by Stuart Woods
“It was inoffensive, you just aren’t used to seeing yourself described in print. Do you know what names I’ve been called since I got this job and the media suddenly found out who I was?”
“That’s different.”
“No, it’s not. At least Just Folks was complimentary.”
“If I try to eat that pie I’m going to throw up,” Stone said.
“Take one bite—you don’t want to insult the woman. Then we’ll get out of here.”
Stone choked down a bite, and Dino got them out of there and back into his car. Shortly they were at Stone’s front door.
“Don’t drink any more tonight,” Dino said, “or you’ll have a terrible hangover in the morning, and that will make things even worse.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Stone said. He got the front door open, went upstairs, stripped, and fell into bed.
The phone rang, but he didn’t answer it.
14
Stone sat down at his desk and began to make work motions. Joan came in and inspected him closely. “You’re not as hung over as I thought you’d be.”
“Dino got me through the evening. He insisted we go out in public.”
“Exactly the right thing to do.”
“Joan, do you know who the people are, two doors down the street, to the left?”
“No clue.”
“I want you to order a dozen red roses and have them left on the doorstep, with a card reading ‘Darling, I can’t wait to see you.’”
“Stone, do you know these people?”
“No, but they seem to know me all of a sudden. Make sure the flowers can’t be traced to me.”
“I’ll buy them at the Korean market and deliver them myself.”
“Just leave them on the doorstep.”
“As you wish.”
“And if anybody asks, you know nothing.”
“I always know nothing,” she replied, then left the room. Stone heard the outside door close a minute later. He went through yesterday’s messages and didn’t find a single one that wasn’t from a woman he didn’t know.
The phone rang, and since Joan was out rose shopping, he answered. “Stone Barrington.”
“It’s Gloria.”
“Go away,” he said, and hung up. A couple of minutes later it rang again. “Stone Barrington.”
“It was a joke,” she said. “Tell you what, I’ll make it up to you this evening.”
“It was a bad joke,” he said. “And it’s made my life miserable. I meant it when I said go away, and if you ever print my name in your rag again, I’ll make your life miserable.” He hung up emphatically.
Joan came back. “The roses are delivered,” she said.
“Good. Now lock the front door, and don’t open it to anyone bearing roses, male or female. And if Gloria Parsons ever calls again, don’t say a word, just hang up, and if she calls back, keep hanging up.”
“Gotcha,” Joan said, sounding pleased. The phone rang, and Joan picked up. “The Barrington Group.” She covered the receiver. “Madam Secretary on one.”
Stone picked up. “Yes, I’ll speak to her.”
“You are speaking to her,” Holly said.
“Oh. I’d grown accustomed to something more formal.”
“I had a word with her.”
“Thank you.”
“I finally got around to reading the piece in Just Folks.”
“I’m sorry about that. I hadn’t read it thoroughly when I told you it was inoffensive.”
“It was inoffensive—to me. How about you?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“I don’t blame you a bit, and I won’t bring it up again. Official change of subject—have you spoken to your yacht captain about our cruise?”
“Not yet.”
“Now would be a good time. He’ll be getting a lot of calls, and he needs to be warned that all this is top secret, and he could end up in Leavenworth if he or any of his crew blabs to anybody at all, at sea or ashore.”
“I’ll get that done right away.”
“Are you all right, Stone? You sound a little depressed.”
“I was a little depressed. I’m better now.”
“Good. Take care.”
Stone looked up the number of the yacht’s captain and called.
“Good morning, this is Captain Joe.”
“Good morning, Captain, this is Stone Barrington. How are you?”
“Very well, Mr. Barrington. What can I do for you?”
“Got a pencil?”
“Yes.”
“Please have the yacht in Key West on the first day, docked at the Coast Guard facility and ready for a serious going-over.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I hope that won’t interfere with your holiday schedule or that of your crew.”
“No, sir, it won’t. How long a cruise?”
“A week, itinerary to be determined, but we will want to visit mostly isolated places around the Keys.”
“How about Fort Jefferson?”
“That’s west of Key West?”
“Yes. It’s a pre–Civil War fort, nicely restored. Dr. Samuel Mudd, who set John Wilkes Booth’s leg after the Lincoln assassination, was imprisoned there and became a hero for putting down a yellow fever epidemic.”
“I recall that from my school days.”
“It’s very isolated, only a few daily visitors by yacht and a daily seaplane. Gorgeous beach on a neighboring island, nobody on it.”
“Ideal.”
“I can find other interesting anchorages, as well.”
“Good. Are any of your crew not American citizens?”
“Our cook is Italian, but she has a green card.”
“Good. You’re going to get a call—perhaps many calls—from the United States Secret Service, and they’re going to want the name, date of birth, and Social Security number of each of your crew.”
“Roger.”
