Stuart Woods_Stone Barrington 14

by Shoot Him if He Runs

  Everybody laughed.

  “This is one hell of a good drink,” Harry said, taking another sip and savoring it. “How do you make it?”

  “Pour six ounces out of a fifth of vodka, replace it with Rose’s sweetened lime juice, and put it in the freezer until it hurts to hold the bottle. If you make it in a cocktail shaker, you just water it down.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Harry said. “So easy!”

  “Certainly is.”

  Dino jumped in. “What part of the CIA did you work for, Irene? Were you a spy? Or is my question a no-no?”

  “It’s not a no-no,” Irene said. “I worked in the operations section, but I wasn’t a spy; I just worked with spies. I was an administrator.”

  “Was it exciting?” Genevieve asked.

  “Sometimes it was dull as dishwater,” Irene replied. “And sometimes it was way too exciting. It was kind of fun doing work that nobody knew about, only the people you worked with. It was sort of like a club.” She held up her glass. “May I have another of these?”

  “Of course,” Stone said and went to the freezer for the bottle. He came back and poured both Irene and Harry a drink.

  “Did you ever work with that guy who killed all those people?” Holly asked. “I forget his name; something about a Teddy Bear.”

  Stone tried to keep a straight face. “I know the one you mean,” he said. “He got blown up in an airplane explosion.”

  “Oh, yes,” Irene said. “Teddy Fay. Teddy worked with people all over the Agency; he was a technical expert. I knew him, but mostly ten or fifteen years ago.”

  Harry chimed in. “What does a technical expert do?”

  “All sorts of things: communications, documentation, weapons—you name it.”

  “I would have liked to do something like that,” Harry said wistfully. “After you’ve been in the home improvement business for a few years, there aren’t any surprises; one kitchen or bathroom looks pretty much like all the others.”

  “You make it sound boring, Harry,” Stone said. “Was it?”

  “Well, not really. Once I was doing well enough to hire people it wasn’t so repetitive. After that I just went around and worked up estimates, then inspected the work. I like to think I had a reputation for quality.”

  “That’s hard to come by these days,” Stone said. “I did most of the work on the renovation of my house, and every time I hired somebody else, I had to watch them like a hawk to make sure the work got done right.”

  “You’re good with your hands, then?” Harry asked.

  “You’re pretty good with your hands, too, Harry,” Irene said, leering at him.

  Harry seemed embarrassed.

  “My father was a carpenter and a cabinetmaker and a furniture builder, to his own designs,” Stone said. “I worked in his shop part-time as a kid.”

  “You can learn a lot from the right man,” Harry said.

  “He started out by slinging his tool kit over his shoulder and going around, door to door, in Greenwich Village, asking people if they had any odd jobs. He could fix anything. I still have some of the furniture he made.”

  “I would have liked to know him,” Harry said. “I admire people like that.”

  “Irene,” Genevieve said, “is it true that the CIA can listen in on just about anybody’s phone conversations and read their e-mail?”

  “You’re thinking of the National Security Agency,” Irene said. “They’re the electronics wizards. Most of what the Agency does is just collect information, sort it and analyze it. Of course, there are actual spies, some of them in embassies around the world, pretending to be diplomats, others out on their own spying on people and cultivating sources in foreign governments and societies.”

  “I would have liked to be a spy,” Genevieve said.

  “Well, you’re beautiful enough,” Dino responded.

  “What kind of law do you practice, Stone?” Harry asked.

  “I’m of counsel to a large law firm in New York, but I work out of a home office.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I handle the stuff the firm doesn’t want to be seen to handle, a lot of it personal, for their clients.”

  “That sounds as interesting as the CIA,” Irene said.

  “Probably not. I had a cousin who was in the CIA, but I didn’t know that until after his death.”

  “Who was that?” Irene asked.

  “His name was Dick Stone.”

  “Jesus, I knew Dick; everybody knew Dick. He had just been appointed deputy director for operations when he was killed. A lot of people who should know thought he was on track to be the next Director of Central Intelligence when Katharine Rule Lee retires, which she probably will do when her husband leaves office.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Stone said.

  “You must know Lance Cabot,” she said. “He led the investigation into Dick’s death.”

  “Yes, we, ah, worked together on that. I used to be a homicide detective on the NYPD; Dino still is.”

  “You were up in Maine, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you probably met Ed Rails, who’s retired from the Agency.”

  “I did.”

  “How did you meet Lance?”

  “He came to see me when he heard that I was Dick’s cousin, told me Dick was dead. I was also the executor of his will.”

  “So you only met him recently, then.”

  “Yes,” Stone lied, “last summer, for a couple of weeks.”

  “Who’s Lance Cabot?” Harry asked.

  “He’s just a guy at the Agency who wants Dick Stone’s job,” Irene said. “He might even get it.”

  “I didn’t know that, either,” Stone lied again. He raised his glass. “Well, good luck to him.”

  Irene did not raise her glass. “Fuck him,” she said.

  11

  The following afternoon, while the others were napping, Stone took a stroll down to the marina. The place had been expanded since his earlier visit; there were probably three dozen berths, as opposed to the previous dozen, but there was only one Hinckley Bermuda 40. He walked down the pontoon and looked her over.

