by Stuart Woods
“Herbie, I just heard that you have a brother-in-law.”
“David? Yeah.”
“Where was he at the wedding?”
“He didn’t come to the wedding or the reception.”
“Was he invited?”
“Yeah, but just between you and me, I’m pretty sure his mother and Stephanie were glad he didn’t show up.”
“Does he work for Jack?”
“Yeah. He’s the number three guy there, after Jack and Peter Collins. Jack says Peter is the guy who did the stealing.”
“Herbie, will you do me a favor?”
“Sure, Stone. What do you need?”
“I need to know where David Gunn is, or when anybody in the family last saw him.”
“I’ll see if I can find out, Stone.”
“Be subtle, Herbie; don’t upset anybody. Ask Stephanie.”
“Hang on, I’ll ask her.”
“Herbie!” But Herbie had put the phone down. He came back a moment later.
“Stone, Stephanie says David is on vacation down in the islands somewhere.”
“She doesn’t know where?”
“No.”
“Thanks, Herbie.” Stone hung up. “David Gunn is on vacation somewhere in the islands.”
“Which island?” Eggers asked.
“The daughter doesn’t know which one.”
Dino spoke up. “Maybe one with an unregulated banking system, with numbered accounts?”
Eggers set his drink down. “I wonder why David’s name didn’t come up at our meeting,” he said.
“Maybe Jack Gunn is in denial about his son,” Stone suggested.
“Maybe Jack is in cahoots with his son,” Dino said.
“Bill,” Stone said, “do you think that’s a possibility?”
“I would not hazard a guess,” Eggers replied, “but I’m sure going to ask Jack about it in the morning.”
“How did you keep Gunn from getting arrested?” Stone asked.
“Before I even met him, Jack ordered a firm of forensic accountants—one approved by the U.S. Attorney—to do an audit of the firm’s books. They’ve already started, and they’ll be working twenty-four/seven until they’re done. I think that impressed Tiffany Baldwin.”
Tiffany Baldwin was the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York, with whom Stone had once had a brief fling that had been featured in the gossip columns.
“I’m very happy that I’m not representing anybody in this mess,” Stone said, “because then I would hate to have to deal with Tiffany.”
“Yeah,” Dino said, “I remember you dealing with her on Page Six of the Post.”
“Please don’t bring that up again, Dino,” Stone whimpered.
“Okay, but I’ll sure remember it,” Dino replied.
“Me too,” said Eggers.
EIGHT
Stone was at his desk the following morning when Joan came into his office. “Good morning,” he said.
“And to you,” she replied. “Before you got in this morning Mike Freeman called and said he’d like you to attend a meeting in his office this morning at eleven.”
Stone glanced at his watch. “Plenty of time. What kind of meeting?”
“He didn’t say, but he did say it was important. You should be there a little early, he said.”
“Okay,” Stone replied.
There was a rap on his door, and Herbie Fisher walked in. “You got a minute, Stone?”
“Just about that,” Stone replied, trying not to groan.
Joan sauntered out. “You two have fun,” she said.
“What’s up, Herbie?” Stone asked. “I thought you were going on your honeymoon.”
“Stephanie thought it would be unseemly to go,” he said. “That’s the word she used: ‘unseemly.’ ”
“I guess she has a point,” Stone said.
“Yeah. I’m worried about what all this stuff is going to do to my reputation,” Herbie said.
Stone looked at him askance. “Reputation?”
“Yeah, my reputation.”
“Herbie, I don’t think your bookie is going to worry about your reputation, as long as you pay your losses. Who else would give your reputation a thought?”
“You know, people.”
“What people?”
“People who know the Gunns, who know Stephanie.”
“Herbie, you don’t work for Gunn, and neither does your wife, yet.”
“Well, you know: lie down with dogs, get up with fleas.”
“You’re worried about getting fleas?”
“Yeah, on my reputation, as it were.”
“As it were? Where did you pick up that little phrase, Herbie? Have you been hanging out at the New Yorker?”
“The New Yorker?”
“Maybe in the cartoon department?”
“I don’t get it, Stone.”
“Neither do I, Herbie. Any more news from David Gunn?”
“Stephanie talked to him at breakfast time. He called.”
“Where did he call from?”
“He wouldn’t tell her. She told him he’d better get his ass back here to help out with this.”
“And how did he reply to that request?”
“He said he’d think about it. She’s really pissed off at him.”
“I’m not surprised. Have you had any dealings with David?”
Herbie shrugged. “Not much. I did recommend him to my bookie.”
“Swell,” Stone said. “The bookie who wanted to murder you?”
“We got past that,” Herbie said.
“Is David big into the ponies?” Stone asked.
“More like sports betting.”
This was not good, Stone thought. “Does he lose a lot?”
“He says he wins; says he’s got a system.”
“A system? That means he loses. Does his being in the islands have anything to do with your mutual bookie?”
