Stuart Woods - Strategic moves

"That's very flattering, Herbie. See you soon."

Herbie shambled out, and Stone got busy making notes for when Lance returned his call.

Stone and Dino arrived on the sidewalk simultaneously, then walked into Elaine's together. Their drinks were on the table almost as soon as they sat down.

"Have I got a tale to tell you," Stone said.

"People been telling me tales all day," Dino replied. "Did you know that criminals lie all the time?"

"I seem to remember that they do," Stone said. "But you always catch them at it, don't you?"

"Most of the time," Dino said. "Now, tell me your tale."

Stone began with the story of the sale of Strategic Air Services to the CIA, then continued with the trip to Iraq, the extraction from Spain, and, finally, Pablo's short drive out of the airplane and his subsequent hiring of Stone.

"You're shitting me," Dino said when he was done.

"About which part?"

"The whole thing. You made it up out of thin air, didn't you?"

"I swear, every word is true."

"You were in Iraq?"

"Well, not so's you'd notice it, but even if my feet didn't touch the ground, I was there-and in the Azores and Spain, too."

"You know, I did see something on TV about a Mercedes found in a swimming pool in Rye."

"That's the one. How else could it have gotten into that guy's pool?"

Stone looked up to see Lance Cabot walking into the restaurant. He shucked off his coat, hung it up, and pulled up a chair. "You rang?" he said to Stone.

"I did, but a return phone call would have done."

"I was in town anyway," Lance said. "Good evening, Dino." They shook hands.

"How you doing, Lance?"

"I'm not sure yet; that depends on what Stone has to say to me." He ordered a drink, made a toasting motion, and took a gulp. "Well?" he said to Stone.

"You might want to wait until your second drink," Stone said.

"Why? Is your news that bad? I presume you do have news of some sort, or you wouldn't have called me."

"The news is quite good, if you're willing to be flexible."

"Uh-oh, what's the deal?"

"I have a new client: Erwin Gelbhardt, aka Pablo Estancia. And he wants to make a deal."

Lance froze, just sat and stared at Stone. "You have a conflict of interest," he said finally. "You're under contract to me; you can't represent both sides."

"First of all, I'm not currently in your employ, and second of all, this is not, strictly, a legal matter. All it requires is some conversation about terms, then the signing of a letter, then my client begins to talk."

"You're representing a man who is a fugitive from justice."

"He's not a fugitive from justice, Lance, just from you."

"He's wanted by the IRS."

"Let's not characterize the IRS as justice."

"What does he want?"

"He wants you off his back-also, the backs of his family and personal staff."

"And in return?"

"He's willing to tell you, in detail, about every arms transaction he has made for the past twelve years. Then he just wants to retire peacefully to this country and live out his life. He is sixty-eight, after all, past retirement age."

"Can he document what he's going to tell us?"

"Pablo, as he likes to be called, points out quite correctly that such transactions do not take place on paper. However, he purports to have an astonishing memory for detail."

"Okay, I'll hear what he has to say, and then we'll talk."

Stone shook his head. "Nope."

"You want something up front?"

"Yes. I want his deal in writing, and when he's finished talking I want a letter from you confirming that he has kept his word and that you have no further interest in interrogating him. I also want a letter from the attorney general stating that the United States has no interest in prosecuting him for any of his actions over the past twelve years."

"When can he surrender himself?"

"He's not going to surrender himself," Stone replied. "He's going to meet with you for three eight-hour days at a place in New York of his choosing. You may record video and audio of the meetings."

"Twenty-four hours of interrogation?"

"Three days of conversation. You won't need more than that; he talks fast."

"Five days."

"Four, and not a minute longer."

Lance picked up a menu. "What's that big chunk of veal with the polenta called?"

"Osso buco."

Lance snared a passing waiter and ordered, then sat very still, apparently thinking hard, while waiting for Stone and Dino to order.

"Where do you want to meet?" Lance asked when the waiter had gone.

"I'll give you a choice: a conference room at Woodman amp; Weld, or the dining room at my house."

"Well, let's see," Lance said. "The Woodman amp; Weld venue has the advantage of the Four Seasons right downstairs."

"Are you really going to put four days of lunches at the Four Seasons on your expense account, Lance?"

"You have a point," Lance said. "The boys in accounting tend to get itchy about that sort of largesse."

"Tell you what: my housekeeper is an excellent cook; I'll spring for lunch every day, if you do it at my house."

"I'll have to send people in to sweep the place," Lance said.

"I'm okay with a free sweep of my house," Stone said, "but I want two simultaneous recordings of the proceedings, and you leave one with my client, just so we won't have to worry about who said what at some later date. Also, the recordings will never be seen on television or outside the intelligence apparatus of the government while my client is still alive."

"You mean that if I want to put all this on 60 Minutes, I'll have to shoot Pablo first?"

"You will never lay a hand on Pablo, neither figuratively nor literally."

"If I get the feeling that I'm being had, I'm going to be very, very angry," Lance said.

"Pablo's wish is not to have you, but to tell you everything he can. And, if you and your people behave yourselves and treat him like the gentleman he is, you may get a bonus or two when we're done."

"What sort of bonus?" Lance asked.

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

Lance held out his hand. "Deal. One thing, though: I am not going to get between Pablo and the IRS. Life is too short. Any deals with them will have to be separate from our arrangement."

Stone pretended to think about that. "You're sure you can't help him with the tax people, even a little?"

"Not even a little," Lance replied.

Stone shook his hand. "Deal. You're a hard man, Lance."

"We start Monday morning at nine?"

"Good."

"I'll have my people stop by to sweep and install the recording equipment."

"Good."

Lance was looking very smug by the time his osso buco arrived.

Lance dropped by Stone's office the following afternoon, and Stone was ready for him. Joan got them both a drink, and Stone handed him an agreement to read.

Lance read it quickly, but apparently thoroughly. "This seems to reflect our discussion of last evening," he said, then signed two copies and handed one to Stone.

"Here is your letter to Pablo," Stone said, handing him a single sheet of paper. "You can have it retyped on your letterhead."

Lance read it. "This is a little stronger than I had conceived of."

"That won't cost you anything, Lance."

"Oh, all right."

Stone handed him another sheet of paper. "This is the letter to be signed by the attorney general."

"You really do have a lot of balls, Stone," Lance said, reading the letter. "You presume to write the attorney general's correspondence for him?"

"If he objects, the president can sign instead-on the proper letterhead, of course."

"I'll put it to the general."

"You'd better put it to him right away and get his signature, because I want all these documents signed and sealed before the start of our fourth day together."