Stuart Woods - Lucid Intervals

“I don’t like someone like James Hackett knowing about this.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have taken me to that dinner party,” Stone replied. “By the way, did you ever figure out who the VIP was who deserved to be served the Krug?”

“I expect it must have been Wight,” she said. “No one else there was of much importance.”

“Bill Eggers tells me that Wight’s reputation is better here than at home.”

“At home, his past is no more than a smudge on his copybook,” she said. “He’s been back in business for a while, now.”

“Well, now we know that he was in touch with Whitestone right up until his death.”

“Yes. He lied about that, didn’t he? Said he thought Whitestone was in Cairo, when he had actually recommended him for a job with Hackett, and under an assumed name, too.”

“Is there a crime in there somewhere?” Stone asked.

“No, it’s not criminal to conceal the identity of a former member of the service, and we can’t prove that he did anything criminal in conjunction with Whitestone.”

“Hackett was curious about why the Foreign Office is still interested in Whitestone. I’m curious, too. Did the inquiry originate with them or with you?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Stone smiled a little. “Well, Hackett offered to hire me to find out.”

She looked at him, shocked.

“I declined, of course,” he said quickly.

“I should certainly hope so,” she said. Then, looking thoughtful, she added, “I wonder why Hackett wonders why the F.O. is still interested in Whitestone.”

“Maybe Whitestone isn’t dead,” Stone said. “Maybe the photos were faked. Hackett said he wanted to hire Whitestone-though he said he didn’t know who he was at the time-to represent his company in the Middle East. Maybe Whitestone is, at this moment, representing his company in the Middle East.”

“I want to know more,” Felicity said.

“Look, Hackett is a very smart man. If he’s protecting Whitestone by faking his death, you may be sure that all the people you want talked to in Maine have been bought.”

“Or,” Felicity said, “perhaps, Hackett and/or Whitestone found a look-alike, murdered him, battered the body and buried him, first taking photographs and Whitestone’s fingerprints. In that case, he wouldn’t need to buy anybody, would he?”

“There are all sorts of possibilities.”

Felicity nodded. “And I don’t like it when there are all sorts of possibilities.”

When Stone awoke the following morning, Felicity’s side of the bed was empty. Before he could order breakfast, she returned.

“I’ve used your scanner,” she said. “The fingerprints are Whitestone’s.”

“You’ll have my bill before noon,” Stone said. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“Two fried eggs, wheat toast and blood sausage, please. And English breakfast tea.”

“I don’t believe we stock blood sausage,” Stone replied. “God, but that’s a disgustingly British thing to eat at breakfast.”

“All right, any sort of sausage.”

Stone got Helene on the intercom and ordered for both of them.

“I’ll expedite your check,” Felicity said, “but there’s one more thing I want you to do for me.”

“What’s that?”

“I want you to obtain James Hackett’s fingerprints.”

“He’s a naturalized citizen; they’ll be in the FBI database.”

“No. I want you to obtain them directly from the source.”

“Oh, I see. You want me to go over to his office, hold him down and print him?”

“I would be grateful if you could be more subtle than that.”

Stone thought about it. “All right, let’s invite him to dinner.”

“Here?”

“Why not? I have a dining room, a kitchen and a cook. At a restaurant I might have trouble confiscating his wineglass.”

“All right,” she said.

“And you must be here.”

“Why on earth should I be here?”

“Because it will guarantee his acceptance. If he’s Whitestone, it will be an opportunity to demonstrate his invulnerability to your identifying him.”

“Oh, all right. Who else will you ask?”

“I think Bill Eggers. It would be an opportunity for them to get to know each other better.”

“You need one more couple.”

“How about Dino?”

“Why Dino?”

“Why not? Hackett, being in the business he’s in, would love to get to know an NYPD lieutenant.”

“We need someone who’s not a drinking buddy of yours.”

“Do you have a request?”

“You know the former police commissioner, don’t you?”

“Yes, we have a cordial acquaintanceship. It might be a little uncomfortable, though.”

“Why?”

“He’s married to a woman I, ah, knew… rather well.”

“Ask him, and get over it.”

“I am over it.”

“Not if you’re uncomfortable inviting her to dinner with her husband.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll get Joan on it; we have to find an evening when everyone’s available.” He picked up the phone, buzzed Joan and asked her to arrange the dinner.

Their breakfast arrived on the dumbwaiter, and they sat up in bed with trays on their laps. Felicity stole his orange juice.

“You didn’t order orange juice,” Stone pointed out.

“I just did,” she said. “Oh, all right, we can share.”

Stone refilled the glass from the pitcher, and they shared.

“I was just thinking,” Felicity said, stabbing a sausage link and making it disappear.

“Uh, oh,” Stone said. “What now?”

“You said that Hackett had offered you employment.”

“On three occasions,” Stone said.

“Why don’t you accept?”

“Well, first of all, I’m very happy with my current employment status.”

“Take a leave of absence. Hackett would probably pay better, anyway.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Stone said. “The problem is, you want me to work for him so that I can prove he’s Whitestone and you can destroy him. That would leave me out of work, and I’d have to go crawling back to Bill Eggers, not to mention my own clients.”

“Why do you think I want to destroy Hackett?” she asked.

“You clearly would like for something bad to happen to Whitestone, and if he’s Whitestone…”

Stone’s phone buzzed. “Yes?”

“Your dinner is arranged for tomorrow evening,” Joan said. “You may expect your guests at seven.”

“Wow,” Stone said, “that was fast work.”

“Yes,” she said, “it was, wasn’t it?” She hung up.

Stone turned to Felicity. “We’re on for tomorrow evening. Drinks at seven.” Stone cleared away their trays and sent them down to the kitchen on the dumbwaiter.

“You have a very efficient secretary,” Felicity said. “What is her name again?”

“Oh, no you don’t. You’ll hire her for some secret mission.”

“I might just do that,” she replied, sipping her orange juice.

“I’m not telling you her name.”

“It’s Joan.”

“I’m not telling you her last name.”

“Oh, come on, Stone.”

“I’ll tell you if you’ll tell me why you and/or the Foreign Office want to find Stanley Whitestone.”

“That’s just eating you up inside, isn’t it?”

“It is. And I think I deserve to know.”

“Hah!”

“Tell me,” he said, kissing her on the ear.

“Let’s not bring sex into this,” she said.

“Why not? Sex goes with everything.” He kissed her on the neck and ran a hand under the covers.

She turned toward him. “Maybe,” she said, “when we’re finished.”

THREE-QUARTERS OF AN hour later, Stone lay panting and sweating. “All right,” he said. “Tell me why you and/or the Foreign Office want to find Stanley Whitestone.”