Текст книги "Paris Match"

Автор книги: Stuart Woods

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8

Stone was still feeling the effects of jet lag, so he had a nap, and when he woke, the Bacchettis were in the living room.

“We’ve ordered tea,” Viv said. Dino merely rolled his eyes. The waiter arrived and arranged things, then left.

“Have you made plans for dinner?” Viv asked.

“I have,” Stone replied. “Will you excuse me?”

“Yes, we have the welcoming dinner tonight at the Élysée Palace,” Dino said. “It’s our first opportunity to meet everybody before the conference begins tomorrow.”

“It’s Mirabelle, isn’t it?” Viv asked.

“It is.”

“Good, I’m glad you’ll have the company of someone other than Marcel and us.”

“That’s kind of you, Viv.” He knew she was thinking of Ann.

“Have you spoken to Ann yet?”

“Not yet. It’s still early there. I’ll try before dinner.”

“What’s going to happen with her if Kate is elected?” she asked.

“Everything,” Stone replied.

“That doesn’t sound good for the two of you.”

“It’s not. I’m going to have to get used to life without her, until she burns out on the job.”

“Poor Stone.”

“Don’t pity me. We had a good run, and we may have another opportunity later.”

The phone rang, and Stone picked it up. “Yes?”

“It’s Rick. How was your ride today?”

“Perfectly satisfactory, thank you.”

“Don’t go anywhere unless it’s in that van, you hear me?”

“I’m touched by your concern, Rick.”

“I have my pension to think of.”

“You’re a little young to be thinking of that, aren’t you?”

“Call it federal employee–itis.”

“Any repercussions from last night’s bonfire?”

“A small car bomb went off in a sheltered Paris street this morning. No one was harmed, but it made a lot of noise and smoke. I believe some windows were broken—the appropriate ones—and the facade of a particular building is going to need some work.”

“So the message was delivered, but do you think they’ll heed it?”

“I think they’ll think twice before pulling such a stunt again.”

“DuBois tells me he’s had an offer for his Arrington stock from some corporation he’s never heard of.”

“And how did he respond?”

“I suggested he send a brusque negative reply.”

“Good. I want them walled off.”

“So do I,” Stone said. “Rick, I didn’t bring any self-defense equipment with me. Do you think you can supply me with something concealable?”

“When are you going out again?”

“Around seven-thirty.”

“I’ll see that there’s a package for you in the van. Where are you going?”

“Out to dinner at a restaurant.”

“Where?”

“Brasserie Lipp, in Saint-Germain-des-Prés.”

“I’ll see that you’re seated away from the windows, and there’ll be someone there to keep an eye on you.”

“Let’s not overdo it.”

“When we don’t overdo it, things happen. Witness the events of last night.”

“All right, I won’t complain further, just make it as unobtrusive as possible.”

“Sure. See you later.”

Stone hoped not; he hung up and called Ann’s cell number. The call went straight to voice mail. “Hi,” he said into the void. “I’m in Paris and fairly recovered from the flight. Give me a call when you have a chance.”

–

THE BLACK VAN was waiting in the courtyard when Stone came down, and there was a lump wrapped in tissue paper on the seat.

“Brasserie Lipp?” the driver asked, and started to move without waiting for the answer. The guard in the passenger seat handed Stone a small device.

“There’s only one button,” the man said. “Press it once two minutes before you need us to pick you up. Press and hold as a panic button for a rapid response.”

“Thank you,” Stone said. He unwrapped the package and found a small 9mm handgun in a holster that clipped onto his belt. His tweed jacket covered it nicely, and it didn’t make a big bulge.

They pulled out of l’Arrington’s courtyard and into the evening traffic.

“Hang on!” the driver shouted, and the van began to make quick turns down dark streets, then back onto the boulevards. Stone figured this was precautionary and not due to a threat. They arrived at Lipp at two minutes before eight, pulling up behind a black Mercedes S-Class with darkened windows. He got out of the van as Mirabelle got out of the Mercedes.

In a moment, they were inside, and the headwaiter immediately showed them to a cozy table well away from the windows.

“I don’t know if this table is for me or for you,” Mirabelle said.

“For the both of us, I think.”

They ordered drinks and dinner.

