Stuart Woods 6 Stone Barrington Novels (182 page)

STONE WOKE UP
to an empty bed. Tiff was gone, and it was nearly ten o'clock. There was something he had to do, but he couldn't remember what, until he rolled over and looked at his bedside table. The slip of paper he'd written Billy Bob's number on was gone. That woke him up.

He sat on the edge of bed and called up the list of caller ID numbers, people who had called him. Billy Bob's 917 number wasn't there. Shit.

He called Lance.

“Yes?”

“It's Stone.”

“I can see that from my caller ID.”

“Billy Bob called me last night.”

“From where?”

“I don't know; he was on a cell phone, a New York number.”

“What's the number?”

“I don't know.”

“You have caller ID, don't you?”

“I tried that; it didn't register somehow. Technical glitch, I guess.”

“Then how did you know it was a 917 number?”

Stone tried to get his mind in gear; it wasn't working.

“Stone?”

“I asked him his real name, and he said it was Harlan Wilson.”

“Harold Wilson?”

“Harlan.” Stone spelled it for him.

“Why would he tell you his real name?”

“Maybe he's lying, but I thought it wouldn't hurt to ask.”

“Right. The bastard is so arrogant, he might actually tell you.”

“Maybe he did.”

“I'll check it out.”

“Talk to you later.”

“Stone?”

“Yes?”

“Why don't you have Billy Bob's number?”

“I can't explain it.”

“Were you alone last night?”

“Funny, Billy Bob asked me the same thing. Or rather, he told me.”

“He told you you were in bed with somebody?”

“Yes.”

“And that would be Ms. Baldwin.” It wasn't a question.

Stone said nothing.

“And did you write down the number?”

“Sort of.”

“And was it still there when you woke up?”

“Not exactly.”

“And had it been deleted from your caller ID log?”

“Possibly.”

“You incredible schmuck.”

It was out of character for Lance to employ Yiddish epithets, Stone thought. He must be really pissed off. “I can't argue with that.”

“What else did you tell her?”

“Nothing. I told her that my contract with the Agency prohibited me from discussing it.”

“Except you told her that you had a contract with the Agency.”

“I think she figured that out when she found me with you in Billy Bob's apartment. She's not stupid.”

“No, she's not, but she's a pain in the ass. Right now, she's running down that number and putting an electronic watch on it, which means that she and her people have a better shot at getting their hands on Billy Bob than we do. I do not like that.”

“I understand.”

“It's much easier to deal with the Attorney General when he doesn't actually have custody of the man we're looking for.”

“Look, Lance, I don't want to get involved in your interagency warfare.”

“You already are involved, Stone. When you signed that contract, you joined our little army, and right now, you appear to have committed treason.”

“I didn't commit anything,” Stone said. “She stole the piece of paper and erased the number while I was asleep. That makes me a victim, not a perpetrator.”

“And that's the only thing that is preventing me from hauling you before a . . .”

“A what?”

“Never mind; just know that you can be hauled before it, should something like this happen again.”

“I'll try to remember that.”

“See that you do. Now, you said that Billy Bob told you you were in bed with Ms. Baldwin?”

“Ah, yes.”

“Don't leave the house; I'm sending a tech over there right now to sweep the place.”

“Do you really think that's necessary?”

“Don't you?”

“All right, send him over. Goodbye.” Stone hung up, got out of the bed and showered and shaved. His ears burned the whole time. He was in the middle of breakfast when the doorbell rang.

Stone picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Our mutual friend sent me.”

“I'm in the kitchen; ground floor, rear.” Stone buzzed the door open.

A moment later a young man appeared. Jeans, T-shirt, leather jacket, longish ratty hair, stubble. A fashion plate, by current standards. “I'm Sandy,” he said. “Where's the room you slept in last night?”

Stone pointed to the spiral back staircase. “Second floor, rear.”

Sandy disappeared up the stairs.

Stone finished his breakfast and put his dishes into the dishwasher. He began reading the
Times
and was on the editorial page when Sandy came downstairs.

The young man walked over to the kitchen table and tossed four small devices onto it, each about the size of a walnut. “I hope you smiled; you were on
Candid Camera.
”

“
Those
are cameras?” Stone asked disbelievingly, picking one up.

“The latest thing—color, sound, high resolution, wireless and almost invisible. When you came home last night, was there a van parked outside?”

“I've no idea.”

“Had to be,” Sandy said. “The range on these things isn't all that great. Whoever did this is well equipped.”

“I guess so.”

“I'm going to go over the rest of the house, now,” Sandy said. “Where should I start?”

“My office,” Stone said, pointing. “I'll tell my secretary you're coming.” He picked up the phone and spoke to Joan.

Stone was finishing the crossword puzzle when the phone rang. “Hello?”

“Are you near a computer, Lance?”

“Yes.” There was a laptop on the kitchen counter.

“Go to the Justice Department Web site.” Lance gave him the address, then hung up.

Stone put down the crossword and went to the laptop, which had a wireless Internet connection. He typed in the address and waited a few seconds for the front page of the Justice Department Web site to appear. It did not appear. What came up was a fairly good, color photograph of the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York, her back arched, her teeth bared, her hair down. Naked. Sitting on a body that Stone knew to be his own. What was more, it moved, and her voice could be heard, making an animal sound. It was on a loop, repeating about every ten seconds.

Though stunned, Stone managed to feel grateful that the face on the body underneath her was out of frame.

STONE TOOK A FEW
deep breaths and tried to think. Better she should hear it from him, he thought. He dialed Tiff's direct office line.

“Tiffany Baldwin.”

“It's Stone.”