“Are you beginning to get the idea, Cap?”
“I believe so, sir.”
“Then you’ll understand, and impress upon your crew, that they are not to share any information about our cruise with any living person of any persuasion.”
“I understand completely. They can be very close-mouthed. How many persons will be aboard?”
“Four couples, no children or dogs, two Secret Service agents, and one naval officer carrying communications equipment. We will be escorted by another motor yacht, description to be determined, carrying other government personnel and equipment.”
“Got it.”
“Our guests of honor will land at the Key West Naval Air Station and be transported to the Coast Guard station by helicopter and will be berthed in the owner’s cabin. I and my companion will take the aft cabin. The other two couples will be in the next two best cabins. Our party will land at Key West International and take cabs to the yacht. With everyone aboard, perhaps we should anchor off somewhere for dinner that evening and depart for Fort Jefferson the following morning.”
“I’ll pick a quiet place.”
“The Secret Service and naval personnel will take their meals with the crew. During their inspection, in addition to their thorough look at the yacht, they will install some communications equipment, which will go with them when they leave. Please give them every assistance.”
“I will certainly do so. Will we have to deal with any press?”
“Not if everyone keeps his mouth shut. I will consider it a moral failure if any media show up. No need to mention any of this to your crew, until you are approaching Key West.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“Call me on my cell if you have any questions or concerns.”
“Yes, sir.”
Both men hung up. The c
aptain seemed to get it, Stone reflected.
15
By the following morning Stone’s depression had cleared away like an afternoon thunderstorm.
Dino called. “Better?”
“Better,” Stone said. “Normal, in fact.”
“Good, then Viv and I can invite you to Thanksgiving dinner at our place without worrying about your spoiling everyone’s good time.”
“Thank you, I’d love to.”
“Why don’t you invite Holly?”
“I will do so.”
“We got an invitation to Peter Rule’s wedding reception,” Dino said. “It’s in New York.”
Stone fumbled through the mail stacked on his desk. “Got it,” he said. It was being held the Sunday evening after Thanksgiving at the Metropolitan Club, in New York. “I assume you’ll be there.”
“If we’ve recovered from Thanksgiving dinner,” Dino said. “Viv is cooking.”
“Hire a caterer.”
“She won’t have it—something about the way her mother did it.”
“Hire a crew of reinforcements, then.”
“Good idea. Gotta run.” He hung up.
Stone checked the reception invitation again, then asked Joan to call Madam Secretary.
“On the line,” Joan said.
“Good morning, Madam Secretary.”
“Talk fast, the British ambassador is on hold.”
“Come to New York for Thanksgiving dinner at Dino and Viv’s and the wedding reception.”
“See you on the Wednesday afternoon,” she said.
“I’ll send a gift from both of us.”
“Great, bye.” She moved on to the British ambassador.
Stone went online to the Tiffany website and viewed the sterling silver patterns, then ordered twelve place settings of the very plain Faneuil pattern and a suitable chest in cherry and had them sent with a card from Holly and him. He liked to get that sort of thing out of the way before he forgot about it.
Joan buzzed him. “A Mr. Edward Cumming to see you.”
Another walk-in. “Oh, what the hell, send him in.”
Mr. Edward Cumming had brought a friend. The two of them were in their mid-thirties and would have answered to the same police description: medium height, medium weight, medium everything. Stone offered them chairs. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
Both men produced badges. “We are senior investigators with the Criminal Investigation Division of the New York State Police,” one of them said. “My name is Cumming, my partner is Malloy.”
“How do you do?” Stone said.
“Not as well as you do,” Cumming said, looking around the office.
“Thank you, I think,” Stone replied.
“Our office has had a report that you have offered advice to a client on how to illegally secure a pardon or special treatment for an inmate of the New York State Prison System, one Daniel Blaine.”
“That is preposterous,” Stone replied.
“Are you acquainted with one Alphonse Teppi?”
“‘Acquainted’ is too strong a word,” Stone replied. “The gentleman you refer to walked into my office three days ago and hinted that he wanted such advice. After a brief conversation, during which I offered no illegal advice apart from cautioning him not to break the law, Mr. Teppi left my office at my invitation. I did not accept him as a client, and I have not seen or heard from him before or since.”
“What would you say if I told you I had a recording of your entire conversation?” Cumming asked.
“I would say that such a recording, if undoctored, would confirm the facts I have just related to you.”
“Would you say that the recording might contain advice, perhaps offered with sarcasm, in such matters?”
“I would say that, as a matter of personal preference, I might respond to ridiculous requests with sarcasm, perhaps heavy sarcasm, and that I probably did so on that occasion before I requested Mr. Teppi’s departure from my office.”
“Exactly how did you frame your request, Mr. Barrington?”
“I believe I stood up and said, ‘Good day,’ or words to that effect.”
