Stuart Woods: Dirty Work

Burt looked slyly from side to side, as if he feared being overheard. "I'm protecting the director of the FBI and the head of British intelligence."

Marie-Therese looked around. "Where are they?"

"In the other dining room, down the hallway. My partner is on duty in there."

"What are you protecting them from?"

"Oh, nothing in particular. I mean, there's no specific threat at this time, but the director always has a bodyguard."

"I see. What about those people there?" She nodded at a couple who had come up the stairs and were being escorted down the hallway. "Would they be a threat?"

Burt looked down the hallway at their backs. "Probably not, but my partner will observe their actions in the dining room." He suddenly stood up. "Uh-oh, you're going to have to excuse me."

Marie-Therese looked down the hallway to see Sir Edward Fieldstone walking briskly toward them.

"That's my British subject," Burt said out of the corner of his mouth. "Probably going to the can."

"Well, you'd better go and hold his… hand," she said, laughing.

Sir Edward started down the stairs, and Burt fell in behind him.

Marie-Therese put her fifty back on the bar and hopped down from her stool. She began walking down the stairs and stopped on the landing. Sir Edward was standing outside the men's room, and Burt was nowhere to be seen. Then Burt came out the door, nodding, and held it open for Sir Edward, who disappeared inside. Burt took up his station outside the door.

Marie-Therese walked quickly down the stairs and over to Burt.

"What, you're leaving?" he asked. "I'll be right back."

"My date called me on my cell phone and canceled," she replied.

"I'm off in a couple of hours," he said. "Want to meet somewhere?"

Marie-Therese looked around. The coat-check girl had momentarily disappeared. "Are you carrying a gun, Burt?"

Burt grinned and opened his jacket, revealing a 9mm semiautomatic.

"Oh, good," she said, sticking her silenced pistol into his ribs and backing him against the wall. "I'll have that, Burt." She pulled his pistol from its holster. "Now, let's go to the men's room." She shoved him with her gun barrel.

"Hey, lady, what's going on?" Burt asked, as if she were joking. But he went through the door into a little vestibule.

Marie-Therese hit him, hard, in the back of the head with his own pistol, then tossed it onto his crumpled form. "Sorry about that, Burt." She pushed open the door to find Sir Edward standing at a sink, washing his hands. An attendant stood by with a towel. She shot the attendant first, to get Sir Edward's attention.

Sir Edward stood up straight, holding his wet hands out before him. "No, no," he said. "I paid the money, really I did."

"A liar to the end," she said, and shot him once in the chest. He fell to the floor, then she walked over and put a round into his head.

She dropped the pistol into her bag, left the men's room, stepping over Burt's inert form in the vestibule. He began to stir. She thought about it, then picked up his pistol and hit him with it again. "This is your lucky day, Burt." Then she peeked out the door. The entrance hall was empty. She walked casually from the men's room and out the front doors, looking for her car. Spotting it near the corner, she beckoned, then waited, and the driver drove quickly up and stopped.

"Slow down, for Christ's sake," she said as she got into the car. "Just drive away in a leisurely fashion." She looked back at the three SUVs parked at the curb. They remained where they were.

"That went very well," she said, removing her gloves. "Drop me at Madison and Seventy-second Street."

She got out of the car and began window-shopping her way back toward the Carlyle.

Carpenter sat in the pool dining room of the Four Seasons with the director of the FBI and his deputy. Their main course arrived, and Sir Edward had not returned from the men's room.

"I'd better go and check on him," she said to the director.

"Keep your seat," he replied, and waved over his bodyguard. "Find the men's room and check on Sir Edward," he said to the man. "He may be ill."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Carpenter said. "He probably ran into someone he knew. I think we should start without him." She picked up her knife and fork and cut into the venison on the plate before her.

"How long have you been an intelligence officer, Felicity?" the director asked.

"Twelve years, sir," she said. "I read law at Oxford, then joined the service."

"Sir Edward tells me your father was also in your service."

"That's correct," she said, "and my grandfather, as well." Something across the room caught her attention. The director's bodyguard was crossing the big room, walking fast, nearly running. He arrived at their table.

"What's wrong?" the director asked. "Is it Sir Edward?"

"Yes, sir," the agent replied. "Please follow me, and let's move quickly."

Everyone left the table and followed the agent from the dining room, drawing stares from other patrons. They entered a kitchen area, then came to a large door with an EXIT sign above it.

"What's happened?" the director asked.

"Please wait here just a moment, sir," the agent said. He walked out the door and returned a few seconds later. "Please hurry, your car is waiting."

Carpenter followed the three men into one of the black SUVs, and it drove away quickly.

"Now tell me what's happened," the director said.

Carpenter thought she knew what had happened. She got out her phone.

Stone and Dino were finishing dinner at Elaine's when Dino's cell phone went off.

"Bacchetti," he said into the phone. He listened for a moment, then spoke. "I'm on it. You on your cell phone? Don't go back to where you came from, go somewhere else. I'll get back to you." He hung up.

Stone looked at Dino. "What's wrong? You don't look good."

"It looks like…" His phone rang again. "Bacchetti… Yes, sir, I've just heard. I have men on their way… Yes, sir, I understand how this looks. I'll be there personally in ten minutes… Yes, sir, I understand." He hung up. "Come on," he said to Stone, and they both ran for the door.

They were in the rear seat of Dino's car, headed downtown with the siren going before Dino spoke again. "Don't let anybody slow you down," he said to the driver, then he got out his cell phone again.

"Wait a minute, Dino," Stone said. "What's going on?"

"Looks like your client just popped Sir Edward Fieldstone in the men's room at the Four Seasons." Dino dialed a number. "This is Bacchetti. I want four homicide detectives, a crime-scene team, and twelve uniforms at the Four Seasons, on East Fifty-second Street, now. Close the block, don't let anyone into the restaurant, but let the patrons out as they finish dinner. Screen off the men's room, and don't let anybody in there until I'm on the scene and say so. I arrive in six minutes."

"Oh, Jesus," Stone said, sinking back into the seat.

"So you had this all fixed, huh?" Dino said.

"At the Four Seasons?" Stone moaned. "Holy shit."

"That about sums it up for me," Dino said. "I just had the commissioner on the phone, and if he ever finds out that I was involved in that little business of yours in Bryant Park I'll be walking a beat in the far reaches of the Bronx for the rest of my career."

"I don't believe this," Stone said. "It was all fixed – everything."

"I like your idea of all fixed," Dino said. "Call your client."

"What?"

"Call her. You've got her cell phone number."

"What am I supposed to say to her?"

"Ask her what she's going to do next."

"Why do you think she'll tell me?"

"Just ask her. Go ahead, call." Dino handed Stone his cell phone.

Stone dialed the number, which he now knew by heart, while Dino stuck his ear next to Stone's.