  Harry said he had changed the deck layout, and Stone saw that the halyard winches had been moved to the top of the coachroof, a sensible change, since it allowed sails to be hoisted from the cockpit, and two large electric winches had replaced the original equipment. A windvane self-steering system was attached to the stern, with its attendant lines, and both the headsail and main were roller reefing.

  “Hello there,” a voice behind him said. Harry had appeared with a couple of shopping bags.

  “Hello, Harry; I was just looking over your boat.”

  “Come aboard, then,” Harry said. Yachtsmen were always anxious to show off their boats. Harry unlocked the hatch, set the shopping bags below and waved Stone down.

  Stone climbed down the companionway ladder and looked around. He had never seen a more neatly kept vessel; the yacht was the very definition of “shipshape.” “I’m impressed,” he said.

  “Thank you, Stone, I’ve done a lot of work on her.” He began showing Stone his stowage plan, his tool locker and his central heating system. Finally, they sat down, and Harry produced a pair of bloody marys.

  “Thanks for the drink last night,” Harry said. “I’m sorry Irene got a little snockered; we had a drink before we left the house, and it was all on an empty stomach.”

  “We enjoyed having you. It was interesting hearing about her work at the CIA.”

  “Yeah, she’s gotten so she likes to talk about it, if she has a good audience. Funny, your cousin being employed there.”

  “Yes; as I said, I didn’t even know that until he was dead. Our respective sides of the family didn’t talk much, but the summer I was eighteen, his folks invited me up to Dark Harbor, in Maine, to spend a few weeks. Dick and I got fairly close at that time, but I didn’t see him again until eight or nine years ago, when he took me out to dinner in New
York. I thought he was working for the State Department. Then, all of a sudden, he sent me a retainer and his will and appointed me his executor. A few days later, he was dead, murdered.”

  “And you never talked in all those years apart?”

  “Just that one dinner.”

  “What does your girlfriend do?”

  “Ginny? She has a little flying school in Florida. We met when I bought an airplane in Vero Beach from Piper some years ago, and we’ve seen each other once in a while since then.”

  “And Dino?”

  “Dino’s a cop, a detective; we used to be partners when I was on the force. His girl, Genevieve, is an emergency room nurse at a hospital in New York.”

  “You’re a mixed group.”

  “I guess we are at that. Tell me, how is it you have enough power for those electric winches?”

  “I put in larger batteries and a second alternator; I never did like grinding winches.”

  “I’m with you there. Did you enjoy your solo time on the way down here?”

  “I did, though I have to admit, I got a little horny.” He grinned. “I was glad to see Irene when I got here.”

  “So you were close back in Virginia?”

  “I wouldn’t say close; she seemed to work constantly and didn’t have a lot of free time, but we got together now and then.”

  “Did she talk about her work in those days?”

  “Not a peep. I didn’t even know what she did, until one of my other customers, her neighbor, told me.”

  “How’d she end up here?”

  “Well, when she retired she went to St. Barts, but she didn’t like it much. She likes it better here; less highfalutin and they speak English. Real estate prices are lower, too.”

  “Did you do any of the renovation on her place?”

  “No, I just got here a couple of days ago; she hired a local firm, and they did a pretty good job. I’m cleaning up their work here and there and doing a couple of little things for her.”

  “I’m sure she’s glad to have you here. How long are you staying?”

  “Oh, a few weeks, I guess; until the wanderlust bites again, or until Irene and I can’t stand each other anymore.”

  “Were you ever married, Harry?”

  “Nope; lifelong bachelor.”

  “Me, too,” Stone said. “Not a bad life.”

  “Not bad at all.”

  They seemed to have run out of things to talk about. Stone glanced at his watch. “Well, I’d better get back to the cottage; the others are napping, but there was talk of an afternoon swim.”

  “I hear that’s a nudie beach down there.”

  “I can confirm that.”

  “I’ve gotta have a look at that; Irene would probably like it, too. By the way, she’s looking forward to having you all for dinner; she’s cooking up a storm. I don’t think she knows all that many locals, so she’s glad of the company.”

  “We’re looking forward, too,” Stone said. They shook hands, and Stone walked back to the cottage.

  Holly came out of the bedroom, yawning. “Hey, where you been?”

  “I took a walk down to the marina; saw Harry’s boat, and we had a nice chat. He pumped me a little, but not enough to be unseemly.”

  “Did you pump him, too?”

  “Not much; didn’t want to seem too curious.”

  “Just as well.”

  “Something interesting, though; Harry turns out to be a neat-freak. I’ve never seen a boat that well put together: a place for everything, and everything in its place.”

  “You know, when Teddy got away from New York, we found the place he had used as a workshop. It was cleaned out, but I remember one thing: there was a lot of pegboard on the walls, where tools had been hanging, and he had painted the outline of every tool, so he’d know where to replace it after he’d used it. That’s being pretty neat.”

  “I think that’s pretty obsessive. I didn’t see anything like that aboard his boat, but I guess he has neatness in common with Teddy.”