Cumming placed a small recording device on Stone’s desk and switched it on. It played a recording of his conversation with Teppi. When it finished, Cumming switched it off. “Is that an undoctored version of your conversation with Mr. Teppi?”
“It appears to be,” Stone replied.
“In light of what you have just heard, would you like to alter your answers to my questions in any way?”
“No,” Stone replied. “I believe the recording supports my statements to you.”
Cumming exchanged a glance with his colleague, who gave him a small nod. “We accept your account and intent with regard to the recording.”
“May I have a recording of that statement?” Stone asked, and to their credit, both men laughed.
“Mr. Barrington,” Cumming said, “do you know why Teppi sought you out or who referred him to you?”
Stone thought about that for a moment. “Gentlemen, the recording contains no mention of that.”
“I’ll grant you that, Mr. Barrington, but my question remains the same—do you know who referred Mr. Teppi to you?”
“I have no exact knowledge of that, and I will refrain from guessing,” Stone replied, “but surely Mr. Teppi knows who referred him to me. Why don’t you ask him?”
“We have already done so, and his only answer was that the referral came from an acquaintance at a prominent magazine. He would not divulge the name.”
“I have no basis on which to argue with Mr. Teppi’s answer to your question,” Stone said.
“Would you care to hazard a guess as to what person at which magazine?”
“I would not.”
“Would it, perhaps, be a Ms. Parsons at Just Folks magazine?”
“Given the state of my knowledge, I could neither confirm nor deny that.”
“Are you acquainted with Ms. Parsons?”
“I was, briefly. I no longer am.”
“Do you mean that you know her, but you do not wish to know her?”
“I think that’s a fair characterization of my meaning.”
“Then I think we need not take up any more of your time, Mr. Barrington.” Both men got up and left.
Stone buzzed Joan.
“Yes, boss?”
“If that character Alphonse Teppi shows up again or calls, please show him the same courtesy I asked you to show Gloria Parsons.”
16
Holly Barker arrived at mid-afternoon on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, having borne before her two large pieces of luggage, a matching makeup bag, and an unmatching, bulging briefcase bearing the seal of the secretary of state. She gave Stone a kiss, then spent half an hour transferring the contents of her luggage to her dressing room, then occupied Stone’s study for two hours of pawing at the briefcase and making and receiving calls on her cell phone.
Stone came up at six and stood in the doorway, observing her last five minutes at work. Finally, she switched off her phone, jumped from her chair, and threw herself at him, along with a very large kiss. “There,” she said, “may I have a drink now?”
“You may,” Stone replied, handing her a large Knob Creek on the rocks and fixing himself one. They flopped down onto the sofa before the fireplace, clinked glasses, drank, then looked at each other fondly. “You made it,” Stone said.
“I did.”
“I expected a last-minute call, canceling, with very good reasons.”
“My presence was never in doubt,” she said.
“Did you travel up on a bus?”
“I traveled on a helicopter the Air Force is kind enough to make available from time to time.”
“And where is your security entourage?
”
“At home with their families, I hope. I dismissed them for the weekend, with some difficulty. I had to sign a document relieving them of any responsibility for anything you might do to me.”
Stone laughed. “How specific did you get?”
“It was a general sort of description that covered just about everything.”
“Well, just about everything is what I’m planning to do to you.”
“I had hoped for that, starting right after dinner, because I had my hair done earlier today and would not wish to sacrifice it to the god of sex.”
“Duly noted.”
“Where are we dining?”
“I thought I would force a large hunk of beef on you at Patroon.”
“Yummy.”
“Tomorrow is Thanksgiving dinner at the hands of Vivian Bacchetti—something about what her mother would do in the same circumstances, I believe. Then we have the rest of the weekend to lie around in bed, sending out for pizza and other delicacies, as necessary. We won’t be due anywhere until Sunday evening at the Metropolitan Club.”
“That is as perfect a Thanksgiving holiday as a girl could ask for.”
“I had hoped you would think so.”
“Just so I know, what gift did we bestow upon the newlyweds?”
“Twelve place settings of Tiffany silver.”
“Which pattern?”
“Faneuil.”
“Such elegant simplicity!”
“And in years to come we can give them matching serving pieces, et cetera.”
“How clever of you, not to mention lazy.”
“We didn’t get an invitation to the wedding. When is or was it?”
“Tomorrow, in the family quarters of the White House, attended only by family. Kate thought a blowout in the East Room would be overdoing it, since Peter is only a son. The father of the bride is a member of the Metropolitan, hence its choice. After all, he is—and his son-in-law hopes to be—a senator from New York, so best to have the reception here.”
“How many guests?” Stone asked.
“As many as the ballroom will hold, I imagine.”
“And that will be a great many, since it eats up about a hundred feet of Fifth Avenue.”