9

They both ordered the house specialty, choucroute garni, which was a selection of sliced meats on a bed of sauerkraut, and beer, instead of wine.

While they waited for their food, Stone sipped his beer and had a good look around the place. He had taken the seat with his back to the wall, and he could survey the whole restaurant from there. His eyes stopped at a table across the room.

“Something wrong?” Mirabelle asked.

“I’m having a déjà vu experience,” he said.

“Describe it to me.”

“It’s last year, I’m having dinner at this restaurant, and two Russian thugs are seated at a table across the way.”

She looked into the mirror above his head. “Which ones?”

“The two in dark suits with shaved heads. An inordinate number of the Russians I come into contact with have shaved heads.”

“I see them,” she said. “They look like their type, don’t they?”

“They do.”

“Well, they aren’t going to start shooting in one of Paris’s best-known restaurants. They’ll wait until we’re outside to kill us.”

Stone laughed. “So we’re two courses away from an ugly death?”

“But a famous one. We will be all over tomorrow’s papers, and my father and brother will be on TV, separately, promising to destroy our killers.”

“Why separately?”

“They don’t like each other very much.”

“How do they get along with you?”

“Better than they get along with each other.”

“That must make for tense family dinners.”

“There are no family dinners—at least, not with both of them in attendance. They take turns seeing my mother.”

“And you’re there for both turns?”

“Sometimes. I try not to always make it.”

“Given the family business, you must have had an overprotected childhood.”

“Once past puberty, yes. It didn’t help that my brother, my only sibling, is ten years older than I. Boys with too much ambition for me were delivered beatings.”

“Did that cut down on the number of your suitors?”

“No, it just made them stop coming to the house. I had to meet them somewhere my father and my brother couldn’t think of, or a girlfriend would pick me up and deliver me, on the way to her own evening out.”

As their dinner arrived, Stone’s cell phone began vibrating. He knew who it was, and he pressed the button that would send the call to voice mail.

“Do women often call you in the middle of a dinner with another woman?”

“It only seems that way,” he said. “Anyway, it was my call being returned. I’ll phone again tomorrow.”

“She must miss you terribly.”

“One hopes, but she is a very busy woman right now. She works for Katharine Lee’s campaign.”

“Ah, our papers have been full of the pregnant candidate!”

“What do the French think of it?”

“The women like it. The men think she should leave the race, but they are careful about telling their wives that. Do you know Kate Lee?”

“Quite well,” Stone said.

“Is she carrying your baby?”

Stone held up a hand. “Don’t say that, even in jest. You never know who’s listening.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“The answer is an emphatic no. I know her quite well, but not that well, and her husband is my friend, too.”

“That would not stop a Frenchman.”

“It wouldn’t stop a lot of Americans, either, but I am not one of them.”

“We have had some . . . unusual . . . first ladies,” she said, “especially lately, but we’ve never had a pregnant one, at least not since Jacqueline Kennedy.”

“Neither have we,” Stone said. “I was at the press conference when Kate announced it, and the reaction of the media was pretty much nuclear in nature.”

“Do you think it will help or hurt her chances of election?”

“The first poll taken after her announcement elicited mostly favorable responses from women and neutral ones from men. I think American men, like Frenchmen, don’t want to argue the point with their wives. Their reactions in a bar with male friends might be very different, though.”

“So, will it help or hurt?”

“I think it will help to the extent that it turns out the women’s vote. If they respond, that could mean the election. The immediate effect is for the press to ignore her opponent and concentrate on Kate, which must drive the Carson campaign crazy.”

“Well,” Mirabelle said, “if it drives the other campaign crazy, it must be good for her.”

They continued their dinner, but slowly, since they were talking so much. As Stone asked for the check, he saw the two men at the other table doing exactly the same.

“I’m going to pay in cash,” Stone said, “and then I think we should run for it while the opposition is dealing with credit cards.”

“I’m on my mark,” she said.

10

Stone glanced at the check, threw some euros on the table, got up, grabbed Mirabelle’s hand, and hurried toward the door. He glanced at the two bald men and saw one of them signing a credit card chit and the other rising and heading toward them. Stone hit the door running, passed the tables outside, and stopped on the sidewalk. No van. Then he remembered the panic button.

