Unintended Consequences (12 page)

Rick leaned forward. “What’s your name, driver?”

“Fritz,” the man replied.

“Well, Fritz, you see the silver BMW going out the gate?”

“Yes, I see it.”

“Don’t lose it, but don’t get too close, either.”

The man put the Maybach in gear and drove out the gate, in time to see the BMW turn a corner.

“You’ve always wanted to do this, haven’t you?” Rick asked Stone.

“Not really,” Stone replied.

25

T
hey followed the BMW back toward the center of Paris, to Montmartre, past the old church and down a side street.

“Fritz?” Rick said.

“Yes, sir?”

“Have you done this before?”

“Only in my dreams, sir.”

Rick laughed aloud. “Everybody wants to do it. Hang on!”

The BMW suddenly pulled to the curb in front of a row of shops and stopped.

“Keep right on going, Fritz,” Rick said. “Take your next right, and circle back. Drive slowly past the BMW.”

Fritz followed his instructions.

They came back into the street, and the BMW was gone.

“See him anywhere?” Stone asked.

They drove slowly past the shops, and as they did, the BMW pulled out of an alley behind them.

“Uh-oh,” Rick said. “Did you see the gallery?”

“What gallery?” Stone asked.

“The Ulyanov Gallery, just behind us. There was a sign in the window announcing an exhibition of new Russian paintings, starting today.”

“Maybe Majorov is going to the opening party,” Stone suggested.

“Then why is he following us?” Rick asked. “No, he’s curious as to who we are.”

“He can’t see us through these darkened windows,” Stone said.

“Good,” Rick said, “because I don’t want him to know who we are. Fritz, let’s go back to M’sieur duBois’s offices.”

“You want him to think we’re duBois?” Stone asked.

“He’ll run our number plate anyway,” Rick replied, “and find that the car is registered to one of duBois’s businesses.”

Fritz drove dutifully to duBois’s building.

“Through the gates and into the courtyard, please,” Rick said. “Then pull over to the left, out of sight of the street.”

Fritz did so.

“Now, Fritz, please go inside to reception and look out the street window—see if you see the BMW.”

Fritz got out of the car and went inside.

“What are we doing?” Stone asked.

“I don’t want Majorov to associate us with this car,” Rick said. “And I don’t want him to see either of us popping up all the time.”

Fritz returned. “The BMW stopped for a couple of minutes, then drove off,” he said.

“Thank you for your help, Fritz,” Rick said. “Okay, out of the car.” He handed Fritz a fifty-euro note. “Would you ask the receptionist to call us a taxi, please? Have him drive in here. I don’t want him to see us leaving the building.”

Shortly a taxi pulled into the courtyard, and they got in. Rick asked the driver to take them to the Plaza Athénée. Back in Stone’s suite, Stone asked, “Rick, do you have some theory of what’s going on here?”

“You mean a unified theory that covers everything from your trip to Paris up to the present moment?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“No,” Rick said, “I don’t. There are too many fragments to put together. What about you?”

“I’m baffled,” Stone said. “I still don’t know who drugged me on the airplane, let alone why. I don’t know why Majorov would be interested in me.”

“He wasn’t interested in you until he saw you, first with me, then with Amanda.”

“I didn’t think he saw me with you,” Stone said.

“The KGB trained him to walk into a room and see everybody,” Rick said. “That’s how the Agency trains us, too. They would walk us into a McDonald’s, then out, and say, okay, describe every adult in the restaurant.”

“And you could do that?”

“It’s amazing what you can do if somebody in authority is insisting. Believe me, Majorov made us together, and after the Amanda incident, he has you pegged as CIA, whether you like it or not.”

“If I have a choice, I don’t like it,” Stone said.

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

“It’s Eggers.”

“So you kept the satphone?”

“The pilot didn’t want to leave without it, but I insisted. I don’t think anyone had ever taken one of his toys.”

“Poor guy. I’ll bet he’s having trouble explaining that.”

“He’ll get over it when I send it back to him. The reason I called is, I remembered that thing I couldn’t remember when I talked to you before.”

“Tell me.”

“He said Warren Buffett recommended our firm to him.”