“Come to think of it, I did get a call from him asking about David, but of course I couldn’t tell him anything because I didn’t know anything.”
“That is certainly grounds for keeping your mouth shut,” Stone said. “Well, you have your reputation to think about. If I were you, I’d distance myself from David,” he advised.
“He’s already in the islands,” Herbie pointed out. “Isn’t that far enough?”
“I was speaking metaphorically, not geographically.”
“Huh?”
Stone looked at his watch. “Never mind. I have to go to a meeting. Was there something in particular you wanted to see me about?”
Herbie scratched his head. “Yeah, but I can’t remember what it was.”
Stone got into his coat. “It’ll have to wait.”
“Oh, I remember: the accountants said it wasn’t Peter Collins that stole the money.”
Stone stared at Herbie. “Already? Who did they say it was?”
“David.”
“How much did David steal?” Stone asked.
“A little over a million dollars,” Herbie replied.
“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. I’m sure Jack Gunn can write a check for that.”
“No, I’m sorry, it was a little over a billion.”
Stone’s jaw dropped. “Well, those three little zeros make a difference, don’t they?”
“I guess.”
“Gotta run, Herbie,” Stone said, making for the door.
Stone had trouble getting a cab, and traffic was bad, so he was five minutes late arriving at Mike Freeman’s office. The secretary told him to go in, and when he did he found Mike talking with someone Stone knew.
“Come in, Stone,” Freeman said. “I’d like you to meet Lance Cabot.”
“We’ve met,” Lance said drily. Lance was the deputy director of intelligence for operations at the Central Intelligence Agency.
“How are you, Lance?” Stone asked, shaking his hand. He was tempted to check his wallet.
“Very well, Stone,” Lance r
eplied, sitting back down. “I’m surprised to run into you at Strategic Services.”
“That makes two of us,” Stone said, taking a seat.
“How do you two know each other?” Freeman asked.
Stone started to reply, but Lance beat him to it. “We’ve had dealings in the past,” he said casually.
“Mike,” Stone said, “this is a business meeting, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, I’m afraid I have to declare an interest.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Lance said.
Stone ignored him. “Some time ago I signed a consultant’s agreement with Lance’s employer, and I’ve done some odd jobs for him.”
Lance reddened slightly. “I don’t think it’s necessary to—”
“Lance, perhaps you’d better release me from that agreement if I’m going to represent Strategic Services in its dealings with you. Is that what you have in mind, Mike?”
“Yes, it is,” Freeman replied.
“Well, Lance, do you release me from our agreement?”
Lance’s look could have burned a hole through cardboard. “Yes, I release you—but only for the purposes of business associated with Strategic Services.”
“I guess that’s good enough for me,” Freeman said.
It wasn’t good enough for Stone, but he didn’t want to make anything more of it. He had the feeling that this was going to come back and bite him in the ass.
NINE
Lance turned his attention from Stone to Mike Freeman. “Mike,” he said, “the Agency is contemplating outsourcing some of our operations.”
“Oh?” Freeman answered.
“Yes. What with Iraq, Afghanistan, and the war on terror at home, we’re starting to get stretched pretty thin.”
“I can understand that,” Freeman said.
“The war on terror at home?” Stone interjected. “Doesn’t your charter prevent the Agency from operating at home?”
Lance crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. “Our purview is expanded to domestic when the president authorizes it.”
“Does he authorize these forays in writing?” Stone asked.
“Yes, he does.”
Stone sat back and let Mike continue.
“How familiar are you with our operations, Lance?” Freeman asked.
“More familiar than you might think,” Lance replied.
“Do you have any questions about our operations?” Freeman asked.
“Not at the moment,” Lance said. “I expect I’ll have specific questions if we come to the point of hiring you.”
“Are you contemplating hiring us for activities currently within our various fields of operations?”
“Possibly,” Lance said.
“Why don’t you tell us the sort of thing you have in mind, then,” Freeman said.
Stone cut in again. “Or, perhaps specifically what you have in mind.”
“I can see us using your personnel protection services,” Lance said. “I can see us purchasing armored civilian vehicles from your transportation division. I can see us chartering your C-17 cargo jet for delivery of personnel and equipment in foreign zones.”
“We would be pleased to consider projects in any of those areas,” Mike said.
“Lance,” Stone said, “I somehow have the feeling that you are contemplating operating in some areas where you might not want the Agency to be seen to be operating. Is that the case?”
“Quite possibly,” Lance said. “Tell me, Mike, what percentage of your operations people have former or current high-security clearances?”
“All of them,” Freeman replied, “who are former military, FBI, or intelligence people. The ones who have served in similar capacities in other countries would not, of course, have American clearance status, present or former. They would amount to about twenty percent of our operations people.”
“Would that include you yourself?” Lance asked.
“I am Canadian by birth but I have been a U.S. citizen for eight years now, and I have never applied for a security clearance.”
“Would you object to being vetted for such a clearance?”
“Not at all.”
