Stuart Woods - Dirty Work

The ride up in the elevator seemed a long one.

"I'm in the Towers," Purdue explained. "The government rents an entire floor, where the UN delegation stays, and there are apartments for visiting dignitaries, including a presidential suite."

"How interesting," Marie-Therese said. "Who's in residence at the moment?"

"I'm the only one of the delegation in town. Most of the others arrive tomorrow, for the opening of the Security Coucil session. I saw the director of the FBI in the elevator earlier, though, so I guess he's staying. I'll bet he's commandeered the presidential suite."

Marie-Therese laughed aloud.

"What's so funny?"

"It's just that I never thought I'd be this close to the director of the FBI."

The elevator stopped, and they got out. A man in a dark suit holding a clipboard stopped them.

"It's all right," Purdue said, "the lady's with me."

"I'm afraid I'll have to see her ID, sir," the guard said.

"No problem," Marie-Therese said, digging out her wallet and her Texas driver's license.

The man wrote her name down and noted the time, then returned the license to her. "Sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am," he said.

"Right this way," Purdue said, taking her elbow. They walked a few steps and he led them into a suite, tossing his keycard onto a table in the entrance hall.

"Very nice," she said, looking around. It wasn't big, but it was certainly elegant. "Where's the bedroom?"

"A woman after my own heart. Right this way." He led the way into the bedroom.

She unzipped her dress. "I want to hang this up," she said, "since I'll be wearing it tomorrow morning."

"Right over there," he said, pointing at a closet, then he went into the bathroom. "Excuse me a second."

Marie-Therese opened the closet door to find a small collection of outfits. She plucked one off the rack and held it up to her. "Not bad," she said aloud.

"Don't mess with my wife's things," he said, coming out of the bathroom. "She'd notice, believe me."

"Don't worry, sugar," she replied, hanging up the dress. "I won't disturb a thing. Tell me, have you got an early day tomorrow?"

"Nah, the session doesn't open until after lunch. We can sleep in, if you like."

"Oh, good," she said, hanging her dress in the closet and shedding her underwear. "You ready for me, sugar?"

"Oh, yeah."

She slid into bed with him. This wouldn't take long, then she could get a good night's sleep.

Stone's cell phone vibrated. "Hello?"

"It's Carpenter."

"Hi, there."

"Turns out we're in the presidential suite, but I've managed to get a room with a lock on the door that opens into the hallway. Why don't you join me?"

"I can't, but you're going to like my news."

"What's that?"

"She's staying at the Carlyle. Dino's people have got her suite staked out now. They'll wait for her to come home and go to sleep, then take her in the morning."

"God, that's a relief," Carpenter said. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather wait her out in the presidential suite?"

"I want to be here. You sleep well, and we'll talk in the morning." Stone hung up. "Carpenter's staying in the presidential suite of the Waldorf Towers, with the director."

Dino laughed.

"She says there's a lock on her door."

Carpenter called Mason.

"Hello," he panted, on the fourth ring.

"You sound a little winded," she said.

"What is it, Carpenter? I'm busy."

"The director wants a meeting tomorrow morning at eight. Think you can manage that?"

"I expect so. Can I go now?"

"I should have talked with the home secretary by then."

"How nice for you. Good night." He hung up and returned to his FBI agent.

The following morning at eight o'clock, Carpenter took her seat at the suite's dining room table. Mason had been on time, though he looked a little worse for the wear, and he was wearing the same suit and shirt as the day before.

"All right, let's get started," the director said.

Carpenter's phone rang. "Excuse me, sir." She stepped away from the table and opened the phone. "Yes?"

"It's Stone."

"What happened?"

"She didn't come home last night."

"Oh. I'll report that and call you later." She closed the phone and sat down.

"Anything?" the director asked her.

"I'm afraid there's bad news, sir. As I mentioned earlier, the NYPD had her located in a suite in the Carlyle hotel. They staked it out, but she didn't come home last night."

"Shit," the director said. "I thought we had her."

"So did I, sir."

"I wonder where she is at this moment," he mused.

At that moment, Marie-Therese was looking at the top of the head of a member of the U.S. delegation to the UN. He performed with enthusiasm and considerable skill, she thought, and she told him so.

They were interrupted by the doorbell. Purdue grabbed a robe and signed for breakfast, then wheeled the cart into the bedroom.

"Sorry for the interruption," Purdue said.

"You should have told him you'd already eaten."

He laughed and handed her a plate of sausage and eggs. "How much longer are you in New York?" he asked.

"Why?"

"Since my wife isn't along on this trip, I thought we might see more of each other."

"It's hard to know how we could see more of each other than we already have," she said, laughing.

"You have a point," he agreed. "Stick around for a while? I'm here through next week."

"And then, back to the wife."

"It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it."

"Tough?"

"Being married to a rich woman is a hard way to make a living," he said.

"So, get a divorce."

"I've learned to like my lifestyle, but I can't afford it on a State Department salary."

"So, if you want the lifestyle but not the wife, get somebody to kill her."

He laughed. "You Texans," he said. "I don't want to end up the subject of some TV movie-of-the-week."

It occurred to her that Washington might make a nice change of scene, at the moment. She could rent a car and drive down. "Oh, it can be done quite discreetly," she said. "I can arrange it."

"What?"

"You'd be at a Security Council session, or someplace with a lot of witnesses. She'd be the victim of a burglary gone wrong, or something like that. No one would ever be able to connect you to it."

"You can arrange it?"

"I'm a resourceful person. I was thinking of traveling to Washington, anyway. It would be my pleasure."

"That sounded as if you wanted to do it yourself."

"I have some experience at these things."

"What sort of experience are you talking about?"

"I lied to you, Jeff. I'm not a Texas matron, I'm a professional assassin."

Purdue laughed heartily. "I'm not sure I can afford you," he said.

"I'll work cheap. Tell you what: Allow me the use of your suite through the weekend, and she'll be dead by the middle of next week."

"You sound serious," he said.

"And you sound interested."

He stopped eating. "All right, I'm interested," he said warily. "Tell me why we wouldn't get caught."

"Because you and I have no history together that could be discovered later, and because I have no motive to kill your wife. Also, when I leave New York for Washington, I'll no longer be Darlene King, but someone else, who will disappear the moment she's dead."

He set down his plate. "Ah, the stuff that dreams are made of," he said wistfully.

"I imagine you'd be a very eligible man as a widower – handsome, well connected, and, finally, rich."

"That's perfectly true. But, if you're what you say you are, why are you confiding in me? I could walk down the hall, rap on the door of the presidential suite, and tell the director about you. I'll bet he would be interested."

"Oh, you couldn't do that, Jeff: You'd have too much to explain. You'd end up having to explain it to your wife, and she might react badly. You might find yourself living on your State Department salary. No, I'm perfectly safe confiding in you."