Now, I must go to the platform and make a speech and give some television interviews, then we will have lunch. I promise to get you both home unmolested afterwards.”

They followed Marcel back to the exhibit and listened as, bursting with pride, he introduced the Blaise to the world.

24

T
he lunch was held not in a grand ballroom but in a private dining room, and Stone was told that those present were the top people at each of the auto companies represented at the show. Marcel was the toast of them all, and Stone heard many complimentary things said about the Blaise.

Then, when they were seated at the best table, Stone looked across the room and saw, at a rear table, a familiar face. “Don’t look now,” he said to Rick, whose back was to that table, “but your friend Majorov is here.”

Rick looked at him sharply. “How do you know that name, Stone?”

“You pointed him out to me at Brasserie Lipp.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mention his name.”

“Amanda Hurley did. We saw him at Lipp the following day, and he followed us as we were gallery-hopping. Lance told me that ten minutes after she and I parted, someone took a shot at her.”

“That sounds like Majorov,” Rick said.

“Who does he work for?”

“That’s a very good question. He’s Russian, and earlier in his career he was KGB. It’s said that he and Putin served together there, and that they have remained close.”

“So he’s a sort of personal representative of Putin?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. We’ve heard rumors of Russian gang connections. He has an interesting background: his father was a KGB general and was said to have planned an invasion of Sweden back in the eighties, one that never came off.”

“I remember that a Russian submarine ran aground near a secret Swedish naval base,” Stone said, “and there were stories in the press about sightings of miniature subs in Swedish waters.”

“All those sightings were connected to the putative invasion. Strangely enough, President Will Lee is connected to the story.”

“But that was a long time ago.”

“He was chief of staff to Senator Ben Carr of Georgia at the time and was also counsel to the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence. He met his future wife when she was testifying before the committee about CIA funding. She was an analyst at the time.”

“But how was he connected to this thing with the Russians?”

“He was on vacation. He took delivery in Finland of a new yacht for a friend of his and was delivering it to England for him. While still in the Baltic he ran into some weather and lost his mast. He put in to the nearest port and got himself arrested, because it was a Soviet naval base, the one from which the invasion was to be launched. He talked his way out of it, but he called Kate and told her about his experience. She was instrumental in exposing a CIA mole who was giving the Soviets information. That catapulted her into the top ranks at the Agency, and she eventually rose to director.”

“Funny, I’ve never heard about that.”

“It was kept quiet at the time, except for the part about the mole.”

“And how is this fellow Majorov connected to all that?”

“His father was the commander of the Soviet naval base. Will Lee actually met him, I think.”

“And now his son is living in Paris, taking shots at your agent.”

“Former agent,” Rick said. “I told you, Amanda was drummed out.”

“Just between you and me,” Stone said, “she wasn’t. Lance told me she is still active as a sleeper.”

Rick regarded him with amazement. “He told you that?”

“He did.”

“He never told me that.”

“Perhaps you didn’t have a need to know.”

“Let me know if Majorov leaves the room,” Rick said.

“All right.”

They finished a superb lunch, then Marcel came around to their side of the table. “I must do a little business here,” he said. “Keep the car for as long as you like, I have other transportation.” He wandered off with a small group of people.

Stone looked up and saw Majorov making his way out of the dining room. “Heads-up,” he said to Rick. “There goes your man.”

“Let’s go,” Rick said. They got up and followed Majorov, at some remove, out of the dining room and across the main exhibition floor. He went out the same back door by which they had entered. As they got to the door the Russian was getting into the driver’s seat of a large silver BMW sedan. They got into the Maybach.