Lance reached for his briefcase beside his chair, opened it, and produced a form and handed it to Mike. “Would you kindly complete this form?”
“Of course,” Freeman said, taking the form and glancing at it. “How soon do you need it?”
“Now would be a good time,” Lance replied.
Freeman took a pen from his pocket and a magazine from the coffee table for support and began filling out the form.
“Well, Stone,” Lance said, “what have you been up to?”
“Work, work, work,” Stone replied. “Not much else.”
“Anything you can talk about?”
“I’m afraid not,” Stone said. “Client confidentiality, of course.”
“Of course. I understand you’ve recently become type-rated in the Cessna Citation Mustang.”
Stone was surprised he knew. “Yes, I have. Jim Hackett arranged to have me trained in the airplane.”
“Good skill to have,” Lance said.
“A pleasant one.” He looked over at Mike to see how he was doing on the form. He appeared to be on the last page.
Freeman picked up a phone and buzzed his secretary. “Would you come in, please?”
The woman entered the room, and Mike handed her the document. “Would you fill in the relevant spaces on past employment and residences, please? It’s all in my curriculum vitae in our files.”
“Of course,” she replied, and left with the document.
Stone began to wonder if Mike’s background could stand a background check. Freeman was not who he said he was, and Stone was, perhaps, the only living person who knew that. Freeman was, in fact, British and a former member of MI6, from which he had been forced as part of a witch hunt against him some years ago. Jim Hackett had been killed because Mike’s enemies in the British government believed him to be the man they were hunting, when Mike Freeman was, in fact, that man.
“What brings you to New York, Lance, apart from visiting us?” Freeman asked.
“Nothing else,” Lance replied. “I had, in fact, intended to speak to James Hackett, but of course, his death intervened. Do you know who killed him?”
“We’re still working on that,” Freeman replied.
“Stone, how about you? You were with Hackett when he died, weren’t you?”
“Yes, but I’m unable to speak about it,” Stone replied. He did not want to tell Lance why not.
“Mmmmm,” Lance purred. “Client confidentiality?”
“Yes,” Stone replied, hoping his curiosity would stop there.
“You did some work for Felicity Devonshire at MI6 not very long ago, didn’t you?”
“If I had, I certainly couldn’t comment, could I?”
“No, I expect she asked you to sign the Official Secrets Act.”
The secretary reentered the room before Stone could reply and handed the form to Freeman, who looked it over, signed it, and handed it to Lance.
Lance looked it over, too. “May I use your fax machine?” he asked.
“Of course,” Mike replied. He led Lance over to a bookcase and opened a panel for him, revealing the machine. Lance pressed a couple of buttons and dialed a number. “Will it send both sides of the document?” he asked.
“Yes,” Freeman said, “if you select that option.”
Lance sent the document, then returned to his chair and put the form into his briefcase. “We’ll have a response shortly,” Lance said.
“Don’t you have to conduct an investigation?” Stone asked.
“Yes, but for the moment we will compare the information on the form electronically with what we already know about Mike, to be sure there are no discrepancies.”
This did not seem to worry Mike.
Lance’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said. He held the phone to his e
ar. “Yes?” He listened for a moment. “Thank you,” he said, and hung up. “Well, that’s done. Now we can proceed, I think.”
TEN
Lance leaned forward in his chair. “Mike, let me outline a not altogether hypothetical situation in which you might be very helpful to the Agency and to your adopted country.”
Freeman said nothing, just nodded.
“Let us say that there exists in a fairly large city of this country a financial institution which we have reason to believe has been funneling funds to an Al Qaeda subsidiary in Indonesia.”
Mike nodded again.
“This institution has a virtually foolproof safeguard against outside intrusions into its computer network.”
“I would be very interested to hear about those safeguards,”
Freeman said.
“Essentially,” Lance replied, “while they use outside connections to send data, they do not receive data except on a single connection, which has not only the latest in firewall protections, but on which every incoming request for data is vetted by a human operator before it is passed on to the central computer.”
Freeman frowned. “That sounds almost too simple,” he said.
“Yes, it does, doesn’t it? Oh, their ordinary office computer system accesses and downloads from the Internet, but their system for transmitting and receiving secure data is discrete from that.”
“You want us to supply you with people who can hack into their computers?” Freeman asked. “I should think the National Security Agency could better handle that.”
“Of course,” Lance replied. “Unfortunately, the bulk of their personnel are not available to us . . . on-site, let us say.”
“You mean they won’t do a black bag job for you?” Stone asked.
“To put it crudely,” Lance said drily.
Freeman spoke up. “Am I to understand that you want us to put our people inside this institution for the purpose of sacking their computer system?”
“At our present level of expertise, that is the fastest way for us to gain access to their secure data.”
Freeman had not stopped frowning. “You want us to carry out an illegal entry into their offices and steal their data.”
“We would, of course, provide umbrella protection from prosecution to your people,” Lance said.