Stuart Woods - Below the Belt

“Thank you, kind sir,” Holly said.

“And then there’s you,” Ed said to Stone.

“What could he possibly want from me?”

“Your goodwill, Stone.”

“Well, then, he bought that cheaply, for the price of a fine dinner and good company.”

“He’ll be offering you more soon.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s the sort of fellow who prefers having friends rather than enemies. He collects friends, like pearls on a string, and believe you me, he has a very long string.”

“Who doesn’t prefer friends to enemies?” Stone asked.

“Some of us don’t have the choice — the choice is made for us.”

“And where do you think I fall on the friends-to-enemies arc?”

“St. Clair hasn’t decided yet,” Rawls said. “He’s still sizing you up. He doesn’t know yet how much you know.”

“Well, I can tell him, not very much.”

Rawls reached into a pocket and came up with an object. “Catch,” he said, and tossed it to Stone.

Stone caught it and looked at it; it appeared to be an oddly shaped piece of titanium. “What is it?”

Holly spoke up. “It’s the key to the strong case,” she said.

Rawls stood up, tossed off his brandy, and set down the glass. “I’m outa here.”

Stone walked him to the door and watched as Ed turned off the outside light, allowed his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness, then made his way to a jeep and drove away, turning the wrong way on the road.

Stone went back inside. “I’m beat,” he said, pulling his bow tie loose and unbuttoning his collar. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Don’t you want to open the strong case?” Holly asked.

“No, I don’t want to even think about it. Coming?”

“Soon, I hope,” she said, joining him on the stairs.

“I’m not sure I have it in me,” Stone said.

“We’ll see.”

They slept well, had breakfast in bed, then dozed off again. The doorbell rang. Stone looked at the bedside clock. Ten minutes past eight. He picked up the phone, which automatically connected him to the intercom. “Yes?”

“Stone Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“FBI.”

“You must have the wrong house.”

“Are you Stone Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve got the right house. Are you going to let us in?”

“Wait right there.” Stone put on his nightshirt and a robe over that, then got into his slippers and walked downstairs. He had a good look at the two men through the armored glass before opening the door on its chain. “Let me see some ID.”

The two men held up badges, close enough that Stone could read their names on the IDs, Smithson and Peters. He opened the door. “Come in.”

He led them into the living room and pointed at chairs. “All right, what is it?”

“Are you alone in the house?” Smithson asked.

“None of your business,” Stone replied.

“Mr. Barrington, I caution you that it’s a crime to lie to a federal agent.”

“I’m not lying, it’s none of your business.”

“It’s going to be like that, is it?”

“Probably, unless you give me a good reason to talk to you. Your curiosity is not enough.”

“We’re investigating the theft of a... piece of luggage.”

“Thank you, but all my luggage is present and accounted for.”

“Not your luggage.”

“Then why are you in my house at this hour of the day?”

“That was dictated by the ferry schedule.”

“Doesn’t the Bureau have helicopters anymore?”

“We do, but that seemed like overkill for this errand.”

“Is there anything else?”

“I told you, we’re investigating the theft of a piece of luggage.”

“We’ve already been through that — let’s not start again.”

“Did you visit the home of former-President Joseph Adams in Santa Fe a few days ago?”

“Yes, but I didn’t steal any of his luggage.”

“What did you and President Adams talk about?”

“We reminisced about old times. Mr. Adams appeared to confuse me with someone else.”

“With whom did he confuse you?”

“Someone named Tom. I didn’t get the last name.”

“Why did you visit President Adams?”

“To reminisce about old times.”

“Mr. Barrington, are you hiding something from us?”

“I’m sorry, my attorney has just advised me that I don’t have to answer that question — or any other question.”

The two men looked around. “I don’t see an attorney,” Smithson said.

“You’re looking at him.”

“You’re an attorney?” Smithson asked.

“I’m surprised you don’t know more about the people you question.”

“He’s an attorney,” Peters said to his partner.

“Well, at least one of you Googled me,” Stone said.

“Mr. Barrington, if we searched your house, would we find a piece of luggage that doesn’t belong to you?”

“I haven’t invited you to search my house, and you haven’t shown me a search warrant.”

“We can get one.”

“And where would you do that?” Stone asked.

“From the nearest United States attorney.”

“You’d go all the way to Boston to have the fun of searching my house?”

The two men looked at each other. “Where’s the nearest U.S. attorney?” Smithson asked.

“I don’t know,” Peters replied.

“Well, I’m not going to tell you,” Stone said. “Anyway, if you located one you’d be obliged to show him some probable cause. Have you got any of that handy? If you can show me some, I might save you a trip to the U.S. attorney.”

The two men said nothing.

“That’s what I thought,” Stone said. “Gentlemen, if you hurry, you can still catch the ferry, otherwise it’s a two-hour wait, if it’s not refueling day, and then it’s a six-hour wait. And there’s not much fun to be had on the island dressed as you are.”

Smithson looked at his watch. “Let’s get out of here,” he said to his partner. Then, to Stone: “We’ll be back.”

“Promise?”

“Believe me.”

“Don’t forget your search warrant — or your probable cause.”

He locked the door behind them.

Holly came down the stairs. “I heard some of it from above. What the hell did they want?”

“A missing piece of luggage. Sound familiar?”

“Uh-oh.”

“Do you think everybody on the planet has come to know about this?”

“A good many of them, apparently.”

“I don’t get why the FBI is interested.”

“Neither do I, but has it occurred to you that it might have been the FBI who visited Joe Adams in his garden? Or followed us around that day? Or prowled around this house the other night?”

“Well, they were wearing suits and ties, weren’t they? The FBI is just about the last holdout for that particular fashion statement.”

“You know, if I were in my office I could look into this.”

“And what scientific equipment would you have there that would allow you to look into it that you don’t have here?”

“You have a point,” Holly admitted.

“Then why aren’t you looking into it?”

“Frankly, I don’t know where to start.”

“Well, I do,” Stone said. “Where’s my cell phone?”

“Upstairs, I guess.”

Stone started up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.” Stone found his phone and called the White House operator. “I’d like to leave a message for President Will Lee,” he said.

“Who’s calling?”

“My name is Stone Barrington.”

“Would you like me to connect you?”

“No, I’d just like to leave a message for him to phone me. He has the number.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Stone hung up and went downstairs. “Now we wait,” he said to Holly.