Стюарт Вудс - Stealth

“Good morning, then.”

Lance waited for the door to close behind him, then moved to his desk and called Stone on his Agency iPhone. The phone rang six times, then there was a beep.

“Call me,” Lance said, then hung up. He could not leave a longer message because Stone was not at the other end to scramble.

Stone asked for the gelding and rode alone around the property and that of the adjoining country hotel, which he looked upon as an extension of his estate. The weather was glorious and promised to be until Saturday evening, when a front would move in. Finally, he turned back toward the house and rode slowly, to cool down the animal.

At noon, Lance, having not heard back from Stone, called him again and again got no answer. He waited for the beep, then said, “Urgent.”

A van marked BRITISH GAS pulled up at the rear of the house, and a man in a work uniform got out carrying a canvas bag and went to the kitchen door, which stood open. He stepped inside and found the workspace deserted. He looked carefully around and his eye fell on two bottles of wine on a corner counter.

He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and walked over to the corner. Clearly, they were old and quite dusty. He picked up a bottle and wiped the label with his thumb; it was very old. He set the bottle down, reached into the canvas bag and withdrew a small, zippered leather case, then unzipped it. It held a syringe containing a colorless liquid and a capped needle. This particular needle would not be long enough to penetrate the corks of the bottles, so he replaced it with a longer, thinner needle.

He held the syringe perpendicular to the cork and slowly pushed it through the lead capsule and into the bottle. He pressed the plunger and squirted half the liquid into the bottle, then he began to slowly withdraw the needle. His fingers slipped momentarily, and the needle snapped off, leaving half of it in the cork, its end concealed by the capsule. “Shit!” he said.

He had only the short needle left, and that wouldn’t do. He would need another, more accessible, container to use the other half of the liquid. He replaced the kit in the canvas bag and ventured into a long hallway from the kitchen toward the front of the house. He stopped every few feet and listened but heard no sound. He ran up the main staircase, keeping to the inside of the treads to avoid squeaking, and found what was clearly the master bedroom. He set the canvas bag on the bed and carefully removed two leather-bound volumes, then he knelt, placed the dictionary on the floor, and pushed it under the bed as far as he could reach. That done, he retraced his steps to the kitchen, and as he went down the back steps to the garden, a man on horseback came from behind the house, headed for the stables. The man gave him a little wave, and he waved back. Then he got into the van and drove away.

Stone greeted Rose at the front steps, as she was driven in from the station. They embraced, and her luggage was taken upstairs.

“I’d like a nap, if you can do without me for an hour or so,” she said.

“Of course. Felicity won’t arrive until around seven. I’ll come up and change after you wake up.”

She went upstairs, and he went back to his book.

Lance was about to call again, when he was interrupted by his secretary. “Senator Bond is here to see you,” she said. “He’s a little early.”

Lance put away his phone. “Send him in.”

Stone went upstairs to his master suite and, as he entered, caught a glimpse of a half-clothed Rose going into her bathroom. “I’ll be another half hour,” she said.

“That works for me,” he called back. He went into his dressing room, put away his riding clothes and boots, and went into his bath. He shaved, showered, dried his hair, then returned to his dressing room and got into his dinner suit. He returned to the bedroom at the moment Rose emerged in a little black dress that sported deep cleavage, displaying much of her very fine frontage.

Stone kissed her on the cheek, and she felt for his crotch. “I just wanted to see if the dress was having its intended effect,” she said. “And it is.”

Stone took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, then they went downstairs to the library, just as Dame Felicity was walking into the house. Geoffrey, the butler, took her overnight bag and coat, revealing a tight dress that was the same red as her lipstick, and there was yet more cleavage to be viewed.

The two women kissed, to Stone’s surprise, on the lips, lightly enough not to require makeup repair.

“How gorgeous you look,” Felicity said.

“And you,” Rose replied. “I love the dress.”

Stone interrupted. “May I offer anyone an alcoholic beverage?”

“Yes,” they replied, simultaneously. Stone showed them into the library and poured them each an icy vodka gimlet, then one for himself, and served them on a silver cocktail tray. They toasted life, then he went to inspect their dining table. All was in order, and the two bottles of old claret rested on a side table, along with a candlestick, two crystal decanters, and two tasting glasses. All was well, so he returned to the two women, who were occupying the Chesterfield sofa, sitting slightly closer to each other than absolutely necessary, hands touching.

Stone had just sat down when the iPhone on the table next to him rang. He stood and picked it up. “Excuse me, please,” he said to the two women, then he stepped out into the hall. “Yes?”

“Scramble.”

“Scrambled.”

“Why haven’t you returned my calls?” Lance asked, irritably.

“I wasn’t aware that you called,” Stone said. “I was out riding.”

“Stone, it’s important that you keep that phone on your person at all times.”

“I’ll try and remember that,” Stone said. “What’s up?”

“You and Felicity,” Lance replied.

Where does he get this stuff, Stone asked himself. “And exactly what does that mean?”

“It means that we recorded a conversation between two men in London who were apparently discussing the demise of at least one of you, perhaps both. The recording quality was very poor, and we only got part of it.”

“The important part, I hope.”

“I hope, too.”

“What do you suggest?” Stone asked.

“It’s too late to mount a defense at this point. All I can suggest is that you be bloody careful.”

“All right, I’ll do that.”

“Where are you?”

“At Windward Hall. Felicity is here for dinner, along with another friend.”

“Another woman friend?”

“Yes, as it happens.”

“My goodness,” Lance said.

Stone could hear him smiling. “Who were the two men you recorded?”

“One we couldn’t identify, but he was British. The other was Wilfred Thomas, the bookbinder earl, whom we have previously discussed.”

“Right. Is there anything else, Lance? I’d like to return to my guests.”

“Oh, all right, but arm yourself,” Lance said, then hung up.

Stone returned to the library and resumed his seat, but the two women were deep in conversation and ignored him. He hoped it wasn’t going to be that kind of evening.

Geoffrey called them do dinner, and they took their seats. “Shall I decant the wines, sir?”

“Yes, please, but only one bottle. They’re quite old, and I don’t want them to get too much air for too long.”

“Of course, sir. Which one shall I uncork first?”

“Oh, the older one, I guess. That’s what, the Palmer?”

Geoffrey inspected the bottles. “Yes, sir.” He cut away the capsule and went to work with the corkscrew. He uncorked it very carefully, then lit the candle and decanted it slowly. He poured a little into a tasting glass, sniffed it, then placed it before Stone, along with the cork. “I’m afraid the cork isn’t very good, sir.”