Stuart Woods - Lucid Intervals

“Are you convinced now that Hackett is not Whitestone?”

“Not entirely,” she said.

“I think it would be best if we both proceeded on the premise that Hackett is Hackett and Whitestone is dead,” Stone said.

“That would be convenient for you, wouldn’t it?” she said archly.

“It would be realistic for both of us,” Stone replied. “May I now be released from the bondage of your investigation?”

“Not quite,” she said. “I still expect you to report any new information that arises from your working relationship with Hackett.”

“That would be a conflict of interest,” Stone pointed out.

“Not when you took the work at my suggestion, so I could find out more.”

“You are a spider,” Stone said, “who toys with her victims mercilessly.”

“That’s an inappropriate metaphor,” she said. “I am simply tenacious where my work is concerned. The safety of my country depends on it.”

The phone rang, and Stone picked it up.

“It’s Jim Hackett.”

“Hello, Jim.”

“You’re in the clear; Dolce appears to have left town.”

“How could you know that?” Stone asked.

“We’ve been watching her bank accounts but, regrettably, not her bank. She went into the head office yesterday and cashed a check for half a million dollars. The manager knew her personally and said she arrived and was taken away in a chauffeured black car. Said she was taking a vacation. When our computer caught the transaction I spoke to the manager.”

“Why do you think she left town?”

“Because she bought one-way airline tickets to Hong Kong, Rome, Johannesburg and Dubai, using her credit card, and all those flights arrived before we learned about it. I had each of them investigated, and a woman answering her description was on each flight.”

“So she still could be in New York?”

“I think we’ve made things too hot for her here,” Hackett replied. “It seems more likely that she was actually on one of those flights; we just don’t know which one.”

“So you think it’s safe to return to my house?”

“I do. I’ll send a car for you.”

“Don’t bother; I’ll take a cab,” Stone replied. He thanked Hackett, hung up and reported the conversation to Felicity.

“All right,” she said. “If you think it’s safe, we’ll go. I’ll pack and send someone over for the computer.”

AN HOUR LATER Stone walked into his house. Everything seemed perfectly normal, and Joan was in her office. Felicity had taken another cab to her office.

“Did you have a nice vacation?” she asked.

“I suppose so,” Stone replied.

“Herbie came by again to thank you.”

“Don’t let him know I’m home, please. I don’t want to be thanked again.”

“Will you be home for a while now?”

“I believe so; it seems Dolce has left the country.” He told her about his conversation with Hackett.

“I don’t buy it,” Joan replied, “and I’m not letting down my guard.” She took the.45 from her drawer and placed it on her desk. The phone rang, and she picked it up. “It’s Felicity,” she said to Stone.

Stone went into his office and picked up the phone. “Well, hello, there. Long time no speak.”

“I’ve just had a call from London,” Felicity said. “My document-recovery people at Camberly have found James Hackett’s service record.”

“You mean he has two service records?”

“Since no soldier does, I very much doubt it.”

“What does it contain?”

“A solid mass of sodden pages, now one.”

“So it can’t be read?”

“No, it cannot, but there’s something else.”

“What’s that?”

“The photograph attached to the dossier is just barely legible, and it is not the one of the young James Hackett on the dossier he furnished.”

“So Hackett is Whitestone?”

“We don’t know that.”

“You’re confusing me.”

“That’s not surprising, since I am confused myself,” Felicity admitted.

“Do you want me to confront Hackett with this information?” Stone asked.

“I don’t know yet,” she replied. “I’ve got to think about that. I’ll be working late tonight on this, so don’t count on me for dinner. If I finish in time, I’ll drop by Elaine’s.”

“Okay, see you there,” Stone said. He hung up and tried to sort through everything he knew about Hackett, tried to make sense of it.

It didn’t work.

Stone joined Dino at Elaine’s.

“What’s the matter?” Dino asked, sipping his Scotch.

“Why do you think something’s the matter?” Stone asked.

“It’s obvious,” Dino said. “You think I can’t read you by now?”

Stone told him about the latest development in the Hackett/ Whitestone saga.

“Now I know why you look the way you do,” Dino said. “I’m baffled, too.”

“So are Felicity and her people,” Stone replied. He looked up to see Herbie Fisher walk into the restaurant with a young woman, very pretty, very nicely dressed.

“You see what I see?” Stone asked.

“I do,” Dino replied. “I guess the tradition in the Fisher family is abbreviated mourning.”

“I guess,” Stone agreed.

Herbie stopped by their table. “Hey, Stone. Hey, Dino. I’d like you to meet Stephanie Gunn, with two n’s. Stephanie, this is Stone Barrington and Dino Bacchetti.”

“How do you do, Stephanie,” Stone said.

“I’m very well, thank you. And you?”

“Very well. So is he.” He nodded toward Dino.

“Can’t he speak for himself?” she asked.

“I’m very well, thank you,” Dino said.

“See?” Stone said. “Fully functioning person.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” Stephanie said. “I believe I’ve heard Herbert mention your name, but not Mr. Bacchetti’s.”

“Dino is hardly ever mentioned by people who know him,” Stone said.

Stephanie laughed.

“Well,” Herbie said, “if you’ll excuse us.” He led the girl toward their waiting table.

“What’s wrong with this picture?” Stone asked.

“Well, both Herbie and his girlfriend sounded uncharacteristically normal,” Dino replied.

“That’s it: I’m unaccustomed to that. Maybe Herbie has entered another lucid interval. If so, that’s twice it’s happened.”

“That’s a record for Herbie,” Dino said. “Do you suppose that having his girlfriend jump off his penthouse terrace to her death has somehow matured him?”

“There were signs of maturation before,” Stone replied. “Like when he asked Sheila to sign a prenup.”

“I agree, that’s unusually sensible of him,” Dino said. “Have you talked with Bob Cantor about this?”

“No, Herbie’s uncle Bob wouldn’t believe me if I told him.”

They ordered dinner and were halfway through when Felicity showed up, sat down and ordered a single-malt Scotch on the rocks.

“No Rob Roy?” Dino asked.

“Not tonight,” she replied, taking a swig of the pungent liquid. “I need to go directly to the source, without the sugar and fruit.”

“I know the feeling,” Dino said.

“You look perplexed,” Stone said.

“I think that sums up my mood very nicely,” Felicity replied, “at least, until I finish this drink and start another one.”

“What is driving you to drink?” Stone asked.

“I’ve been back and forth with my documents people for the past four hours. They’ve found the photograph of Hackett that was on the file I sent them but not on his own folder; it was affixed to the dossier of one Timothy Timmons, another soldier in the regiment.”

“That’s a familiar name,” Stone said.

“Oh? How?”