Stuart Woods - Fast and Loose

Stone picked up the phone and called Mike Freeman.

“Yes, Stone?”

“Charley Fox has been made by Macher’s henchman, Jake Herman, when he came to my house, and Charley thinks he might have people outside right now.”

“You want me to remove them?”

“For the moment, just photograph them and e-mail me the shots. Later, we might want them removed. You’re going to need to put a couple of men on Charley, too, for the present. We don’t want them following him to your building.”

“Consider it done,” Mike said, and they both hung up.

“Mike’s on it,” Stone said to Charley. “If you want to leave the house, go out of your apartment into the garden, and there’s a wrought-iron gate that opens onto Second Avenue. Come back the same way, call Joan, and she will buzz you in until we get can you a key.”

“I’m sorry to be all this trouble,” Charley said. “I guess my tradecraft is a little rusty.”

“Don’t worry about it, just keep safe,” Stone said.

Jake Herman went online to the New York City Department of Buildings website and searched for building permits at Stone Barrington’s house. He was astonished at what he found.

Under the banner of the General Services Administration, a federal agency, he found detailed plans for improvements several years before, and the authorizing agency was the Central Intelligence Agency. For some reason they had seen fit to make Barrington’s house extremely secure. The brick veneer at the front and rear of the house had been removed and half-inch steel sheathing had been applied, then the bricks replaced, and the same with the roof; the windows had been replaced with replicas conforming to the New-York Historical Society’s rules with steel frames and inch-thick armored glass, and the electrical and utility wiring to the house had been reinforced and encased in stainless-steel pipes.

The goddamned place was a fortress. Clearly the Agency had some sort of relationship with Barrington. That made him wonder if Charles Fox had a connection with the Agency, but he didn’t have the skills to crack their computers. He searched his mind for past acquaintances who had served there and came up with a woman about Fox’s age, Kaley Weiss, whom he had interviewed for a job at Macher’s security company a couple of years ago. He called the number he had for her.

“Hello?”

“Kaley Weiss?”

“Who’s calling?”

“This is Jake Herman at St. Clair Enterprises. We met a couple of years ago.”

“Oh, yes, the interview.”

“We have an opening. Would you like to come by and talk about it?”

“Thank you, Mr. Herman, but I’m very well situated in a new job, and I’m not interested in moving.”

“Oh? Where are you? I’ll notate your record for the future.”

“I’m afraid they insist on confidentiality from their employees.”

“Of course. Oh, by way, when you were at the Agency, did you know a guy named Charles Fox?”

“Yes, but not well. We were in a class together during training.”

“Have you heard from him since? There’s something here that might interest him, and I don’t have a number for him.”

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “Thanks for thinking of me.” She hung up and made a call of her own.

Charley Fox’s cell rang and he checked the number before answering. “Kaley?”

“Yes, Charley, how are you?”

“I’m very well, thanks, and you?”

“I’m doing great, thanks.”

“Are you still with our former employer?”

“No, I left a couple of years ago. Now I’m with a security company called Strategic Services.”

“I know them,” Charley said. “What are you doing there?”

“Working for a woman named Vivian Bacchetti, who’s chief of operations here. Listen, when I left our previous employer I had an interview with a guy at St. Clair Enterprises named Jake Herman, ex-FBI, thoroughly unsavory character.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and I just got a call from him asking about you.”

“Aha. What did you tell him?”

“He asked if I knew you at the Agency, and I said we’d had a class together.”

That was less than a full answer, Charley thought, since they had been sleeping together most of the time they were at the Farm. “Did you tell him anything else?”

“He wanted your number, but I got uncomfortable and didn’t give it to him, just brushed him off.”

“That’s good,” Charley said. “I worked at St. Clair for less than a month, then Christian St. Clair bought the farm, and I just got out of there.”

“Well, Herman doesn’t know anything he didn’t know before. Where are you living?”

“I’m staying with a friend between residences. You want to have dinner one night soon?”

“Love to,” she said. “This is my cell number. Call me when you like.”

“Are you free this evening?”

“I am.”

“There’s a good cook where I’m staying. Why don’t you come over, and we’ll dine here?”

“Great.”

He gave her the address of Stone’s staff house. “I’m in apartment 1A. Seven o’clock?”

“You’re on. See you then.” They both hung up.

Charley, who had taken the call in the office next to Joan’s, went into Stone’s office.

“Stone, have you got an extra piece I could borrow while I’m here?”

“Sure. Any favorites?”

“Something light would do.”

Stone went to his safe and removed a Colt Government .380 and a spare magazine. “How’s this?” he asked, handing it over.

“Perfect.”

“Do you have a New York City concealed carry permit?”

“No.”

“Then don’t take it out of the house.”

“All right.”

“I think it might be a good idea if you applied for a permit,” Stone said. “You never know.”

“All right, as soon as I can get out of the house.”

“You can apply online, then they’ll schedule you for an interview and fingerprinting. I might be able to grease the wheels a bit.”

“Great. Listen, Stone, I probably should have asked, but do you mind if I have a woman for dinner in my apartment tonight?”

“Not in the least. Speak to Fred and he’ll make your wishes known to Helene in the kitchen, and he’ll find you some wine and booze, too.”

“She’s somebody I knew at the Agency. Her name is Kaley Weiss, and she works now at Strategic Services, for somebody named Vivian Bacchetti. You have a connection to that name, don’t you?”

“I do. Her husband, Dino, and I were partners on the NYPD.”

“And he’s the police commissioner now?”

“That’s right. You’ll meet him in due course.”

“Okay.” Charley turned to go. “Oh, the way I got in touch was that Kaley got a call from Jake Herman.”

“Uh-oh.”

“She’d had a job interview at St. Clair a couple of years ago. He asked if she knew me, and she told him we’d been in a class together at the Farm. That was it, she hung up.”

“So Herman now knows you were at the Agency.”

“I guess so, though I can’t think how that could matter.”

“Probably not. Enjoy your evening.”

Charley thanked him and went back to his borrowed office.

Charley Fox opened his door and found Kaley Weiss standing there in a cashmere dress draped over her tall, slim frame and high breasts. She looked much the same as the last time he had seen her, except there was a dent the size of a Ping-Pong ball in the right side of her forehead. She seemed to be missing a chunk of her skull.

They embraced lightly, and he showed her in.

“This is very nice,” she said, looking around. “You said it belongs to a friend?”