by Stuart Woods
“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
The 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.
Rick leaned forward. “What’s your name, driver?”
“Fritz,” the man replied.
“Well, Fritz, you see the silver BMW going out the gate?”
“Yes, I see it.”
“Don’t lose it, but don’t get too close, either.”
The man put the Maybach in gear and drove out the gate, in time to see the BMW turn a corner.
“You’ve always wanted to do this, haven’t you?” Rick asked Stone.
“Not really,” Stone replied.
25
They followed the BMW back toward the center of Paris, to Montmartre, past the old church and down a side street.
“Fritz?” Rick said.
“Yes, sir?”
“Have you done this before?”
“Only in my dreams, sir.”
Rick laughed aloud. “Everybody wants to do it. Hang on!”
The BMW suddenly pulled to the curb in front of a row of shops and stopped.
“Keep right on going, Fritz,” Rick said. “Take your next right, and circle back. Drive slowly past the BMW.”
Fritz followed his instructions.
They came back into the street, and the BMW was gone.
“See him anywhere?” Stone asked.
They drove slowly past the shops, and as they did, the BMW pulled out of an alley behind them.
“Uh-oh,” Rick said. “Did you see the gallery?”
“What gallery?” Stone asked.
“The Ulyanov Gallery, just behind us. There was a sign in the window announcing an exhibition of new Russian paintings, starting today.”
“Maybe Majorov is going to the opening party,” Stone suggested.
“Then why is he following us?” Rick asked. “No, he’s curious as to who we are.”
“He can’t see us through these darkened windows,” Stone said.
“Good,” Rick said, “because I don’t want him to know who we are. Fritz, let’s go back to M’sieur duBois’s offices.”
“You want him to think we’re duBois?” Stone asked.
“He’ll run our number plate anyway,” Rick replied, “and find that the car is registered to one of duBois’s businesses.”
Fritz drove dutifully to duBois’s building.
“Through the gates and into the courtyard, please,” Rick said. “Then pull over to the left, out of sight of the street.”
Fritz did so.
“Now, Fritz, please go inside to reception and look out the street window—see if you see the BMW.”
Fritz got out of the car and went inside.
“What are we doing?” Stone asked.
“I don’t want Majorov to associate us with this car,” Rick said. “And I don’t want him to see either of us popping up all the time.”
Fritz returned. “The BMW stopped for a couple of minutes, then drove off,” he said.
“Thank you for your help, Fritz,” Rick said. “Okay, out of the car.” He handed Fritz a fifty-euro note. “Would you ask the receptionist to call us a taxi, please? Have him drive in here. I don’t want him to see us leaving the building.”
Shortly a taxi pulled into the courtyard, and they got in. Rick asked the driver to take them to the Plaza Athénée. Back in Stone’s suite, Stone asked, “Rick, do you have some theory of what’s going on here?”
“You mean a unified theory that covers everything from your trip to Paris up to the present moment?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“No,” Rick said, “I don’t. There are too many fragments to put together. What about you?”
“I’m baffled,” Stone said. “I still don’t know who drugged me on the airplane, let alone why. I don’t know why Majorov would be interested in me.”
“He wasn’t interested in you until he saw you, first with me, then with Amanda.”
“I didn’t think he saw me with you,” Stone said.
“The KGB trained him to walk into a room and see everybody,” Rick said. “That’s how the Agency trains us, too. They would walk us into a McDonald’s, then out, and say, okay, describe every adult in the restaurant.”
“And you could do that?”
“It’s amazing what you can do if somebody in authority is insisting. Believe me, Majorov made us together, and after the Amanda incident, he has you pegged as CIA, whether you like it or not.”
“If I have a choice, I don’t like it,” Stone said.
The phone rang, and Stone picked it up. “Yes?”
“It’s Eggers.”
“So you kept the satphone?”
“The pilot didn’t want to leave without it, but I insisted. I don’t think anyone had ever taken one of his toys.”
“Poor guy. I’ll bet he’s having trouble explaining that.”
“He’ll get over it when I send it back to him. The reason I called is, I remembered that thing I couldn’t remember when I talked to you before.”
