Стюарт Вудс - Shakeup

“Oh, well.”

“I think what I’ll have to do is plan further ahead and blank out a couple of days as vacation time.”

“Then the press will want to know where you’re going.”

“I’ll take a firm line on that. They’ll get used to it.”

“What happened to the man with the rifle?”

“They shot him, but not dead. Sounds like he’ll end up in a mental ward for a long rest.”

“You were safer in my arms,” he said.

“Don’t I know it! Gotta run.” She hung up.

Stone had just sat down at his desk when Joan buzzed him. “Dino on one.”

Stone pushed the button. “Good morning.”

“You obviously haven’t seen the early edition of the New York Post. ”

“I try to spare myself that.”

“There’s what you might call a speculative, not to say a made-up, story that a woman in a burka was spotted leaving the Carlyle with a known Secret Service agent.”

“Oh, shit.”

“It’s okay, they think she had a Muslim visitor. They’re working that up into a brink-of-war-in-the-Middle-East story.”

“Whew!”

“Nice idea, though. Whose was it?”

“Hers, I think. I can’t remember.”

“I think you’re going to have to think up a better story, one that takes place in a less convenient place. How about Camp David?”

“Lots of staff around there.”

“Some other place where you have a house?”

“Too cold in Maine, too far to L.A., England, or France, unless there’s legit government business in one of those.”

“Problem is, after all that waltzing on inaugural night, you’re now officially on the radar, not to mention fair game.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Maybe what Holly needs is a beard.”

“That would be unattractive.”

“You know what I mean: a harmless male escort, preferably gay and out of the closet.”

“I don’t know how that would work. The problem is, eventually, we’re going to get busted. And it will be worse than if we had just made an announcement after the inauguration.”

“How about an engagement announcement in the Sunday Times? ”

“Engaged for eight years?”

“Well, there is that. Plus, you’ll never get laid again, if people believe you are engaged to the president. Of course, there’s a certain kind of woman who would view that as a challenge.”

“Spare me that kind of woman,” Stone said.

“If we put our minds together, we could come up with something that would work. Dinner tonight?”

“Patroon, at seven,” Stone said, then hung up. He asked Joan to book the table.

He was halfway through a bourbon before Dino showed. Half a dozen people had complimented him on his waltzing.

Dino slid into the booth, just ahead of a Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks. “Did you come up with anything yet?” Stone asked.

“I haven’t given it a thought.”

“Me, either.”

“How about moving to another city?”

“It would have to be London or Paris. I can’t buy any more houses. And I’d never see Holly again.”

“Presidents visit London and Paris.”

“I don’t think I can conduct a sexual relationship while accompanied by a motorcycle escort,” Stone said.

“Yeah, I guess that kind of travel would entail an entourage.”

“Look who’s here,” Stone said, nodding toward the entrance.

Dino looked. “Well, as I live and breathe. Our Lieutenant Jacoby has found a restaurant table in New York.”

Jacoby was with an attractive brunette, Stone noted. “A table isn’t all he’s found.”

Jacoby saw them across the room and nodded. He ordered a drink, then excused himself from the brunette and crossed to their booth. Hands were shaken.

“I want to ask your advice,” he said.

“Which one of us?” Dino asked.

“Both of you. I had a visit this afternoon from Donald Clark.”

Stone threw up a hand. “Wait, wait, don’t tell me. He wants you to conduct an investigation of his wife’s murder and find him innocent.”

“You, too?”

“Everybody in town,” Stone said.

“Did you give him any advice?”

“Yes, I told him to go back to D.C., hire a top criminal lawyer from a top firm, and have him issue a statement that he’s innocent.”

“I guess that’s cheaper than an investigation,” Jacoby said.

“I guess so. What advice did you give him?”

“I told him it was ethically inappropriate for him to seek my advice, since I’m still listed as an investigating officer on the case.”

“I like it,” Stone said.

“Enjoy your dinner,” Jacoby said. “Any recommendations?”

“The chateaubriand or the Dover sole,” Stone said. “Or anything else. It’s all good.”

Jacoby gave him a little salute and returned to his brunette. “I wonder who else is on the list,” Stone said.

“Sherlock Holmes,” Dino replied.

Stone’s phone was ringing as he walked into his bedroom. “Hello?”

“It’s Eggers.” Bill Eggers had been a law school classmate of Stone’s and was managing partner of Woodman & Weld, the prestigious law firm in which Stone was a senior partner.

“Hello, Bill. It’s a little late. Do you need bail money?”

“Har de har,” Eggers said. “I need a traveling companion who owns a Gulfstream 500.”

“Have you been reduced to hitchhiking?” Stone asked.

“No, but I need to fly to L.A. tomorrow morning for a couple of days. The firm’s airplane is in the shop, undergoing an inspection of some sort, and I need one of the firm’s attorneys to accompany me, so naturally I chose the one who has a Gulfstream.”

“Naturally. What time do you want wheels up?”

“Ten AM. I’m not an early riser. The firm will pay for the use of the aircraft and all expenses, of course.”

“You mean, one or more of the firm’s clients is paying?”

“Same thing. You in?”

“Why not. There’s room in my house for you.”

“Thanks, but I’ve taken a large suite. There’ll be meetings all day the day after tomorrow.”

“For which my attendance will be required?”

“Only one meeting for that. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Be aboard by nine-forty-five,” Stone said, then hung up. He called his pilot, Faith Barnacle. “You’ll need a copilot and a stewardess,” he explained, “and catering for two of us and the crew — lunch and an afternoon snack. Wheels up at ten AM. I’ll do the takeoff and landing.”

“Do I get to know where we’re going?” Faith asked.

“Sorry, L.A. You can call the Arrington and arrange your usual rooms. Also, request transportation for two. There’ll be a guest aboard. Get yourself a rental car for the crew.”

“How many days away?”

“At least a couple.”

“See you tomorrow.”

The following morning, Stone was driven by his factotum, Fred Flicker, to Teterboro Airport, across the river in New Jersey. He needed only a briefcase, since he had a wardrobe at the L.A. house, which was situated on the grounds of the Arrington, a hotel named for his late wife. When he boarded the Gulfstream, Bill Eggers was already there, sipping something that looked suspiciously like a gin and tonic.

“It’s club soda,” Eggers said, suspecting Stone’s suspicions and waving him to a seat. The stewardess closed and locked the main cabin door and greeted them. “Coffee, tea, or anything else?” she asked. The sound of engines starting followed her.

“Tea,” Stone replied, and she brought a little pot and a cup.

“Tea?” Eggers said. “Really?”

“I’ve already had a strong cup of coffee this morning, and I don’t require further caffeination,” Stone explained. He sweetened the tea and squeezed lemon into it. “Also, I’m doing the takeoff and landing, and the FAA frowns on, ah, club soda, before flying.” He drank his tea as they taxied, then went forward and took the left seat from Faith, while she displaced her copilot from the right seat.