“Have you ever done any business with Warren Buffett?”

“No.”

“Do you know Warren Buffett?”

“No.”

“Then why the hell would the man recommend us to Marcel duBois?”

“I have no idea. I’m still trying to figure it out. Why don’t you ask him?”

“All right.”

“But don’t tell him we don’t know Warren Buffett.”

“You think it’s better if he thinks we do?”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“Bill, while I’ve got you, I need some help.”

“Okay, what kind?”

“DuBois has made us an offer for The Arrington.”

“How much of an offer?”

“A billion dollars, not including the land.”

“Take it. Anything else?”

“Wait a minute, what Mike Freeman and I want to do is to sell him, say, twenty percent of the hotel, then invest the proceeds with duBois for building some Arringtons in Europe.”

“Great! Do that!”

“What I need from you is a couple of guys from the firm to make up a negotiating team to do the deal.”

“All you need is one guy,” Eggers said.

“Who?”

“You.”

“I’ve never dealt with somebody that rich before. I’m afraid he’d skin me alive.”

“Stone, if this were somebody else’s hotel, you wouldn’t bat an eye. You’re just nervous about playing poker with your own money. Sit down with the guy, trade a few lies about what you each think it’s worth, and get another offer from him. Then you can check with me, and I’ll tell you if you’re crazy or if duBois is.”

“Well . . .”

“You’re wasting my time. There are moose waiting.”

“Okay. How’s the moosing going?”

“Not bad. I’ll send you some steaks.”

“Don’t, please don’t. I’ll never eat them.”

“You’re suffering from a Bambi complex,” Eggers said.

“No, I have no trouble with venison, but moose is something else again. I think it’s their soulful eyes.”

“Sissy.” Eggers hung up.

Rick stood up. “All right, I’m leaving now. If anybody tailed us in the taxi . . .”

“We didn’t see the BMW while we were in the taxi,” Stone pointed out.

“What makes you think there weren’t other cars following us?”

“What makes you think there were?”

“Majorov didn’t go into that gallery for no reason. He could have collected associates there.”

“You have a suspicious nature,” Stone said.

“It comes with the territory. You might profit from being suspicious. Suspicion might keep you alive longer.”

“Nobody’s taken a shot at me,” Stone said.

“The first one could be the last,” Rick said, then left.

Stone stretched out on the bed for a ten-minute nap.

26

S
tone was jarred out of a deep sleep by his cell phone making noises. He looked at his watch: half past five. Some nap! He got out of bed and found the phone. “Hello?”

“It’s Holly.”

“Hi, there.”

“I hear you have one of our phones now, so we can talk.”

“Is Lance director yet?”

“He is. Kate is hanging around for a few days more to help with the transition. They’ve held lots of joint meetings with key personnel to pass the baton.”

“How’s everybody taking it?”

“Lance’s rivals are sulking, everybody else seems cheerful enough. Of course, the people at Langley have a lot of affection for Kate, and they hate to see her go. She’s trying to rub some of her mojo off onto Lance, but it may not take. You making any progress with your memory?”

“None at all. Lance sent a satphone to Eggers up in the North Woods, and Bill called and filled in a lot of the blanks. I thought that might jar something loose, but it hasn’t. What are you up to?”

“I’m back in New York and working my ass off. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay, go.”

“First of all, I lied to you. Nobody pressed me to move out of your house, it was my decision. I’m sorry, I should have been straight with you.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve just had the promotion of a lifetime. I’m hanging on by my fingernails, and it’s not going to get any better in the foreseeable future. As a result of the change in our charter, we’re expanding the New York station, and it will be a model for other stations around the country. I can’t take the time to think about anything else but that. If I can bring this off, I might be in line for Lance’s old job next time it opens up, and that’s a dream for me. The guy who Lance appointed is a couple of years from retirement, and everybody knows he’s just keeping the chair warm. Lance has told me he would like for me to have it someday, but not now. I’m going to need more weight in my résumé before that might be possible.”

“So, no time for me, then?”

“No time for anybody,” Holly said with finality. “I love ya, Stone, but I love my work more, and I can’t keep you both happy.”