“Tell me.”
“He said Warren Buffett recommended our firm to him.”
“Have you ever done any business with Warren Buffett?”
“No.”
“Do you know Warren Buffett?”
“No.”
“Then why the hell would the man recommend us to Marcel duBois?”
“I have no idea. I’m still trying to figure it out. Why don’t you ask him?”
“All right.”
“But don’t tell him we don’t know Warren Buffett.”
“You think it’s better if he thinks we do?”
“It couldn’t hurt.”
“Bill, while I’ve got you, I need some help.”
“Okay, what kind?”
“DuBois has made us an offer for The Arrington.”
“How much of an offer?”
“A billion dollars, not including the land.”
“Take it. Anything else?”
“Wait a minute, what Mike Freeman and I want to do is to sell him, say, twenty percent of the hotel, then invest the proceeds with duBois for building some Arringtons in Europe.”
“Great! Do that!”
“What I need from you is a couple of guys from the firm to make up a negotiating team to do the deal.”
“All you need is one guy,” Eggers said.
“Who?”
“You.”
“I’ve never dealt with somebody that rich before. I’m afraid he’d skin me alive.”
“Stone, if this were somebody else’s hotel, you wouldn’t bat an eye. You’re just nervous about playing poker with your own money. Sit down with the guy, trade a few lies about what you each think it’s worth, and get another offer from him. Then you can check with me, and I’ll tell you if you’re crazy or if duBois is.”
“Well . . .”
“You’re wasting my time. There are moose waiting.”
“Okay. How’s the moosing going?”
“Not bad. I’ll send you some steaks.”
“Don’t, please don’t. I’ll never eat them.”
“You’re suffering from a Bambi complex,” Eggers said.
“No, I have no trouble with venison, but moose is something else again. I think it’s their soulful eyes.”
“Sissy.” Eggers hung up.
Rick stood up. “All right, I’m leaving now. If anybody tailed us in the taxi . . .”
“We didn’t see the BMW while we were in the taxi,” Stone pointed ou
t.
“What makes you think there weren’t other cars following us?”
“What makes you think there were?”
“Majorov didn’t go into that gallery for no reason. He could have collected associates there.”
“You have a suspicious nature,” Stone said.
“It comes with the territory. You might profit from being suspicious. Suspicion might keep you alive longer.”
“Nobody’s taken a shot at me,” Stone said.
“The first one could be the last,” Rick said, then left.
Stone stretched out on the bed for a ten-minute nap.
26
Stone was jarred out of a deep sleep by his cell phone making noises. He looked at his watch: half past five. Some nap! He got out of bed and found the phone. “Hello?”
“It’s Holly.”
“Hi, there.”
“I hear you have one of our phones now, so we can talk.”
“Is Lance director yet?”
“He is. Kate is hanging around for a few days more to help with the transition. They’ve held lots of joint meetings with key personnel to pass the baton.”
“How’s everybody taking it?”
“Lance’s rivals are sulking, everybody else seems cheerful enough. Of course, the people at Langley have a lot of affection for Kate, and they hate to see her go. She’s trying to rub some of her mojo off onto Lance, but it may not take. You making any progress with your memory?”
“None at all. Lance sent a satphone to Eggers up in the North Woods, and Bill called and filled in a lot of the blanks. I thought that might jar something loose, but it hasn’t. What are you up to?”
“I’m back in New York and working my ass off. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Okay, go.”
“First of all, I lied to you. Nobody pressed me to move out of your house, it was my decision. I’m sorry, I should have been straight with you.”
“Go on.”
“I’ve just had the promotion of a lifetime. I’m hanging on by my fingernails, and it’s not going to get any better in the foreseeable future. As a result of the change in our charter, we’re expanding the New York station, and it will be a model for other stations around the country. I can’t take the time to think about anything else but that. If I can bring this off, I might be in line for Lance’s old job next time it opens up, and that’s a dream for me. The guy who Lance appointed is a couple of years from retirement, and everybody knows he’s just keeping the chair warm. Lance has told me he would like for me to have it someday, but not now. I’m going to need more weight in my résumé before that might be possible.”