“Come on,” he yelled, and started running through Saint-Germain-des-Prés. He groped in a pocket, then another but couldn’t find it.

“Don’t go down this street,” Mirabelle shouted. “Too few people!”

Stone turned and ran back into the open plaza and into traffic. A huge black shape appeared in the corner of his eye, and there was a screeching of brakes and a chorus of horns.

“Get in here!” a man shouted.

Stone turned and saw the van, the rear door open. He pushed Mirabelle inside and heard the door slam behind him. Through the window he could see the two bald Russians running toward them, looking annoyed.

“What happened?” the guard yelled.

“Two Russians,” he panted.

“Why didn’t you use the panic button? We had two men in the restaurant.”

“Couldn’t find it. Two Russians were there.”

There was a banging on the front door of the van, and the guard’s window slid down. He exchanged some words with someone outside, then closed the window. “Were the Russians two bald guys?”

“Yes,”

“Those were our people. You scared them to death.”

“Your people?”

“Of course. What did you think?”

“I thought they were the Russians.”

“You’re getting paranoid, Mr. Barrington.”

“I wonder why? I’m locked in an armored van with two armed men, two others are watching me in a restaurant. Why would I be paranoid?”

The man ignored the question. “Where to?” he asked.

“The Arrington?” Stone said to Mirabelle.

“I think we’ll be safe there,” she said sardonically. She picked up her phone. “I have to call my car.” She spoke in French for a moment, then put the phone away. “They’ll follow,” she said.

The ride home was much like the earlier ride—fast and down side streets. They were at the hotel sooner than Stone had anticipated.

–

STONE CLOSED the suite door behind him.

“That was quite funny,” Mirabelle said.

“I’m glad you were amused.”

“The sight of an American spy running from his own bodyguards must have amused any Russians present.”

“Champagne?”

“Perfect.”

Stone found a bottle of Marcel’s favorite Krug in the bar fridge, opened it, and filled two flutes. He sat down next to Mirabelle on the sofa; she didn’t move over.

“Listen carefully,” he said.

“I’m listening.”

“I am not a spy.”

“So you say.”

“I am an attorney. I am a partner in a New York law firm. As such, I sometimes consult for the Agency.”

“You said that before, but it doesn’t make any sense. Why would the CIA consult with anybody?”

“Sometimes they need an opinion or information from outside the Langley bubble. At least, that’s my view: I’ve never asked them why they wanted me under contract.”

“So you’re a contractor?”

“Not in the sense of someone who does black bag jobs and shoots people in the head. I’m an attorney under contract.”

“That’s your cover story, isn’t it?”

“There’s the phone,” he said, pointing. He gave her the Woodman & Weld phone number. “Call it and ask for me.”

“Well, of course they would back up your story. It wouldn’t be much of a cover if they didn’t.”

“What else can I do to convince you?” he asked.

She thought about that for a moment. “I don’t think you can,” she said at length.

Stone refilled their glasses. “Google me,” he said. “You won’t find a word about the CIA in the results.”

“Oh, please.”

Stone made a strangled noise.

“Tell me,” she said, “what does it take to get an American spy into bed?”

Stone took her face in his hands and kissed her. “A kind word,” he said, “that doesn’t refer to the CIA.”

“Please?”

“That will do nicely.” He took their glasses in one hand and her in the other and headed for the bedroom.

11

A shaft of sunlight struck Stone’s face as he slept. He threw up an arm, as if to protect himself from the paparazzi, but a check revealed the light to be coming across the neighboring rooftops. The bed next to him was empty; Mirabelle had snuck out early.

Stone staggered toward the bathroom, blinking to recover his full vision. The sound of the shower struck his ears. He walked into the bathroom and saw the lovely form of Mirabelle through the mist on the shower glass.

“Good morning!” she shouted over the roar of the water. “Please join me!”

Stone did so, and the rush swept away his sleepiness. Mirabelle had him in her hand, squeezing gently. “Is it awake?” she asked, biting him on a nipple.

He started. “It is now!”

“Ah, yes, I can feel it returning to consciousness.” She bit him on the other nipple. “It’s awake!” She put both arms around his neck and hoisted herself to him.

Stone cupped his hands under her cheeks to support her weight, freeing her hand to guide him inside her. “There,” she said, nibbling on an earlobe. “There is where it belongs.”

