Stuart Woods - Dirty Work

"Tell me about yourself," Stone said.

Carpenter laughed again. "Isn't that my line? Why is it that our roles seem to be reversed?"

"Roles are reversible, in certain circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

"When the male has an interest in the female deeper than carnal fun." Stone thought he caught a blush in her cheeks. "Tell me about yourself," he said.

"What you mean is, why do I do what I do. Isn't that right?"

"What people do is often the most important thing about them."

"What I do is not the most important thing about me," she said.

"What is?"

"Who I am."

"And who are you?"

She looked at the table, then around the room for a long moment. "All right, what I do is the most important thing about me. It's who I am."

"Imagine that, through no fault of your own, you were unable to continue in your career. Who would you be, then?"

She took a deep draught of her champagne. "That is an unthinkable thought."

"Surely you've seen people sacked from your service, turned out into the cold."

"Occasionally."

"Do you think they were what they did?"

"Some of them, I suppose."

"And what did they do when they could no longer be what they wanted to be?"

"One or two of them… did themselves in."

"Would you do yourself in?"

"Certainly not," she replied quickly.

"Then what? What would you do? Who would you be?"

"I might ask you the same question."

"You may, after you've answered mine."

"I'd be a barrister," she said. "I read law at Oxford, you know. I could very easily qualify."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-eight," she said without hesitation.

"Are there jobs for brand-new thirty-eight-year-old barristers in London?"

"I'd have to go to a smaller town, I suppose."

"Are there jobs for brand-new, thirty-eight-year-old barristers in smaller towns?"

She shrugged. "I'm not without friends of influence."

"That always helps."

"I don't understand your line of questioning," she said. "What is it you really want to know?"

"I suppose I'm wondering if you and I could have a more permanent relationship-"

"In New York?"

"Of course."

"Why 'of course'? Why couldn't you move to London?"

"Because I couldn't get a job as a barrister anywhere in England, and I doubt if they'd offer me anything at Scotland Yard. And those are the only things I know how to do. I suppose what I really want to know is if you could be happy in an existence where secrets and routine violence – even murder – don't play a part."

"Is that how you see my life?"

"Isn't it how you see it? Don't you ever think about what your work does to you as a human being?"

"There is a long tradition in my family, going back at least five hundred years, of service to one's country."

"No matter what one's country asks one to do?"

"I have always been equal to what my country has asked of me."

"That's what worries me," Stone said.

"That I'm a loyalist?"

"That, where your country is concerned, you're capable of anything."

She blinked at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Marie-Therese's parents weren't killed by accident, were they?"

"I told you they were. I was there."

"The target was her mother. Isn't that true? Collateral damage didn't matter."

Carpenter set down her glass. "Who have you been talking to?"

"Someone who was there."

"I am the only person still alive who was there."

"No," Stone said, "you're not."

She stared at him for a long moment, her face expressionless. "Good God," she said softly.

Stone said nothing, just looked at her.

"I think you'd better stop lying to me," he said finally. "It isn't good for the relationship."

"How did you find her?"

"I'm a good detective. The NYPD trained me well."

"We can't find her, but you could?"

"That seems to be the reality."

"Did you meet her face to face?"

"Yes, but it wasn't the face we saw at the Nineteenth Precinct. I don't know how she changes, but she does."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

"It seemed to me more dangerous not to meet with her. She knew who I was and that I had played a part…"

"Yes, I suppose that's true. Where did you meet her?"

"In a bar. I'm afraid I can't tell you any more than that."

"Why not?"

"Because, before she would talk to me, she insisted on paying me a retainer. I'm now her attorney."

"That was very clever of her. Can you contact her again?"

"Perhaps."

"You're not sure?"

"No."

Carpenter pushed back from the table. "I have to leave," she said.

"To report to your superiors?"

"Thank you for the champagne," she said. Then she got up and left.

Stone's phone rang early the next morning.

"It's Carpenter," she said.

"Good morning."

"Are you free for lunch today?"

"Yes."

"Twelve-thirty at the Four Seasons. There's somebody I want you to meet."

"Who?"

"I'll see you at twelve-thirty." She hung up.

Stone was on time, and Carpenter, with a companion, was already seated at a table in the Grill. The man rose to greet Stone.

"This is Sir Edward Fieldstone," Carpenter said. "Sir Edward, may I introduce Stone Barrington."

The man was six feet, slender, rather distinguished-looking, with thick, gray hair that needed cutting, hair visible in his ears and nose, and a well-cut if elderly suit that could have used a pressing. "How do you do, Mr. Barrington," he said, his voice deep and smooth, his accent very upper-class. "Won't you sit down? Would you like a drink?"

Stone glanced at the bottle on the table: Chateau Palmer, 1966. "That will do nicely," he said.

Sir Edward nodded, and a waiter appeared and poured the wine.

"Thank you so much for coming on such short notice," Sir Edward said. "Let's order some lunch, shall we?"

They looked at the menu, and Stone ordered a small steak, while Carpenter and Sir Edward both ordered the Dover sole, not seeming to care that it might not be the best thing with the wine.

"Lovely weather," Sir Edward said. "We're not used to it. London is always so dreary."

"It can be dreary in New York, too," Stone said, wondering exactly who Sir Edward was. He seemed to be in his mid-sixties, and very un-spylike.

They chatted about nothing until their food came. Stone waited for somebody to tell him why he was there.

"Is there anything you'd like to know?" Sir Edward asked. It seemed a non sequitur.

Stone looked at Carpenter, who kept her mouth shut. "Perhaps you could begin by telling me who you are," he said.

"Of course, of course," Sir Edward said, sounding apologetic. "I'm a British civil servant. Perhaps I shouldn't go any further than that."

"Are you Carpenter's immediate superior?" Stone asked.

"Perhaps a notch or two upwards."

"Are you the head of Carpenter's service?" Stone asked.

"One might say so. Pass the salt, please."

Carpenter passed the salt.

"MI Five or MI Six?" Stone asked.

"Oh, those lines seem so blurred these days," Sir Edward replied. "Let's not be too specific."

"Perhaps I should explain, sir," Carpenter said.

Sir Edward gave her the faintest of nods.

"It is very unusual for… a person in Sir Edward's position to meet, in his official capacity, with a person outside his service. In fact, very few outsiders are even aware of his name."

"Would you prefer to be addressed as 'M,' Sir Edward?" Stone asked.

Sir Edward chuckled appreciatively but did not reply.

"That's a little outdated," Carpenter said. "You do understand that this meeting is, well, not taking place?"

"All right," Stone said. "Perhaps you could tell me why it is not taking place?"