by Stuart Woods
“Hang on, let me fire up the computer.” Stone could hear the clicking of a keyboard. “A couple of blots on his copybook—the first, a fight in a pub, during which he nearly disabled the other guy, who wouldn’t testify. The second, a murder.”
“The woman he raped? That turned up on his rap sheet.”
“We concluded that he murdered the woman.”
“But you couldn’t prove it?”
“Nope. A female body turned up four months later in a fifty-five-gallon drum that washed up on a beach in Jersey. Cause of death was a shattered vertebra that could have resulted from a hanging or the attentions of somebody who was trained in the art of assisting a person to break his neck. A positive identification couldn’t be made.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, that certainly put us off. We never made him an offer.”
“How’d he take it?”
“I don’t know, we just wrote him a turn-down letter and never heard from him again. Later, I heard he had been hired by Christian St. Clair to assemble a private security group, with him as its only client. Frankly, I suspect that Macher had a hand in every shady thing we heard about St. Clair in subsequent years. And now he’s running the company.”
“So I hear.”
“You know, if he hadn’t been sitting a few feet from St. Clair when the explosion happened, he would have been the prime suspect.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Stone said. “Thanks, Mike, this is all good to know.” The two men hung up.
Stone called Dino.
“Yeah?”
“I thought you might like to update your file on Macher.”
“You got more info?”
“Mike Freeman had some.”
“Shoot.”
“Four months after Macher’s rape charge, the body of a woman turned up in an industrial drum on the Jersey shore, with a broken neck as the cause of death. It was too far gone for identification.”
“Not even teeth? The teeth never go away.”
“Beats me. Macher had applied for a job at Strategic Services at the time, and Mike figured the body was that of Macher’s accuser, though he couldn’t ID her.”
“Well, that was more than twenty years ago, probably when you and I were sharing a squad car. The news never filtered down, not that I knew anything about it at the time, anyway. See you soon.”
They both hung up.
Stone wondered where the remains in the steel drum had ended up.
11
Stone went to his meeting with the Carlssons the next day. The two young men, Nihls and Sven, looked enough like their father to have been him at an earlier age—handsome, fit, and comfortable in their skins. Marisa was the female version.
They all sat down, and coffee was served.
“What have you got for us, Stone?” Paul Carlsson asked.
“Essentially, your clinic back,” Stone said. “And without doing a deal with the Steele Insurance Group.”
“How do we do that?” Sven asked.
“Your books and collective financial statements show enough liquidity to make an offer to the non-family stockholders fifty percent larger than the St. Clair offer. If they all want to sell, then you might need to borrow some of the necessary funds, but probably some of them will feel comfortable with the long run.”
“Dad,” Sven said, “I should speak to our bankers, in case we need to increase our line of credit.”
“Do that,” Paul said.
“We think it should be done quickly,” Stone said, distributing a package of documents. “Here is a letter to have printed on your letterhead, Paul, and for you to sign. There’s also a letter for those wishing to sell to sign, have notarized, and return to receive their money. You should print this as soon as possible and FedEx it to all the shareholders, with a return FedEx envelope enclosed. You might be able to get enough of them to agree before St. Clair’s deadline expires, when Macher would probably make a higher offer.”
“Is our offer too high?” Nihls asked. “Maybe twenty-five percent more than St. Clair’s might do the trick.”
“We think that’s what Macher would offer,” Stone said, “and it would be quicker and cleaner to make it fifty percent—it would be better not to get into a bidding war. The stock’s value is probably greater than that.”
“What do you say?” Carlsson asked his children.
They all responded affirmatively.
“Then let’s do it,” he said, handing the documents to Sven. “Ask somebody to stay tonight and make the copies. We’ll get the packages off tomorrow morning.”
Marisa stood up. “If you will excuse me, I have something I must do.” She shook Stone’s hand and left the room.
“Stone,” Paul Carlsson said, “I want to thank you and tell you how impressed we all are with how quickly you put this plan together.”
“I was very happy to help,” Stone said.
“I believe we can find some more work for your firm,” Carlsson said. “We have discussed opening a new division devoted to executive physical exams. Most companies today ask their executives to undergo them, and we think our reputation will serve us well. We have a floor downstairs that we can devote to the operation.”
“What a good idea,” Stone said. “We’d be glad to help. Why don’t I get you together with our managing partner, Bill Eggers, as soon as the stock buyout is resolved, and we’ll see how to proceed.”
“Wonderful,” Paul said. They all stood and shook hands and went their separate ways. In the outside hallway, Stone found the mahogany elevator door and pressed the button.
“Yes?” Marisa’s voice said on the intercom.
“It’s Stone.”
The elevator door opened, and Stone got on. Upstairs, the door opened into a vestibule, where Marisa was waiting. “Good meeting!” she said. “Perhaps Scandinavians are not so demonstrative, but I could tell that Papa was thrilled, and so were the boys.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
“Come in and let me get you a drink.” She led him into a large living room, paneled in a light wood and hung with many pictures, with marvelous city views to the south. She went to a bar. “What would you like?”