Stone pressed her against the tiles, then pressed home their union. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Good, good,” she was saying rhythmically. “All the way in. Yes!”

They came together noisily, and Stone’s knees weakened. They sank to the shower floor, still entwined, and let the warm water run over them. A moment later they were toweling each other.

“I’m starving,” she said. “When is breakfast?”

“I’ll order.” Stone picked up the bathroom phone and ordered, then hung up. “Twenty-five minutes,” he said.

“Good,” she said, taking him by the penis and leading him into the bed. “Time for one more.”

They used the time well.

–

WHEN THEY had breakfasted and Mirabelle had dressed, he walked her to the door. “Goodbye, my spy,” she said, kissing him. “You did not disappoint.”

“I’m so glad,” Stone said wryly.

“How about dinner in the country tonight? There are fewer bald Russians to frighten us there.”

“I’m game.”

“That you are. I’ll meet you here at seven, and we’ll take your tank to protect us from the automatic weapons fire.”

“You make it sound so cozy,” Stone said.

She kissed him and slipped out the door.

Stone was lying in bed with a second cup of coffee and the Times when the phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Ann.”

“Hello, there!”

“I returned your call last night but got only voice mail.”

“I got your message, and I was waiting for it to be late enough to call you. There’s a seven-hour time difference. Why are you up so early?”

“A dream woke me,” she said. “I dreamed you were making love to another woman.”

“My goodness.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“It’s all right if you make love to other women, Stone, just don’t tell me about it.”

“That’s very generous of you. How is the campaign going?”

“Splendidly. Kate has crafted a stump speech for herself, including some funny stuff, and always a sly reference to the pregnancy.”

“How’s that going down with the crowds?”

“Like champagne. Carson’s appearances, by comparison, are like a dose of castor oil.”

“Fortunately, I’ve never tasted castor oil, but I understand the comparison.”

“Fortunately, neither have I.”

“Was announcing the pregnancy the right thing to do?”

“Absolutely. The very fact of it has kept the Republicans off balance since day one. And they can’t say nasty things about a pregnant woman—their wives would kill them.”

“How is Kate doing in the polls?”

“An average of a seven-point lead. Of course, that can evaporate in a flash, if she should stumble.”

“Kate’s not the stumbling type,” Stone said. “How are you bearing up under the pressure?”

“I’m not sleeping much,” she replied.

“More bad dreams?”

“No, I’m just always thinking—new ideas are flashing through my mind, and I can’t seem to make them go away.”

“Count sheep.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I’m always happy to give advice.”

“I’m getting a lot of attention from the press,” she said. “They usually mention you.”

“In what capacity?”

“As my boyfriend, paramour, companion, or some other sly reference.”

“I certainly don’t mind the connection.”

“Neither do I. Oh, my God!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to get up and go to work.”

“Give my best to Kate.”

“I’ll do that. Have a good day.”

“I’ll try. Call you later?”

“Perhaps it’s best if I call you. I’m a lot busier than you are.”

“As you wish.”

She made a kissing noise and hung up.

Stone went back to his paper but didn’t concentrate very well. He found the crossword impossible.

12

There was a hammering on the door. “Entrez!” Stone shouted.

Dino opened the door from the adjoining room. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Nothing left to interrupt,” Stone replied. “She’s gone. What are you up to today?”

“The head of the German intelligence service speaks at ten. Should be interesting. By the way, guess who’s in from London?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

“You forget easily.”

“Oh, God, is it Felicity?” Felicity Devonshire, with whom Stone had had a long-running affair, was the head of MI-6, the British foreign intelligence service.

“Bright as a new penny, as the Brits would say. She sends her regards.”

“Send mine back, and my apologies for not being in touch.”

“What shall I tell her?”

“Anything but the truth—I’m not up to two women. Tell her I’m overwhelmed with the opening of the hotel.”

“Gee, I hadn’t noticed that.”

“We have a board meeting this afternoon to hear about progress toward the opening.”

“They’re doing major stuff to the lobby and sandblasting the exterior.”

“Good, those are the last things on the list. The rooms are ready for opening.”

“You don’t really need to be here, do you?”