Stone sighed. “I can’t say that I like it, but I understand it, so all I can do is wish you well and stay out of the way.”

“Thanks for that, baby.”

He sensed that their conversation was over. “Take care of yourself, and good luck in the job, for all our sakes.”

“Thanks. Bye-bye.” She hung up.

Stone lay back on the bed and realized that there was now a big hole in his life where there hadn’t been one before. He closed his eyes and tried to let go.

•   •   •

D
inner was back in Montmartre, at an outdoor table next to the park. It was simple: roast chicken, potatoes, and haricots verts, with a bottle of Beaujolais.

“Feeling better?” Helga asked when he was done.

“Much,” he said. “One more three-star dinner and I would have exploded.”

“You seem a little preoccupied this evening. Anything wrong?”

“I said goodbye to a friend this afternoon,” he said.

“How good a friend?”

“A very good one.”

“So you were dumped?”

Stone laughed. “I was dumped. The competition was too tough.”

“I can’t imagine you losing that kind of competition,” she said.

“I wasn’t competing with another man, just with her job, which is overwhelming her at the moment and probably will for a long time to come.”

“Good,” Helga said. “More time for me.”

“All you want,” he replied. “Let’s take a walk.”

They walked to the top of the hill, then down the side street where Stone and Rick had followed Majorov that afternoon.

“Are we going anyplace special?” Helga asked.

“How about to a gallery opening?”

“That sounds like fun.”

He found the Ulyanov Gallery. It was brightly lit, and there was a crowd inside, some of them spilling out onto the sidewalk, holding plastic cups of wine.

“Russian paintings?” Helga asked. “Are they good?”

“Sometimes. I have a couple in New York.” They got some wine and began to look at the pictures. Stone stole glances around the room, looking for Majorov, and he was relieved to find him not there. Someone else was, though.

“Look at the tall man in the back,” Stone said to Helga. “Wasn’t he talking to you at Marcel’s party? The one where we met? I think he’s Italian.”

Helga looked at the man. “Oh, yes. He’s . . . let me see, Aldo something or other. He’s not Italian, though, he just pretends to be.”

“What is he?”

“Albanian. He’s said to be a nephew of Hoxha, the longtime dictator, now deposed and dead.”

“Then why is Aldo running around loose?”

“The rumor is he had some important post with the intelligence service or the police, if there was any difference. They say he got out of the country with a lot of cash before the regime came tumbling down—euros, not whatever used to be cash in Albania. Now he flits around Paris in expensive clothes with no visible means of support, so he must have stashed the cash.”

Stone stopped in front of a painting of a castle by a river. “Nice,” he said.

“Are you going to buy it?”

“No, I don’t think I want this gallery to have my name and address.”

“I’ll buy it for you. I don’t care if they have mine.”

“I don’t want them to have yours, either.”

“Excuse me,” a voice behind them said. They turned to find the mysterious Aldo standing behind them. “I believe we met at Marcel duBois’s house recently. I’m Aldo Saachi.”

“Of course,” Stone said, offering his hand but not his name.

“Yes,” Helga said, and shook it, too.

“What brings you two to this opening?” Aldo asked.

“We had dinner in the neighborhood and went for a walk,” Stone replied. “We saw the poster and thought we’d have a look.”

“Seen anything you like?” Aldo asked.

“No, we haven’t,” Stone said, “and if you’ll excuse us, we were just about to leave.”

“Can I offer you a drink somewhere nearby?” Aldo asked, gazing at Helga’s cleavage.

“Perhaps another time,” Stone said. “Good night.” He took Helga’s elbow and steered her toward the door.

Outside, Stone hailed a taxi.

“Why did you want to leave?” Helga asked.

“I think maybe it was a mistake to go there,” Stone said. “I thought we’d gotten away with it, then Aldo showed up.”

“He’s inoffensive,” she replied.

“He’s dangerous,” Stone said. “On the advice of a friend, I’m going to be suspicious of him.”

27

T
he following morning Stone sat at the breakfast table in Helga’s suite and glanced through the Paris papers. Marcel’s Blaise had been chosen best in show, and there were multiple photos of him in and out of the car. He was quoted in the
International Herald Tribune
as saying, “On to New York!”