Stuart Woods - Strategic moves

"You think you're that good, huh?"

"As an attorney, yes."

"And if I'd tried the case, you think you could have got an acquittal?"

"I'm sure of it, but the greater skill lies in seeing that a case never comes to trial. Look at it this way: I did your office a favor."

"You have a high opinion of yourself, don't you?"

"I'm a good, pragmatic judge of what I can and can't do," Stone said. "If you'd had evidence that was conclusive, I'd have been looking to make a plea deal. As it was, I wouldn't have allowed Herbie to accept any offer you made short of a withdrawal of charges."

"I've probably been involved in a lot more such cases than you have," she said, "during fifteen years of prosecution, and I'm a good, pragmatic judge of what's possible in a courtroom."

"What's your conviction rate in the cases you've brought to trial?" Stone asked.

"Personally?"

"No, of the cases you've approved for trial, both yours and your subordinates'?"

"About eighty-five percent," she replied.

"That's very good," Stone said, "but in those of my cases that were tried and I felt should never have gone to trial, my acquittal rate is one hundred percent. Overall, it's about the same as your conviction rate."

"Then we're evenly matched," she said.

"We are, as long as you don't bring cases I know you can't win," Stone replied. "And I'll make it my business to see that you never lay a glove on Herbie Fisher."

"What's so special about Herbie Fisher?" she asked.

"If you knew him, you'd know how harmless he is."

"He wasn't harmless to Dattila the Hun," she pointed out.

"Like a lot of people," Stone said, "Herbie will fight like a cornered rat when his back is to the wall. Dattila put him in that position by repeatedly trying to kill him, to Dattila's cost."

They turned back toward the house.

"I think I'm going to have to go back to New York this afternoon," Stone said. "A couple of days ago I was comfortable about my upcoming meeting, but now I'm not, so I need to be there. Can we have dinner in the city tonight?"

"Sure," she said. "Anyway, I'm not so sure how much more snowy landscape I could have stood."

Before leaving the house that afternoon, Stone called Bob Cantor, an ex-cop who was very good with technical matters.

"Hey, Stone."

"Bob, I've got something urgent on my plate. Can you meet me at my house at six p.m., prepared to go to work?"

"With what kind of tools?"

"Bring the van," Stone said. Cantor had a van with several hundred thousand dollars' worth of equipment installed and tools for everything.

"Will do," Cantor said, then hung up.

The flight back was uneventful. Stone dropped Willa at her building, and they agreed to meet at Elaine's later. As Stone pulled into his garage he saw Bob Cantor's van parked outside.

The two men shook hands, and Stone let them into the house and turned off the alarm that Cantor had installed, then he led Cantor to the dining room.

"Hey!" Cantor said, looking around at the cameras and cable. "Looks like you're doing Good Morning America from here."

"Here's the deal," Stone said, pulling Cantor into the powder room and closing the door, then turning on the water. "A client of mine is being questioned here for four days, starting Monday morning. Their techs have installed all this stuff and God knows what else."

"You mean you think they might have overdone it a bit?"

"That's what I mean. I want you to sweep the whole house for bugs. If you find something, don't disable it, but put yours alongside it. You can do that without wires, now, right?"

"Right. It will all be recorded in the van."

"My deal with the questioners is that they will make two copies of the video and audio of the meetings and give me one."

Cantor thought for a moment. "I only saw one recorder."

"I'm not surprised," Stone said, "so I want my own recordings of the sessions."

"I can do that," Cantor said.

"Go to it." They departed the powder room and went their separate ways.

Cantor and a helper were hard at work when Stone left for Elaine's.

Dino and Doris Trent were already at their table when Stone arrived, and Willa arrived a moment later.

"You know, I've heard about this place, but I've never been here," Willa said. "It's too far uptown for my crowd."

Stone introduced the women to Elaine, who sat down for a minute. "So?" she said.

"Life is interesting," Stone said.

"As bad as that, huh?"

"Maybe not."

"Gotta go," Elaine said, rising to greet another table of regulars who had just sat down.

"So that's the famous Elaine," Willa said.

"The one and only," Stone replied.

"How's the food?" she asked, fingering a menu.

"Better than you've heard," Stone said. "The food critics get pissed off because they can't get the good tables that are reserved for the regulars."

A waiter appeared and took their drink order.

"Ah," Stone said, looking toward the front door, where Herbie and his new wife were entering. "And now you get to meet the dangerous and deceptive Herbert Fisher."

"You're kidding," Willa said.

The couple stopped at the table, and Stone made the introductions.

"I'm glad you can afford to eat out, Stone," Stephanie said, "in your reduced circumstances."

"I'm investment-reduced," Stone replied amiably, "not dinner-reduced."

The couple continued to their table.

"That was Herbie Fisher?" Willa asked.

"You expected a wild-eyed monster, huh?"

"Not exactly, but I didn't expect a nebbish, either."

"And a nebbish who married well," Stone replied. "Stephanie is the daughter of Jack Gunn."

"So he can afford the very best representation in criminal matters," Willa said.

"I'm glad you understand that," Stone replied.

Stone took Willa home and got back to his house to find that two more men had been added to Cantor's workforce.

"Stone," Cantor said, taking a small black box from his pocket and pressing a button. "This will keep us from being overheard. There's a bug on every phone in the house, including your office and Joan's. You want me to duplicate them all?"

"Every one of them."

"How much time have I got? The video installation takes longer, if you don't want them to notice."

"Six o'clock Monday morning," Stone said.

"I can do that, probably by midnight tomorrow."

"Good man."

Cantor pressed the button again and gave Stone a thumbs-up.

Stone woke the following morning and, when he went downstairs to retrieve the Times, found Cantor and his crew in the kitchen, drinking coffee and eating breakfast.

"We raided the icebox," Cantor said.

"That's okay."

"And we'll be done by lunchtime."

"Great news," Stone said, pouring himself some coffee.

"The stuff these people have installed in your house leads me to believe that these people are not exactly your garden-variety industrial spies," Cantor said. "This looks more like government work, and of a high order."

"I'm glad to know my tax dollars are being spent on the best," Stone said.

"But my stuff is more than good enough to pick up what you want."

"Good. When we're all done, make two copies of everything. I want my client to have a copy."

"Easily done," Cantor said. "Keep this in your pocket; it will work from there. If you come to a point in your meetings where you don't want your image or voice recorded, just press the button. All they'll get is static and snow. When you want to let them record again, press the button once more."

Stone put the device in his pocket. "Right," he said, then he went back upstairs with his coffee, a muffin, and the Times and settled in for a morning of reading, watching the Sunday morning political shows, and doing the crossword puzzle.