Stuart Woods - Below the Belt

“Yes, sir?”

“Did you just come into the house?”

“Yes, sir. I had a thorough look around the neighborhood and saw no trace of Mr. Rawls.”

“Thank you, Fred.” He hung up.

Ten minutes passed, and he heard the chime again. He went upstairs to check for himself and found Ed and Holly making drinks in his study. “Good God,” he said aloud.

“I don’t believe he’s joining us for cocktails,” Holly replied, “but we’d be delighted to have you anyway.”

“Ed, where have you been?”

“Shopping,” Rawls replied.

“Shopping?”

“At Brooks Brothers. I haven’t bought any clothes for some years that didn’t come from L.L. Bean, and everything I had went up with the house.” Ed raised a glass and took a swig of his Talisker. “Then we took a stroll in Central Park.”

“A stroll?”

“A stroll,” Ed repeated. “You know, one foot in front of the other? We had a hot dog, too.”

Stone poured himself a drink and sat down. “I was concerned.”

“About me? How nice of you, Stone, but why?”

“You vanished. We didn’t know where you were.”

“I’m very sorry. I didn’t consider that you might want to know where I was.”

“Apparently,” Holly said, “you didn’t miss me at all — not the least concern for my whereabouts.”

“I believe that’s called being hoist with your own petard,” Ed said with something resembling a smirk.

Mercifully, the phone rang before Stone had to reply. “Hello?”

“It’s Dino.”

“Hello, Dino, what can I do for you?”

“I was calling to ask if I should block the bridges and tunnels, check the airports, and canvas the hospitals.”

“What?”

“For Ed.”

“Oh, no, that’s quite all right. He’s fine, he just went for a stroll.” He said that before he caught himself.

“A stroll?”

“Well, yes, he went shopping, too. Brooks Brothers.”

Silence.

“His clothes all burned up in the fire.”

“And he wasn’t kidnapped or assassinated along the way?”

“He’s perfectly all right, Dino.”

“I am relieved to hear it,” Dino said, then hung up.

Stone hung up, too. “That was Dino,” he explained.

“We got that when you called him Dino,” Holly said. “I believe you were explaining, or attempting to, how it came to be that you missed Ed, but not me.”

“Ah, can I get anybody another drink?”

“We’ve hardly started on this one.” Holly turned to Ed. “He has no explanation.”

Stone got himself another drink.

The following morning Stone was at his desk again when Joan buzzed.

“Yes?”

“There are two gentlemen here who would like to see you, but they won’t tell me who they are.”

“Tell them to go away,” Stone said.

Joan buzzed back. “That didn’t work.”

“Tell them to show you some ID, or you’ll call the police.”

Joan hung up, then buzzed back.

“Yes?”

“They say they’re from the Central Intelligence Agency.”

“ID?”

“Yes, on both counts.”

Joan brought two middle-aged men in business suits into Stone’s office. They introduced themselves as Parsons and Queen.

“Let’s see some ID,” Stone said.

They produced wallets.

“All right, sit down.”

“We’re here to see Edward Rawls.”

“Mr. Rawls isn’t seeing callers,” Stone said. “I’m his attorney. What’s this about?”

The two exchanged a glance. “We can’t go into that,” Parsons said.

Stone pointed. “There’s the door.”

“Now, listen, Barrington—”

“Don’t let the doorknob hit you in the ass on the way out.”

The two didn’t move.

Stone buzzed Joan. “Please get me Lance Cabot on the phone.” Cabot was director of central intelligence.

Parsons threw up a hand. “Just a minute.”

“Hang on,” Stone said to Joan, but he didn’t hang up. “What?”

“Let’s not make this adversarial,” Parsons said. “We just want to talk to him.”

“And I just want to find out if you’re who you say you are,” Stone said, “and what the hell you’re doing in my office.”

“Shall I ring Lance?” Joan asked.

“We’ll go,” Parsons said, rising.

“Cancel the call,” Stone said to Joan, and hung up. “Why are you still here?” he asked the two men.

They shuffled out of his office, and he heard the door close behind them. He buzzed Ed’s room.

“Hello?”

“Two guys from the Agency were just here to see you.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That you weren’t receiving callers.”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself. I’m sorry you were disturbed.”

“Don’t mention it,” Stone said.

Joan buzzed. “Lance Cabot on one.”

Stone pressed the button. “Good morning, Lance, long time no see or hear from.”

“Good morning, Stone,” Lance said smoothly. Lance said everything smoothly. “I understand you’ve been rude to two of my people.”

“Oh, God, have I violated the National Intelligence Security Act again?”

“You made that up — you know very well there is no such act.”

“I just said it to annoy you. What do you want, Lance?”

“We want to speak to Ed Rawls.”

“I’m his attorney. You can speak to me.”

“These are experienced officers, just doing their job.”

“And what is their job?”

“I can’t go into that.”

“They didn’t even want to show me ID.”

“They are unaccustomed to dealing with the general public.”

“I’m hurt, Lance, I thought you and I were intimates.”

“Sometimes — not this time. Did they show you their IDs?”

“Eventually. I’m a little skittish about that because a few days ago two men identifying themselves as FBI agents, with IDs and badges, presented themselves at my door in Maine. Turned out they were bogus, and so were their IDs.”

“I can imagine how upsetting that must have been for you,” Lance said archly.

“And one of them turned up dead in the ashes of Ed Rawls’s house, complete with his bogus badge.”

“That’s very unsettling. Did you report this to the FBI?”

“Not yet.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“I’m waiting to learn why you want to talk to Ed Rawls.”

“I assume you know that already.”

“Assume nothing.”

“I believe that Ed is in possession of some documents that don’t belong to him.”

“I can assure you he is not.”

“Then you are in possession of documents that don’t belong to Ed.”

“The only document of Ed’s I’m aware of is the insurance claim pertaining to the loss of his residence by arson.”

“Obviously, that is not what I’m referring to.”

“Well, if this conversation is to continue you’re going to have to tell me what documents you think I’m in possession of.”

“I expect you have already read them.”

“I have not read any such documents.”

“Why must you be so difficult to deal with, Stone?”

“Because you’re not dealing with me, you’re just badgering me and my client. If you want to deal with me, then deal.”

“They are documents of a political nature.”

“Then the CIA, being nonpolitical, should have no interest in them. I mean, they’re not covered by any act of Congress I’m aware of, including the one I just made up.”

“Stone, will you have lunch with me today?”

“Oh, you’re in New York?”

“Just for the day.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You just want to badger me into betraying my client’s confidence, and I’m not going to do it, so why have lunch?”