“That’s not what I told Bill Eggers. Actually, the board seems to value my advice. Perhaps it’s because I don’t give them much. Are you learning anything from your European colleagues?”

“Tidbits. We seem to be ahead of them in a lot of areas. I wish the Israelis were here, but they’re not Europeans to the EEC. The Brits have a camera system all around their country that would be the envy of Big Brother.”

“I’m sure you’re working on that.”

“We’ll get what we need when Tom Donnelly is mayor.” Donnelly was Dino’s old boss, who was running for office.

“Then you’ll have a free rein.”

“We’ll see. How’s your evening looking?”

“Mirabelle is taking me to some restaurant in the country.”

Dino looked at his watch. “Gotta run, there’s a car waiting for me.”

“What’s Viv doing with her time?”

“Sitting at Mike Freeman’s elbow at all the meetings, absorbing knowledge.” Dino grabbed his briefcase, gave a little wave, and departed.

Stone got up and dressed—he wasn’t sure what he was dressing for. The phone rang.

“Hello?”

“It’s Rick. The ambassador would like to meet you.”

“What on earth for?”

“I think she’s curious about you. She doesn’t really understand your relationship to the Agency.”

“Neither do I,” Stone said. “When?”

“How about right now? Your tank awaits.”

“I’ll go right down.” He hung up, got into his suit jacket, went downstairs, and got into the waiting van. Twenty minutes later he was being escorted into the ambassador’s office.

Her name was Linda Flournoy, he knew, and she was a billionaire’s widow who had given a lot of money to the Democratic Party. About all else he knew about her was that she was said to throw great dinners and was fluent in French. She was already on her feet when he walked in.

“Good morning,” she said, extending a hand. She was tall, elegantly dressed and coifed, and looked ten years younger than her fifty-five years.

Stone shook the hand. “Madame Ambassador, how do you do?”

“Call me Linda,” she said, waving him to a sofa and taking a seat at the other end.

“Linda, it is.” He sat. “And I’m Stone.”

“I’ve heard good words about you from the president and the first lady.”

“They have always been kind to me.”

“I witnessed the effects of what I heard was your influence at the convention,” she said. “To hear some tell it, you were instrumental in Kate’s getting the nomination.”

“Reports of my influence are exaggerated. I was happy to help where I could. I would very much like to see Kate win the presidency.”

“So would I,” she said. “I’m having a good time in Paris, and I wouldn’t mind being reappointed.”

“You’ve been here, what, a year?”

“Fourteen months. Not long enough. Tell me, Stone, why is everybody trying to kill you?”

“I hope not everybody, but I seem to have run afoul of a bunch of mad Russians.”

“So I hear. What do they have to gain by your death?”

“They want the Arrington hotels, but they won’t get them, no matter what they do to me. There’s an element of revenge involved, too.”

“Revenge for what?”

“They think I was somehow involved in the death of a man named Yuri Majorov, who, apparently, was their leader.”

“Him I know about. I heard it was of natural causes, aboard his own airplane.”

“I heard that, too, but apparently Yuri’s brother, Yevgeny, is a suspicious man, and he needs someone to be suspicious of. I seem to fill the bill.”

“All right, I won’t dig any more deeply into this with you, but I’m not getting a lot of answers out of the Agency’s Rick LaRose, either.”

“Rick may be as confused as I am, but he is doing his best to keep my hair from being mussed.”

“I throw a lot of dinner parties around here,” she said. “They’re good business, and I can always use a spare man. May I invite you to something?”

“That would be an honor.”

“You may have to put up with some boring women.”

“Women are rarely boring,” Stone said. “On the whole, I prefer their company to that of men, who are often boring.”

“Tomorrow evening at eight, at my residence?”

“I’d be delighted.”

“I hear it won’t be necessary to send a car for you.”

“Rick has seen to that.”

“Lance Cabot spends money on the oddest things and seems to get away with it.”

“I’m not surprised.”

She stood. “Until tomorrow evening, then?”

“Until then. May I ask, what is the occasion?”

“I forget,” she said. “The dinners all run together. Someone will hand me a one-page memo and a guest list a quarter of an hour before my entrance, so I’ll know whom I’m talking to and why.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll look forward to it,” Stone said. He shook her hand again and made his exit.