Stuart Woods - Hot Mahogany

“Will it make you bleed onto the tablecloth to tell me about it?”

“Metaphorically speaking.”

“Eight hundred grand ought to soothe your aching conscience a little.”

“It involves Bob Cantor.”

“I spoke to him yesterday,” Dino said.

“And I had lunch with him today, and you promised not to mention money to me again.”

“Tell me.”

“Bob served under Barton Cabot in the Marine Corps in Vietnam. Together with four other men, they stole something and got it back to the States, where they divided the proceeds.”

“What did they steal?”

“He wouldn’t tell me, just that it belonged to the South Vietnamese government.”

“Which doesn’t exist any more.”

“Right.”

“And this happened when, in the seventies?”

“Right.”

“So the statute of limitations has expired?”

“Right.”

“So, what’s he worried about?”

“The other three men.”

“You said there were four, plus Bob and Barton.”

“One of them is dead, probably because he was unhappy with his cut of the deal.”

“You’re just saying that to make me shut up about my cut of this deal.”

“I’m just telling you the facts.”

“So what does this have to do with anything?”

“One of the other three guys turned up at P. J. Clarke’s yesterday; Bob saw him at the bar.”

“And?”

“And then he vanished.”

“In a puff of smoke?”

“No. Bob looked away, and when he looked back, the guy was gone.”

“What does this mean?”

“I think that Bob thinks that this guy was – is still – unhappy with his cut.”

“And that he stole Barton’s secretary to get even?”

“To get more than even. That’s my theory, anyway, not Bob’s, because he doesn’t know about the secretary.”

Dino looked uncomfortable.

“Dino, when you mentioned Barton Cabot to Bob Cantor, did you also mention the secretary?”

“At the time, there was no reason why I shouldn’t, was there?” Dino asked, defensively.

“I guess not,” Stone said.

“And I can’t talk to Bob about this, because of your conscience?”

“If it becomes necessary, I’ll talk to him.”

“So who is this disappearing guy?”

“I don’t know,” Stone said, “but I may have a way to find out.”

When Stone got home, he called the cell phone number he had for Lance Cabot and left a message. The following morning, early, Lance called him back. “Good morning, Stone.”

Stone tried to wake up fast. “Yeah, good morning.” His bedside clock said 5:46 A.M.

“You really should get an earlier start to your day,” Lance said.

“You’d get more done.”

Stone ignored that. “I need your help on something, Lance.”

“Is this something to do with Barton’s secretary?”

“Yes.”

“What, exactly, do you need?”

“At the end of the Vietnam War, Barton was commanding a Marine regiment.”

“I suppose that command would be appropriate to his rank.”

“Before he made colonel, he had commanded a company, and there was a squad leader, a sergeant named Robert Cantor. Barton got him a battlefield commission, and he became a platoon leader and, later, after Barton got the regiment, an acting company commander.”

“I think I’ve got it.”

“I want the names of the men in Sergeant Cantor’s squad and Lieutenant Cantor’s platoon.”

“You realize that those would be two different groups.”

“Why?”

“When a sergeant gets a battlefield commission, he’s transferred to another platoon, so he won’t be commanding the men he served with as an NCO.”

“Okay, then I need the names of both the squad and the platoon.”

“Why?”

“I can’t go into that,” Stone said.

“Stone, why are you holding out on me?”

“You’re going to have to trust me on this, Lance. In this matter, it’s better if I decide what you know and don’t know.”

“All right. I’ll be in the office shortly, and I’ll give this to Holly to work on. She’ll be in Connecticut by nightfall, and she can give you the records then.”

“I’m in New York, Lance.”

“I think you should spend at least a night or two in Connecticut, Stone, and while you’re there, you can look in on Barton.”

Stone sighed. “All right, Lance. And if I need further information can Holly obtain it from Connecticut?”

“She’ll have her laptop. Good-bye, Stone.”

Stone hung up, turned over and went back to sleep.

Stone arrived in Washington, Connecticut, in the late afternoon. His secretary had called his local housekeeper, and she had freshened up the place with clean linens and bouquets of flowers. She had also laid in food for breakfast.

Holly arrived an hour or so later and seemed happy to be in his arms. She had reddened her hair a few months ago for an assignment and had lost some weight.

Stone thought she looked terrific. “How long did the drive take?” he asked, kissing her.

“A couple of hours. I took a Company light airplane to the Oxford airport and rented a car.”

“How about a drink?”

“You talked me into it.”

They both drank the same bourbon, so he poured them a Knob Creek.

Holly grabbed her briefcase and led him into the living room to a sofa. “I’ve got some stuff that Lance said you wanted,” she said, opening the briefcase and handing him a folder. “This is the roster of Charlie Company, Second Platoon,” she said. “You’ll note that Staff Sergeant Robert Cantor is leader of First Squad, and there’s a list of the other squad members.” She handed him another folder. “When Cantor got his commission, he was transferred to Baker Company and given command of First Platoon. This is that roster. There’s a total of thirty or so names on both lists combined, but they had a lot of casualties, so by the end of the war the list was cut in half. Now tell me what this is about.”

“All right, but you can’t tell Lance about it.”

“Why not?”

“It involves something about his brother he’d probably rather not know.”

“Okay, but if he orders me, I’ll have to tell him.”

“I don’t think he’ll order you to tell him.” Stone told everything, beginning with the disappearance of the mahogany secretary and continuing through the story of the theft near the end of the war.

“What did they steal?” Holly asked.

“I don’t know, but it must have been fairly easily transported and easy to dispose of after they got it back to the States. And it must have been substantial in value, as it seems to have funded the lives of the participants when they became civilians again.”

“Makes sense.”

Stone picked up the first folder. “My guess is that the other participants are likely to have come from Sergeant Cantor’s squad, since he would have been closer to his men and known them better than he would as a platoon or company commander.” He opened the folder.

“He had five men in his squad,” she said, “but two of them were fatalities before the end of the war.”

“One of them was probably murdered by someone else in the squad,” Stone said, “when he was unhappy with the way the loot was divided.”

“Both fatalities occurred in ’Nam and are listed as KIA,” Holly said.

“I guess it’s easier to shoot somebody when your outfit is being shot at.”

“Right, and what you’ve got there are the service records of the remaining three original squad members and Cantor. I didn’t think you’d be interested in the replacements.”

“Probably not,” Stone said, looking through the folders. “He would have trusted the original guys more.” He glanced through the records. “Two of these guys were from New York: one from Queens, one from the Bronx. Bob Cantor is from Brooklyn. Would it be unusual for three of a squad to be from the same city?”