“Knob Creek bourbon, if you have it.”
She looked. “I’m sorry, no. I’ll have it next time. May I interest you in an Akvavit?” she asked.
“Wonderful idea.”
She opened a freezer and came out with a bottle frozen in a block of ice, found two small glasses, and poured for them.
“Skoal,” she said. They raised their glasses and tossed back the icy liquid.
“What a beautiful finish,” Stone said, tasting the afterglow.
“It’s a special Akvavit that we have sent over,” she said, pouring them another.
Stone felt the warmth spreading up from his belly.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“In Turtle Bay Gardens,” he replied.
“Oh, good,” she said. “Within crawling distance.” They tossed back another.
“I think I will hold at this altitude for a while,” Stone said.
“Look, I know you’ve booked a table, but downstairs we have a very fine chef. Why don’t I have a smorgasbord sent up?”
“What a good idea.” While she was calling down, he phoned the restaurant and canceled.
She came back and nestled beside him on the sofa. “You know,” she said, “I should ask our crew to run down yachts more often.”
“I’m quite happy to have undergone the experience, given its results.”
“A good business move?”
“An even better personal one.”
She smiled and poured them another Akvavit. Stone thought that, from here in, he should sip and not chugalug.
—
DINNER ARRIVED IN due course, and the waiter placed the large tray on the dining table, set it with china and silverware, and left.
They took their seats, and Stone surveyed the array of smoked fis
hes, sliced meats, hot dishes, breads, and other comestibles. Marisa opened a chilled bottle of Bâtard-Montrachet and poured them glasses.
“You have good taste in wines,” Stone said, sipping his approvingly.
“Papa is the wine collector,” she said. “I steal from his cellar.”
“Well stolen—this is one of my favorites.”
“Now,” she said, joining him, “I want to hear all about you. Google did not produce sufficient results.”
“The short version—born, Greenwich Village, attended public schools, NYU, and NYU law school. Became infatuated with police work and joined the force, ending up as a longtime homicide detective. Dino, whom you have met, was my partner. Took a bullet in the knee, and the NYPD took the opportunity to unload me. An old law-school buddy, who was with Woodman & Weld, advised me to take a cram course, take the bar, and come to work for them. I did so.”
“Ever married?”
“Yes, she died not long afterward, murdered by a former suitor.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Children?”
“One son, Peter, now a film director in Los Angeles. One Labrador retriever, Bob. Your turn.”
“Mine is more boring. Born just down the street, attended Spence, summered in Sweden with my mother—they were divorced when I was ten. Columbia, master’s in biology, and Harvard Medical School. Did my internship and residency in internal medicine at New York Hospital, right over there, and since then I’ve never strayed far from this building.”
“I hope you’re getting out more these days.”
“Every chance I get.”
“We must contrive some things to do with your spare time.”
She pushed back from the table. “Perhaps you’re aware of the Swedish attitude toward sex?”
“I’ve heard rumors,” Stone replied.
“They are all true,” she said, taking his hand. “Come with me.”
And he did.
12
Stone awoke alone in a large bed in a darkened room. “Oh, you’re awake,” Marisa said from across the room, raising a blind partway to admit a stream of bright sunlight. “Breakfast in half an hour.” She slipped off her robe, giving him a large, Swedish dose of the full-frontal view. “We have time to do it again.”
He raised his arms, and she came into them. Half an hour later he heard the doorbell.
“Breakfast,” she said, grabbing her robe, and headed for the front door. “Join me.”
Stone found a robe for himself draped over a chair, slipped into it, and went into the living/dining room. Another smorgasbord, this one with eggs, cheese, smoked salmon, and toasted muffins. They dug in.
“You are an excellent lover,” she said, “gentle, kind, but assertive and willing to experiment.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever been rated that way before,” he said.
“You have been, you just weren’t told. And what about me?”
“Enthusiastic, affectionate, skillful, and welcoming,” he replied. “Highest marks. Oh, and I give the Swedish attitude toward sex equally high marks.”
She laughed. “When will I see you again?”
“Is this evening too soon? I’m having dinner with Dino and Viv. Will you join us?”
“Of course. I’ll be working a little late—may I meet you at the restaurant?”
“Eight o’clock at Patroon—160 East Forty-sixth Street.”
“Agreed. How late will we be?”
“Bring a toothbrush,” he replied, “and a change of socks.”
—
STONE WAS BACK at his desk in time to receive a phone call from Ed Rawls.
“Good morning, Ed.”
“Good morning. You left too soon—the Maine weather is glorious. It’s getting to be autumn.”
Stone groaned. “And I’m stuck here, doing business.”
“It’s business I called about—yours, not mine. I’ve heard that Erik Macher is planning to increase his offer for the Carlsson Clinic.”
“You astonish me, Ed. How do you do it?”
“Intelligence is my chosen craft. I’ll give you a hint. There are Agency alumni at St. Clair other than Macher.”
“I should have guessed. Did you hear a number mentioned?”
