Стюарт Вудс - Foul Play

“No.”

“Then a rental in the name of Strategic Services will be waiting for you, plus a van for hauling my people. We’ll talk more after you’re settled on the Vineyard. Any questions?”

“No,” Shep said.

“Stone? Dino?”

“No,” Stone said. “I’ll go with him, and I’ll get myself to your hangar at Teterboro.”

“I’ll go with you,” Dino said. “This sounds like fun.”

Mike went back to his table, and Stone turned over Shep to his Strategic Services detail, who transported him to the Carlyle. “Take a lot of clothes,” Stone said. “Do you have any cash on hand?”

“A couple of thousand, in my safe in the apartment.”

“I’ll bring you some more. For the duration of your stay on the Vineyard, don’t use credit cards or write checks, and stay indoors at your property.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll see you at Teterboro at six-thirty am.”

“Good night, Stone, and thanks.”

“All part of the service.”

Stone waved him off, then turned to Dino. “Pick me up at six am?”

“Sure.”

Stone went home and called Joan from his bedroom. “How much cash do we have in the safe?” he asked.

“Seventy-five grand, give or take.”

“Pack twenty-five of it into a briefcase and leave in on my desk. I’m going out of town early tomorrow morning, and I can’t tell you where until I’m there. You can text me, if there are problems.”

“Okay, boss.”

They hung up, and Stone packed two bags.

The following morning, Stone and Dino arrived at the Strategic Services hangar at Teterboro and loaded their gear into the company’s G-500. Shep arrived soon after, and he and a whole bunch of Strategic Services people got on board. They were touching down on Martha’s Vineyard less than an hour later, and two vehicles awaited them: a Mercedes S550 sedan and a Mercedes Sprinter, a large van. A half hour later they turned down a tree-lined drive and drove up to a handsome shingle-style house by the sea, maybe five miles from Edgartown.

Stone and Dino were shown to bedrooms while Shep toured the house with the builder, then met the others downstairs.

“Everything is perfect,” Shep said, and introduced them to the builder, Mr. Shipley.

“Mr. Shipley,” Stone said. “Mr. Troutman is not here and has no plans to be here for the next six months. Please explain that to any of your staff who need to know.”

“Right,” Shipley said. He shook hands with Shep and left.

“Breakfast?” Shep asked.

“I’m hungry,” Stone said.

Shep’s cook took their orders and prepared them.

“I’ve already spoken to the staff about my non-presence here,” Shep said. “I trust Shipley and all these people.”

“The fewer people you need to trust, the better,” Stone said.

Later, over coffee, Shep looked at Stone and Dino. “Who are we dealing with here?” he asked.

“You mean besides a Delaware corporation?” Stone asked.

“I do.”

“Dino, you want to take this one?”

Dino cleared his throat. “Based on my experience with this sort of thing and a little guessing, I think we’re dealing with Russians — specifically, the Russian mob.”

“Oh, shit,” Shep said.

“Well put,” Dino replied.

While they were eating breakfast in the kitchen, the Strategic Services detail were moving into the guesthouse and dealing with the electronic facets of the main house.

“What newspapers or magazines do you read?” Shep asked.

“Why?”

“I’ll phone the news shop and have them delivered.”

“No, no, no,” Stone said.

“I don’t understand.”

“Shep, you have seen that all of us here have gone to great lengths to make you disappear entirely. That means not only that you may not be seen outside this house, but that you cannot contact anyone on the island, like the news shop. You are not here. Understand?”

“I’m sorry to be so thick about this,” Shep said.

“Every time you think of someone you want to speak to or someplace you want to go, don’t do it. Speak to me or your security detail, and it will be accomplished without your presence or assistance.”

“I understand.”

“By the way, your phones here have been disconnected, with an order to restore service in six months.” He handed Shep a new iPhone, still in the box. “If you need to make a call, use this, after checking with me first. It’s registered to a Barbara Harris of Atlanta, who has a part-time residence on the island, so it can’t be traced to you or to this house. Give me your old phone.”

“What about my phone book and calendar and all that?”

“Already transferred to the new phone.”

“Oh.”

They exchanged phones.

“The problem, Shep, is that you are a straightforward, honest, and reliable person. You’re going to have to begin to be none of those things. Think sneaky.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“One more thing: your detail has placed a for sale sign at the end of your driveway, with a phone number that the detail is managing. Anyone who calls about the house will find it too expensive or uninhabitable or something else to put them off. No one will view the property.”

“Good. Stone, will you excuse me for a few minutes?”

“Sure, just don’t leave the house or open any doors or windows.”

“Right.” Shep left the table and disappeared for about twenty minutes, then returned. “Stone, Dino, will you come with me, please?”

“Where to?” Stone asked, rising.

“Not outside. Don’t worry.” He led them through a large living room and into a walnut-paneled library two stories high, with a spiral staircase leading to a second level. A cheerful fire burned in the fireplace, and a man sat next to it, reading a book. On sighting them, he rose, ready to shake hands. He was tallish, slim, and with an impressive moustache, as white as his hair.

“Stone Barrington, Dino Bacchetti,” Shep said, “I’d like you to meet my father, Rodrick Troutman.” The older man extended his hand, and they both shook it.

“I’m sorry,” Stone said, “I don’t...”

“Of course you don’t,” the elder Troutman said. “Call me Rod, everyone does — everyone who knows I’m not dead.”

“Are you sure you’re not dead?” Dino asked.

“Fairly sure,” Rod replied. “Of course, I’m buried under a very nice slab of granite in the backyard.”

“No fire,” Stone said, pointing at the blaze. “No smoke coming from the chimney.”

“It’s a gas fire,” Rod said. “No smoke. Please sit down, and Shep will explain everything.”

Stone and Dino shared a sofa. “Now, do please explain,” Stone said.

“I’m sorry to have misled you,” Shep said, “but you see, several weeks ago, we began hearing from these people with the Delaware corporation. Dad got tired of dealing with them, so he handed them off to me, and we decided that Dad should be out of the picture. So, with the help of longtime family friends, among them the local chief of police and an undertaker, we simulated Dad’s death and removed him here. I’m sorry you missed the funeral, Dad. It was a corker.”

Rod laughed heartily. “I’ll bet it was.”

“So, after it became apparent that the putative buyers were not going to go away, I gently led them down the garden path, separating them from two hundred fifty million dollars of their money. They were foolish enough to think they would get it back. Then my, ah, reoccurring misfortunes began to get in the way, and I came to you, Stone. And you’ve done exactly what I hoped you would, and flawlessly. Left to my own devices, I would have screwed it up.”

“So, Dino, Mike Freeman, and I have had a good look at the garden path, too?”