put it in the Strategic Services hangar. Then call Pili Barker and ask her to send me the closing papers. I’ll sign them and send a check with Pat, so that she can close.”
Joan went to make the call.
Stone’s previous airplane had come to an explosive end, in England, and he had immediately ordered a larger replacement.
Ian Rattle knocked and came into Stone’s office, as had become his habit since his arrival. He poured himself a cup of coffee. “I had a call from Dame Felicity this morning,” he said.
“Is she well?”
“As always.”
“Has she found the mole in MI6 yet?”
“I don’t know, but you can ask her. She’s flying into New York this afternoon. She asked if you were free for dinner this evening.”
“I am, as it happens. Will you be joining us?”
“I was not invited.”
“Ah.” Stone buzzed Joan. “Please book me a table for two at eight, at Caravaggio.” He turned back to Ian. “How did she sound?”
“Very cool, as always.”
“Has cabin fever struck yet?”
“Not yet. In truth, I’m enjoying the time off, catching up on my reading, and enjoying the company of the lovely Caroline.”
Joan buzzed back and confirmed his restaurant table. “What time does her airplane get in?”
“Two o’clock, I believe,” Ian replied. “She said she’d call you.”
—
S tone picked up Dame Felicity Devonshire shortly before eight, and Fred drove them to the restaurant. They were settled at a table, were served drinks, and ordered.
“You look radiant, as usual,” Stone said.
“Thank you, Stone. Is your houseguest behaving himself?”
“He doesn’t really have a choice, does he?”
“I suppose not.”
“Have you made any progress in the search for his betrayer?”
“The search is ongoing. Are you tiring of Ian’s company?”
“Not really, though I prefer yours.”
“You’re sweet, but you and I are not going to enjoy ourselves on this visit, not with Ian in your house and me in the embassy.”
“I’m sad. What brings you to New York?”
“I’ve come to see if I can make a place for Ian Rattle on our United Nations staff.”
“Does that mean he’ll be moving out?”
“Yes, if I can manage it. I can’t just transfer him, I’ll need our ambassador’s approval, and he’ll have to discuss it with his staff. A lot of Foreign Office people are suspicious of MI6 officers.”
“Do you think Ian would be safer here than in London?”
“I think he’d be safer almost anywhere than in London.”
“Is the sultan of Dahai not a patient man?”
“Like most multibillionaires, he is a very impatient man, and we have word that he is very angry that Ian is still alive. The twins are said to have been his favorites among his many children.”
Stone looked up, and his eye fell on the bar. Two men were just sitting down: the ex-policeman named Ryan and Al Parisi, son of Gino. “Oh, no,” he said.
“Oh, no what?” Felicity asked.
“Just a tail I thought I had lost,” Stone replied. “Excuse me for a moment.” He got up, strode into the bar, and leaned over the table where the two had sat down. “Get out,” he said.
They seemed surprised to see him. “What are you talking about?” Ryan asked.
“Get out or you’ll be spending a few days in jail.”
“Come on, Gene,” Al Parisi said, tugging at his companion’s sleeve.
“The hell you say,” Ryan replied. “I’ll drink wherever I want to.”
“Not anymore,” Stone said, producing his cell phone. “You are never again going to spend a minute where I am.” He pressed a speed dial button.
“Bacchetti.”
“I’m at Caravaggio.”
“Swell. Have some pasta for me, I’m working late.”
“I’ve been pursued here by Ryan and the little Parisi. I’d be grateful for your help with that.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Dino said. “Don’t shoot them or anything, I’ll have them out of there in minutes.”
“Thank you, Commissioner.” Stone hung up.
“Come on, Gene,” Al
Joan went to make the call.
Stone’s previous airplane had come to an explosive end, in England, and he had immediately ordered a larger replacement.
Ian Rattle knocked and came into Stone’s office, as had become his habit since his arrival. He poured himself a cup of coffee. “I had a call from Dame Felicity this morning,” he said.
“Is she well?”
“As always.”
“Has she found the mole in MI6 yet?”
“I don’t know, but you can ask her. She’s flying into New York this afternoon. She asked if you were free for dinner this evening.”
“I am, as it happens. Will you be joining us?”
“I was not invited.”
“Ah.” Stone buzzed Joan. “Please book me a table for two at eight, at Caravaggio.” He turned back to Ian. “How did she sound?”
“Very cool, as always.”
“Has cabin fever struck yet?”
“Not yet. In truth, I’m enjoying the time off, catching up on my reading, and enjoying the company of the lovely Caroline.”
Joan buzzed back and confirmed his restaurant table. “What time does her airplane get in?”
“Two o’clock, I believe,” Ian replied. “She said she’d call you.”
—
S tone picked up Dame Felicity Devonshire shortly before eight, and Fred drove them to the restaurant. They were settled at a table, were served drinks, and ordered.
“You look radiant, as usual,” Stone said.
“Thank you, Stone. Is your houseguest behaving himself?”
“He doesn’t really have a choice, does he?”
“I suppose not.”
“Have you made any progress in the search for his betrayer?”
“The search is ongoing. Are you tiring of Ian’s company?”
“Not really, though I prefer yours.”
“You’re sweet, but you and I are not going to enjoy ourselves on this visit, not with Ian in your house and me in the embassy.”
“I’m sad. What brings you to New York?”
“I’ve come to see if I can make a place for Ian Rattle on our United Nations staff.”
“Does that mean he’ll be moving out?”
“Yes, if I can manage it. I can’t just transfer him, I’ll need our ambassador’s approval, and he’ll have to discuss it with his staff. A lot of Foreign Office people are suspicious of MI6 officers.”
“Do you think Ian would be safer here than in London?”
“I think he’d be safer almost anywhere than in London.”
“Is the sultan of Dahai not a patient man?”
“Like most multibillionaires, he is a very impatient man, and we have word that he is very angry that Ian is still alive. The twins are said to have been his favorites among his many children.”
Stone looked up, and his eye fell on the bar. Two men were just sitting down: the ex-policeman named Ryan and Al Parisi, son of Gino. “Oh, no,” he said.
“Oh, no what?” Felicity asked.
“Just a tail I thought I had lost,” Stone replied. “Excuse me for a moment.” He got up, strode into the bar, and leaned over the table where the two had sat down. “Get out,” he said.
They seemed surprised to see him. “What are you talking about?” Ryan asked.
“Get out or you’ll be spending a few days in jail.”
“Come on, Gene,” Al Parisi said, tugging at his companion’s sleeve.
“The hell you say,” Ryan replied. “I’ll drink wherever I want to.”
“Not anymore,” Stone said, producing his cell phone. “You are never again going to spend a minute where I am.” He pressed a speed dial button.
“Bacchetti.”
“I’m at Caravaggio.”
“Swell. Have some pasta for me, I’m working late.”
“I’ve been pursued here by Ryan and the little Parisi. I’d be grateful for your help with that.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Dino said. “Don’t shoot them or anything, I’ll have them out of there in minutes.”
“Thank you, Commissioner.” Stone hung up.
“Come on, Gene,” Al
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