“Now, don't start with me about the number, Stone.”

“That's not why I called, but since you mention it, couldn't you have at least left it on the caller ID list?”

“Certainly not; that would give the CIA an advantage.”

“They're
supposed
to have an advantage, because the call came to me, and I am their consultant.”

“Irrelevant.”

“Don't talk to me like a judge.”

“If that's your attitude, I'm not going to talk to you at all. Good . . .”

“Hold it. There's something you need to know.”

“What? And be quick about it; I've got a hellish morning ahead of me.”

“You have no idea. Go to the Internet and to the Justice Department Web site. Right now.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Hang on.” She set the phone down, and he could hear the clicking of keys. There was a brief pause, then an angry, wounded-animal shriek, as if she might have taken an arrow in the chest.

“Tiff?” Stone said. All he heard was a long silence.

Finally, she picked up the phone, and her voice was cold and calm. “That is
not
me! Do you understand? Why would you do a thing like that to me?”

“I didn't do it, Billy Bob did. This morning a technician found four tiny video cameras in my bedroom.”

“How do you know it was Billy Bob?”

“Because, last night, on the phone, he told me he knew that you and I were in bed together. He just didn't tell me
how
he knew. I thought he had guessed.”

“I say again: That is
not
me. Do you understand?”

“If that's your story, okay.”

“It's
your
story, too. Got that?”

“Okay.”

“I will deny this to my dying day, and you'd better, too.”

“Okay, I understand.”

“Until
your
dying day, which will be sooner than you think, if you utter so much as a word implicating me.”

“Tiff, there's no need to threaten me; I'm with you on this.”

“If I hear a word; if I read a snippet; if a rumor starts, I will unleash the full force of federal law enforcement upon your person.”

“Tiff, I told you not to threaten me. I understand, and I will support your denial.”

“Threat? You think that's a threat? I haven't even begun.”

“Goodbye, Tiff.”

“Goodbye, indeed.” She hung up.

Stone hung up and dabbed at the mist of sweat that had formed on his brow. Then he noticed that Sandy was standing there.

“They're hell, aren't they?” the tech said.

“What?”

“Women. They're from hell.”

Stone sighed. “Sometimes.”

“This guy really did a number on you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there are two devices in your office, and your phones were bugged. Kind of redundant.”

Stone sagged. “Swell.”

“Don't worry, I've removed everything, and I've installed some equipment that will let us know if anyone tries anything like that again. Say, how did this guy get access to your office and bedroom?”

“He was a house guest for a few days. He had all the time in the world.”

“You better get pickier about who you invite to stay.”

“No kidding. Thanks for the advice.”

“Anything else I can do for you?”

“I don't believe so. Thank you very much for your help.”

“Glad to do it.” Sandy turned to go.

“Hang on a minute,” Stone said.

Sandy stopped. “Yeah?”

“You any good with computers?”

“They are my
métier.
”

Stone turned the laptop around so he could see the screen. “This video has been placed on the Justice Department's Web site. Can you do anything about getting it off?”

Sandy peered at the screen. “Wow,” he said. “Who is
that
?”

“I have no idea; can you get it off?”

Sandy watched the screen, a little smile on his face.

“Stop watching it!” Stone said. “Can you get it off their Web site?”

Sandy pointed at the screen. “Looks like that's being taken care of.”

Stone turned the computer around again. A message had appeared on the screen, replacing Tiff's image: “This Web site is temporarily down for repairs. Please try again later.”

“Thanks again for your help,” Stone said. “Goodbye.”

Sandy turned and left.

The phone rang, and Stone picked it up. “Hello?”

Dino's voice. “Man, have you seen the Justice Department Web site this morning?”

“Sure. I start my every day by checking out the Justice Department Web site.”

“Well, if you haven't, you should, because your current girlfriend, the gorgeous Tiffany, is all over it, and you're underneath her.”

“That is
not
Tiffany, and I am
not
underneath whoever that is.”

“So you did check it out?”

“No, and I have no intention of doing so.”

“And you deny that that's Tiffany and you?”

“Most emphatically.”

“Well, maybe you can tell me why your mother's painting of Washington Square is on the wall, just over her shoulder.”

“Nonsense.”

“Not that anybody would ever notice it while Tiffany is on the screen.”

“You are mistaken.”

“Who would ever have thought that the fucking U.S. Attorney would . . .”

“It is not she.”

“Did you take the video and put it on that Web site?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then who did?”

“If it didn't happen, nobody did it.”

“Do you think Tiff has had a boob job?”

“I have no idea.”

“Because, if those are original equipment, they are really something.”

“Dino . . .”

“This is the funniest thing I've ever seen. The whole squad room is going nuts.”

“Did you tell anybody about the picture on the wall?”

“Let's see, I'm not really sure.”

“Because if you did, I'm going to come down there and kill you with my bare hands.”

“Relax, nobody knows but me.”

“And Tiffany will have you taken out and shot, right after she has me taken out and shot.”

“So, I take it, your position is, you're denying everything.”

“I'm denying everything. We're both denying everything. And I'd be grateful if you would plant the notion in the minds, if such exist, of the gentlemen in the squad room that the person appearing in the video is not, repeat, not who they think it is or who you thought it was.”

There came a disappointed roar through the phone.

“What was that?” Stone asked.

“Hang on, I'll check,” Dino said. A moment later, he came back. “Somebody at Justice caught on; they've shut down the Web site. My detectives are crushed.”

“Excellent. Do not ever speak to me about this again. Goodbye.” Stone hung up and buried his face in his hands.

After a moment, he went upstairs and moved his mother's picture to another spot in his bedroom.