  “He’s not Teddy; he’s an entirely different physical type. And then there’s the hair, of course. I don’t think Teddy could have learned how to grow hair since he left New York.”

  “I have to agree,” Stone said.

  “Feel like a swim?” she asked, unbuttoning her blouse.

  “Oh, yeah,” Stone said, shucking off clothes.

  12

  Lance Cabot sat in his borrowed office at Langley, sifting through his notes. The phone rang. “Lance Cabot.”

  “Mr. Cabot, this is Eileen, in the director’s office. The director would like to see you.”

  “Of course. When?”

  “Right now, if you’re available.”

  “I’ll be there shortly.”

  Lance closed his notebook, checked his hair in the mirror and slipped into the jacket of his pinstriped suit. He walked swiftly down the hallway, across the building to the director’s office, which was on the same floor, and presented himself to her secretary.

  “Go right in, Mr. Cabot,” she said.

  “Please, Eileen, it’s Lance.” He flashed her a smile, rapped lightly on the door and opened it.

  “Come in, Lance,” Kate Lee said. She rose and walked to a seating area on the other side of her large office and waved him to a chair next to her.

  “Good morning, Director.”

  “Please, call me Kate, when we’re not in meetings. It makes me more comfortable.”

  It made Lance more comfortable, too. He wanted to be on an informal basis with her. There was an office down the hall that he very much wanted to fill. “Thank you, Kate.” Lance liked the idea of working for a woman; he got along very well with women.

  “Lance, I believe you’re the best-dressed man at Langley,” she said, smiling.

  Lance laughed. “It’s all those years of working out of London.”

  “I’m sure if you’re here long enough, you’ll raise the sartorial level among the other gentlemen in the building.”

  “I doubt it,” Lance said.

  “So do I. Where are we on the Teddy Fay matter?”

  “Moving along. Holly and her group are ensconced in St. Marks, and they’ve already made contact with Irene Foster.”

  “How did they go about that?”

  “It turned out to be quite easy. They’re staying at an inn that has the best restaurant on the island, and Irene came in for dinner. Her companion introduced himself, and Stone invited them for drinks.”

  “Her companion?”

  “Yes, but it’s not Teddy; it’s someone she knew in Virginia before she retired, a building contractor named Harry Pitts.”

  “Tell me why you believe he is not Teddy.”

  “A different physical type, and he has hair, which Teddy was short of.”

  “Are there any photographs of Teddy when he was younger, when he had more hair?”

  “There are no photographs of Teddy at all.”

  “Oh, yes, I knew that.”

  “Have you checked out this Pitts fellow?”

  “Yes, and he’s who he says he is. He was well known in the area for remodeling work—kitchens, that sort of thing. He sold his business last year and took up sailing. He sailed into St. Marks earlier this week and is staying at Irene’s.”

  “As long as you’re satisfied.”

  “If Teddy is on St. Marks—and I’m inclined to believe he is—then he’s not going to be very visible, and he’s certainly not going to be living at Irene’s house, not this soon. He would not just show up, but go to some lengths to insinuate himself gradually into the landscape.”

  “I suppose. What has Holly learned about Irene?”

  “That she’s lonely and probably drinks a little too much.”

  “She didn’t when she was still here.”

  “She’s acquired a reputation for picking up men and taking them home. She didn’t do that here, either.”

  “Not that we know of.”

  “It’s my assumpt
ion that if she did, you’d know it.”

  “Well, she went through the usual periodic vetting and polygraph; we didn’t spend a lot of time spying on her. She was a trusted member of the Company for a long time, and she was bloody good at what she did.”

  “That means if she was helping Teddy, she was good enough to hide it.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Holly and her crew are having dinner at her home tonight; perhaps they’ll turn up something new there.”

  “I’m impressed,” Kate said.

  “Holly’s a very bright girl; what she lacks in formal Agency training, she makes up for in her personal experience in her military and police careers, and her ingenuity.”

  “You think she’ll make station chief someday?”

  “She’s smart enough; I think it will depend on whether that’s what she wants. She seems happiest in the field right now.”

  “What about you, Lance? Do you think you’d make a good deputy director for operations?”

  Lance hadn’t expected that, but he didn’t hesitate. “I believe I would, Kate.”

  “Certainly, everything in your career points to that; you’ve done very well.”

  “Thank you, Kate.”

  “There’s an attitude among the older hands here that makes them suspicious of younger men who seem to want things a little too much. It’s almost British; the Brits don’t like naked ambition.”

  “I’ve tried to keep my ambition very well clothed,” Lance replied.

  Kate laughed aloud. “Yes, well, there is that.” She rearranged herself in her chair. “During the next four years—assuming my husband is reelected—I want to replace retiring senior people with very high quality younger people who will set the tone at the Agency for years, perhaps decades to come.”

  “I’ve no doubt that he will be reelected, and I think there’s ample talent here for you to do that.”

  “I must tell you that Dick Stone’s murder knocked a big hole in my plans. I thought he had it in him to be the best DDO in the history of the Agency, and that, after some time had passed, he might replace me when I go.”

  “I’m in complete agreement on Dick’s brilliance; I worked for him for seven years, and I saw it at first hand. I learned a lot from him.”