“An increase of twenty-five percent,” Rawls said.
“That’s good to know. How about when?”
“As soon as his earlier offer expires.”
“So he’ll wait to see how many bites he gets.”
“It would make him look too eager to do it now. I should think he’s likely to pick up quite a few shares,” Ed said, “though maybe not enough for a majority.”
“So he’ll up the ante to corral some more.”
“Macher didn’t even know about the offer until after St. Clair’s death, but I’m told he’s very caught up in it now. He wants the clinic badly, I’m not sure why.”
“Well,” Stone said, “it’s probably his first deal since taking control.”
“He has several left over from St. Clair, but this is the biggest one. He badly wants to see the headline in the Wall Street Journal.”
“I’ll see what I can do about getting him a headline,” Stone said, “though perhaps not the one he’d like.”
“For Macher, that would amount to a public shaming. He cares desperately about achieving a business reputation for himself.”
“I don’t have a problem with that.”
“You need to think about this, Stone.”
“You’re against the deal?”
“No, no, I don’t give a shit either way, except for the fun of embarrassing Macher. You just have to understand that if you win, you’ll be making a dangerous enemy.”
“Well, I suppose you don’t win many friends resisting hostile takeovers.”
“Of course not, but this will be of a different order of magnitude, given Macher’s background and, above all, his nature. You had better be ready for a hostile reaction.”
“That’s good advice, Ed, thank you.”
“The least I can do,” Ed said. “See ya.” He hung up.
Stone hung up, too. It occurred to him that, given Ed’s information, it might be better to reconsider how to handle St. Clair’s offer. He called Paul Carlsson.
“Good morning, Stone,” the physician said. “Did you and Marisa enjoy your evening?”
“Very much indeed,” Stone replied.
“I’m so glad. I hope you will forgive her Swedish forthrightness. It has sometimes been a problem for her.”
“Ah, no problem. Paul, I’ve had some new information about the St. Clair offer.”
“Then I’m anxious to hear it. Federal Express picked up the stockholder documents twenty minutes ago. Several of my staff were up most of the night getting them ready to ship, in light of your concern for quick action.”
Stone’s shoulders sagged; too late for restraint. “Paul, my new information is that Erik Macher is personally, deeply invested in his offer for the clinic, and he will be very upset when he hears that he has lost it.”
“Do we care?” Paul asked.
“Not really, but I’ve been advised that we should be prepared for a very strong reaction, possibly a dangerous one.”
Carlsson was quiet for a moment. “I had not anticipated such a thing.”
“Neither had I, though perhaps I should have.”
“Do you have some notion of how we should proceed, given this new information?”
“I believe that for a time, we should hire security professionals to ensure the safety of you and your family.”
“Do you mean bodyguards?”
“Perhaps more subtle than that. I serve on the board of Strategic Services, a large part of whose business is personal protection, and they are very, very good at what they do.”
“What, exactly, will this mean?” Paul asked.
“They will want to install people at the clinic, perhaps under the guise of providing some other business service—computer evaluations, perhaps—somethin
g that will give them an excuse to be close to you, then they’ll blend in. Also, it would be best if you all travel in vehicles supplied and driven by them. They will endeavor to be as unobtrusive as possible.”
“All right, I’ll let the kids know. When will this start?”
“Before the day is out. I just have to make the phone call to put everything in place.”
“Then proceed, and thank you for your attention to this.”
“I will do so immediately,” Stone said. He hung up and called Mike Freeman.
13
Mike listened while Stone outlined the problem. “I’ll put two people with each of them, one to watch the scene, the other to stick close.”
“Uh, Mike, there will be times when the daughter won’t need that coverage.”
“What sort of times?”
“The times when she’s with me.”
“Are you prepared to go armed at those times and explain to her why you’re carrying?”
“It would be better than having a strange man in my bedroom,” Stone replied.
“As you wish. I’ll put Viv Bacchetti in charge of getting a team together. I’ll send a team to the clinic to survey the strengths and weaknesses of the place, and I’ll have personal protection in place by five o’clock today.”
“Make that ten tomorrow morning for Marisa,” Stone said.
“Gotcha. Anything else?”
“It might be a good idea to put one of your shrinks to the task of disassembling Erik Macher’s psyche, with an eye toward predicting his moves.”
“A thoughtful suggestion. They sometimes complain about not being given enough work. Talk to you later.”
Both men hung up.
Joan buzzed. “A Dr. Carlsson on one,” she said.
Stone picked up the phone. “Paul?”
“Not the first time I’ve been mistaken for my father,” Marisa said.
“I was under-informed. I’m sorry.”
“My late appointment has been canceled. May I come to you for a drink before dinner? I want to see how you live.”
“I’d be delighted. Seven o’clock, if Swedes are congenitally punctual, six-thirty if they tend to run late.”
“See you at seven. I have the address.” She hung up.
Stone buzzed Joan. “Next time tell me which Dr. Carlsson,” he said, then hung up before she could come back with a snappy reply.