Stuart Woods - Below the Belt

She nodded, then fetched a pitcher of ice water and placed it on his desk. “You’re going to need this, if you expect to survive until lunchtime.”

Lance called promptly at ten o’clock. “Are you both there?” he asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” Dino said.

“Same here,” Stone replied.

“Now listen to me carefully. I am assuming that you would both prefer to see Kate Lee reelected than have Nelson Knott replace her?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.”

“We have seven months to go before the election. If these birth certificates are published now, Christian St. Clair will have plenty of time to discredit these women or prove that they never existed.”

“One of them doesn’t exist,” Dino said.

“The other may not, either,” Stone chipped in.

“If she’s alive, then she’s in hiding somewhere,” Lance said, “and if she learns on television or in the National Inquisitor that we’re looking for her, she may vanish again, and we may never find her.”

“A good point.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Dino, if you start looking into the New Jersey car crash or treat the disappearance of the second woman as a crime, that information will make its way to St. Clair and put us at a disadvantage.”

“Oh, all right,” Dino said, “I can take the position that there’s no evidence of a crime. I’ll sit on it until there is.”

“Stone, if Ed Rawls’s book is published, the same thing will happen.”

“Oh, all right, I’ll see if I can delay the mailing.”

“Good. Now, in anticipation of your acceptance of my advice, I have gratefully dispatched to each of you a bottle of the CIA’s secret hangover remedy, which has saved the life of many an agent in difficult circumstances. One swallow every four hours, and you will regain your health by dinnertime.” Lance hung up.

Joan came in and set a medicine bottle on Stone’s desk. “This came, hand-delivered, from Lance, while you were on the phone.”

Stone picked it up, unscrewed the cap, and took a big swallow.

Stone, fortified by periodic doses of the magic CIA remedy, had regained his health by midafternoon, so he was healed when Ed Rawls’s call came in.

“Hello, Ed. How are you feeling after your ordeal?”

“Just fine, thank you. Lance sent over some stuff that cured my hangover.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“Where the fuck are my books? My pack-and-ship place told me they took them to New York on your orders.”

“To my house, yes,” Stone said. “Now they are in a different place, a very safe one.”

“I was afraid that when I disappeared, you’d ship them.”

“Those were your instructions, but you turned up just in time to stop me.”

“I want them back.”

“No. They cannot be released until exactly the right moment. If they were sent now, St. Clair would have time before the election to discredit your work.”

Ed was quiet for a moment. “You have a point,” he said finally.

“I have some questions,” Stone said.

“Shoot.”

“Where is the mother and her twelve-year-old?”

“In a safe place,” Ed said. “They moved to a new house a few weeks ago.”

“Are you in constant touch with her?”

“I know how to find her. My place in Maine is being framed as we speak, or I’d send them there.”

Stone thought about that. “Perhaps they might be safe in my house in Dark Harbor, with security people to help.”

“I like the sound of your house for them, but security people would be noticed on arrival, and there would be talk in the village.”

“How about after Labor Day, when the summer folk go home?”

“Better, but the lack of people would make the security types even more noticeable.”

“How about this — we get Mike Freeman at Strategic Services to come up with an operative, and the three of them openly move in as a family.”

“I like it,” Ed said. “Maybe there could be a woman, too — her sister, say.”

“I expect that could be arranged.”

“Who pays for all this?”

“I do. Mike will give me the in-house rate. Maybe we could station somebody there to keep an eye on who arrives on the ferry.”

“Not on the island. Station somebody at the other end, in Lincolnville. He’d be less noticeable and nobody gets off on Islesboro who didn’t get on in Lincolnville.”

“Good.”

“Of course, there’s still a little pond called Penobscot Bay. Lots of boats out there, lots of places to come ashore on Islesboro.”

“There is that,” Stone said.

“Think of something else.”

“How about another country?”

“Which one do you have in mind?”

“France or England. I have houses in both.”

“I like that better.”

“And there’s a private airstrip on my English property.”

“Can it take a jet?”

“Yes. Perhaps you should get ahold of the lady and ask her to obtain passports for her and her son. I’m not going to smuggle them across any borders.”

“I’ll do that right away. I know a passport service that can get it done in a couple of days. How will you get them to England?”

“Strategic Services has a Gulfstream that’s back and forth all the time. They can hitch a ride.”

“Let me make a call, and I’ll get back to you. I’ll have to go buy another throwaway phone. I’ve run out.”

“I’ll wait to hear from you.”

“Did you get your phones and your house swept?”

“They were due today but haven’t arrived yet.”

“Good. See you later.” Rawls hung up.

Joan came into his office. “How are you feeling?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“You know, if we could get that stuff analyzed we could bottle it, sell it, and make a fortune.”

“I suspect that it may contain ingredients that can’t be bought over the counter.”

“Oh. By the way, the Strategic Services people are here. I started them upstairs, and Fred is with them.”

“Good.”

A couple of hours later the team leader from Strategic Services came into Stone’s office. “You’re clean,” he said, “house and phones. We’re going to have a look next door, too, if that’s okay.”

“Go right ahead,” Stone said.

Ed Rawls called. “I have news.”

“Go ahead, my house and phones are clean.”

“The lady got married eighteen months ago, to a retired army master sergeant, so they have a new last name. More good news — they took a Mediterranean cruise last year and got passports, so they can leave whenever you like.”

“Wonderful. Let me look into transportation. I’ll get back to you.” He hung up and called Mike Freeman at Strategic Services.

“Hi, Stone, are my people finished?”

“Yes, and we’re clean here, thanks very much.”

“Everything else all right?”

“I need to get three people to my place in England on the quiet.”

“Are they legal?”

“They are, and they have passports — father, mother, and a twelve-year-old son.”

“I’m going to Brussels early on the day after tomorrow, eight AM departure. I could drop them at your place.”

“Ideal.”

“I’ll need their names and addresses and copies of their passports first thing tomorrow morning. We have to file a passenger list with the FAA.”

“I’ll get them to you. Mike, once they’re there, they’re going to need armed security to watch over them.”

“How many?”

“Two should do it.”

“I’ll get them down from London.”

Stone hung up and called Rawls. “We’re set for an eight AM the day after tomorrow. Where are they located?”

“In southern New Jersey.”