Stuart Woods: Below the Belt

“Thank you, that would suit me very well.”

“I’ll call Seth Hotchkiss and tell him and Mary to expect you. Knock on his door when you get there, and he’ll let you in.”

“Perfecto. Have you had any blowback from the mailing yet?”

“No, and I don’t expect any, since nobody will associate me with your book.”

“Well, there are a couple of mentions of you.”

“I’d forgotten about that, but they were innocuous.”

“I guess that describes them. What are you going to do with the Parkers now? Once the news is out, they’ll no longer be a threat to Nelson Knott or Christian St. Clair.”

“No, but the press will be looking hard for them. They’d be a hot interview.”

“The DVD will cover that. They’ve got enough quotes for a week, anyway.”

“I’ll just leave them where they be, I think. I’m sure they’re enjoying the vacation, and I don’t want to cut it short.”

“Good idea. Let me give you my latest cell number.”

Stone wrote it down.

“You might give that to the Parkers, too, should they want to reach me.”

“You know, Ed, you might have saved their lives by figuring out that St. Clair had people following them.”

“Maybe, who knows?”

“What are you going to do for the rest of the year?”

“I’m going to finish my house and furnish it, then I’m just going to sit around and watch the election campaigns on TV. When it’s over I won’t have anything else to do.”

“You’ll think of something,” Stone said.

“Maybe I’ll take a look at the new crop of widows up there. We seem to get three or four a season.”

“I’m sure the attention would make them happy.”

“Okay, you take care.”

“Give me a call when you’re in the house, and I’ll give you some tips on how to run the place.”

“Will do. Bye.” They both hung up.

Stone had a sandwich for lunch and was reading a contract later when Joan buzzed. “A producer at 60 Minutes is on one for you.”

“Did he say what it was about?”

“Nope.”

Stone picked up the phone. “This is Stone Barrington.”

“Mr. Barrington, we’ve received your mailing, and—”

“My mailing? What mailing?”

“The Ed Rawls book and the DVD. I’d like to ask you some questions about it.”

“It’s nothing to do with me. Call Ed Rawls. Goodbye.”

He hung up, and Joan buzzed again. “Somebody from MSNBC,” she said, “a producer on the Chris Matthews show.”

“Tell him I’m busy, to call Ed Rawls.” Before he could hang up, she said, “Somebody from Fox News on line two.”

“I don’t want to speak to anybody about the books,” he said. “Refer them all to Rawls.” He hung up and wondered how the hell he had been connected to the mailing. He buzzed Joan.

“Yes?”

“You didn’t put my name on those envelopes, did you?”

“Nope, just the address, in case we got returns.”

Stone groaned. “Okay, then, you handle the calls. There are going to be two hundred of them.”

“But how would they know the books are from you?”

“You ever hear of a reverse directory, Joan? You look up an address, and it tells you who lives there.”

“Oh, my God, I’m so embarrassed.”

“You can convey your embarrassment to the two hundred callers.”

She buzzed back a few minutes later to say Dino was on line two. Stone pressed the button. “Hello.”

“You must be getting a lot of calls,” Dino said. “I hear your address is on every envelope.”

“Yeah, Joan screwed up, something she doesn’t often do. She’d never heard of a reverse directory.”

“What are you doing about the calls?”

“Referring everybody to Ed Rawls.”

“And where is Rawls?”

“On his way to Maine, driving a rental. He didn’t want the calls.”

“Will they track him down there?”

“I don’t think so,” Stone said. “His phone was destroyed with his house, and he’s using a burner. He’s staying at my place until his new one is finished.”

“Is the Parker family okay?”

“They’re fine. They’re at my place in England.”

“So everybody’s battened down for the big moment, huh?”

“Everybody but Nelson Knott and Christian St. Clair. They’ll be getting the first calls soon.”

“Yes, that could ruin their day. Have you heard anything from Lance Cabot?”

“Not since yesterday. Will Lee called this morning, and we had a brief chat. He seemed calm.”

“Heard anything from Holly?”

“Nope. I think she’s back at work by now and probably doesn’t have the time to call.”

“Why don’t you get her to quit the job and marry you? Viv thinks you’re made for each other.”

“Tried that, didn’t work. She’s married to the White House, and I’ll tell you a secret — Lance is a candidate for Kate’s running mate this time.”

“What’s wrong with what’s-his-name, the VP?”

“He’s unwell, something serious, I think.”

“Has Holly got a shot at Lance’s job, if he runs with Kate?”

“I believe she has.”

“Well, that means she’s not going to marry you until she’s old and gray, and you’re nearly dead.”

“That crossed my mind,” Stone said. He hung up and watched the lights flashing on his phone, as people called in.

Erik Macher got out of his car and tried to see as far forward as possible. He was stuck on I-95 in New Jersey and had been for half an hour. His cell phone rang.

“Yes?”

“It’s Alf. We’re stumped here. Another half-dozen armed people have arrived and are now deployed. Even if we just wanted to shoot this family, we wouldn’t have a chance, without fifty percent fatalities of our own. Only a mortar or a rocket-propelled grenade would give us a chance at them. How long do you want to go on paying us to watch the grass grow?”

Macher made his own decision: “All right, pull your people out and go home. If I hear that anything has changed, I’ll call you, and we can start all over again.”

“Right. We are aborting this mission.”

Macher hung up and ran for his car. Traffic had started to inch forward.

Joan buzzed Stone. “Yes?”

“Lance Cabot on two.”

He pressed the button. “Yes, Lance?”

“We’ve processed Nelson Knott’s DNA sample from his coffee mug. It’s a match for Martha’s son — no doubt.”

“What do you think we should do with it?”

“Get it to your mailing list as soon as possible,” Lance said.

“I don’t have the mailing list, it was on the envelopes.”

“Come to think of it, Stone, neither do I. But we have a list of contact and fax numbers for several hundred media organizations worldwide.”

“I think fax is a good idea. Send it to all the U.S. numbers, and who cares if it’s overkill.”

“Okay, I’ll get our lab to type up a suitable letter, and we’ll attach the report to it.”

“Somebody is going to reach me eventually about this, and they’re going to ask how we got the DNA sample. What do you want me to say?”

“Well, for God’s sake don’t say my people got it. Say that someone in Knott’s organization managed to obtain it and sent it.”

“Sent it to whom? Not to me!”

“A law enforcement agency.”

“That would slow them down for about half a second, Lance. Which law enforcement agency?”

“Let me talk to somebody at the FBI, maybe I can get them to release the results.”

“They’re a criminal investigative body — they would process it only if the commission of a crime were involved.”

“Rape is a crime,” Lance pointed out.

“Yes, but not a federal crime.”