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Authors: Stuart Woods

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BOOK: Criminal Mischief
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61

On the way back to the city in the Bentley, everybody was quiet. Everything had not gone as planned, but everything had finished as planned.

“Stone,” Wilcox said, “you’re having us for dinner tomorrow evening, correct?”

“Yes, Henry.”

“May I bring a guest?”

“Of course. I’ll let the cook know. It’ll be black tie.”

“Right,” Wilcox said.


Before dinner the following evening, Stone walked the living room, dining room, and study to see that all was in order, the table set and the wine he had chosen resting on the sideboard for
decanting later. Everything was perfect. He went back to the master suite, and peered into the guest dressing room. Brio was sitting at the makeup table, applying lipstick, an activity that Stone had learned, through experience, could take ten minutes. Her new badge and ID were on the table beside her. “Any word on an assignment yet?”

“Not yet. The director says he’s waiting for the retirement list, so he’ll know what’s vacant.”

“Are you a heroine at the Bureau?”

She smiled. “I am,” she said, and with some satisfaction. “Nobody thought I could bring him in.”

“Without Henry’s quickness, Zanian would be in the wind, and with two billion dollars.”

“I know. The Bureau has a banking team working to trace it all. They’re optimistic that they can get most of it back to the investors.”

“I wouldn’t mention that to the press, until it actually happens,” Stone said.

“Good advice. How many of us are we tonight?”

“The Bacchettis—Viv is here—you and I, and Henry and a guest.”

“Who’s the guest?”

“I didn’t think to ask.”

“Perhaps he has a wife stashed somewhere.”

“In my experience, married men can’t get through a conversation without using the phrase ‘my wife.’ ”

Brio snorted. “I’ve known married men who could get through a year of conversation without using those words.” She checked her lipstick again. “I’m ready.”

“Then let’s go down,” Stone said.

They walked down to the living room and found Henry Wilcox there alone.

“Where’s your guest?” Stone asked.

“Just running a little late,” Wilcox replied.

Fred came into the room and handed Brio a manila envelope. “This was hand delivered a moment ago, ma’am.” Brio stepped aside, opened the envelope, and examined the contents. She found a sealed envelope inside and handed it to Stone. “This is for you, marked ‘personal and confidential.’ It’s from the director.”

Stone opened the envelope, then walked toward the study. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He reappeared a short time later, as the doorbell rang and the Bacchettis entered.

Fred saw to the drinks, and Stone asked him to decant the wine, then he gave Viv a hug and a kiss.

“I understand you haven’t been leading Dino astray,” she said. “For a change.”

“I don’t think Dino would have liked the desert,” Stone said, handing her an envelope. “You two should open this together.”

Dino came over as she ripped it open and examined the contents. “Good God!” she said.

“What’s the matter?” Dino asked. He took the paper from her. “Good God!” he said. “It’s a check for five million dollars!”

“As promised,” Stone said, patting his breast pocket. “Give me time to deposit the big one, before you cash it.”

“Happy?” Brio asked.

“I’ve every reason to be.”

“You thought we’d try to weasel out of it, didn’t you?”

The doorbell prevented his answer.

“That would be my guest,” Wilcox said.

Fred went to the door and came back with Lance Cabot, who knew everyone there.

“Good God!” Stone said. “It’s just come to me. Henry is one of yours, isn’t he?”

“Well, technically,” Lance said, “he’s still the ambassador to the Sultanate, but that will change tomorrow, when he starts his new job.”

“Congratulations, Henry,” Stone said. “What’s the new job?”

Lance spoke up. “Deputy director for operations.”

Henry Wilcox beamed.

END

August 27, 2021

Mount Desert Island,
Maine

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I am happy to hear from readers, but you should know that if you write to me in care of my publisher, three to six months will pass before I receive your letter, and when it finally arrives it will be one among many, and I will not be able to reply.

However, if you have access to the Internet, you may visit my website at
www.stuartwoods.com
, where there is a button for sending me e-mail. So far, I have been able to reply to all my e-mail, and I will continue to try to do so.

If you send me an e-mail and do not receive a reply, it is probably because you are among an alarming number of people who have entered their e-mail address incorrectly in their mail software. I have many of my replies returned as undeliverable.

Remember: e-mail, reply; snail mail, no reply.

When you e-mail, please do not send attachments, as I never
open these. They can take twenty minutes to download, and they often contain viruses.

Please do not place me on your mailing lists for funny stories, prayers, political causes, charitable fund-raising, petitions, or sentimental claptrap. I get enough of that from people I already know. Generally speaking, when I get e-mail addressed to a large number of people, I immediately delete it without reading it.

Please do not send me your ideas for a book, as I have a policy of writing only what I myself invent. If you send me story ideas, I will immediately delete them without reading them. If you have a good idea for a book, write it yourself, but I will not be able to advise you on how to get it published. Buy a copy of
Writer's Market
at any bookstore; that will tell you how.

Anyone with a request concerning events or appearances may e-mail it to me or send it to: Putnam Publicity Department, Penguin Random House LLC, 1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019.

Those ambitious folk who wish to buy film, dramatic, or television rights to my books should contact Matthew Snyder, Creative Artists Agency, 2000 Avenue of the Stars, Los Angeles, CA 90067.

Those who wish to make offers for rights of a literary nature should contact Anne Sibbald, Janklow & Nesbit, 285 Madison Avenue, 21st Floor, New York, NY 10017. (Note: This is not an invitation for you to send her your manuscript or to solicit her to be your agent.)

If you want to know if I will be signing books in your city, please visit my website,
www.stuartwoods.com
, where the tour schedule will be published a month or so in advance. If you wish me to do a book signing in your locality, ask your favorite
bookseller to contact his Penguin representative or the Penguin publicity department with the request.

If you find typographical or editorial errors in my book and feel an irresistible urge to tell someone, please write to Gabriella Mongelli at Penguin's address above. Do not e-mail your discoveries to me, as I will already have learned about them from others.

A list of my published works appears in the front of this book and on my website. All the novels are still in print in paperback and can be found at or ordered from any bookstore. If you wish to obtain hardcover copies of earlier novels or of the two nonfiction books, a good used-book store or one of the online bookstores can help you find them. Otherwise, you will have to go to a great many garage sales.

Keep reading for an exciting excerpt from the next Stone Barrington novel,
A Safe House
.

1

Stone Barrington and Dino Bacchetti were dining at their favorite restaurant, Patroon, on East Forty-Sixth Street in New York City, when simultaneously their chateaubriand for two was served as two gentlemen sat down at their table. Their names were Lance Cabot, director of the Central Intelligence Agency, and Henry Wilcox, his recently appointed deputy director for Operations.

“What a surprise!” Stone said. “And we were only expecting the steak.”

“I apologize for interrupting your dinner,” Wilcox said.

“Do you apologize for Lance, as well?”

“He does,” Cabot said. “Don’t let us slow you down.”

Stone carved a slice of beef and put it into his mouth. “Well?” he said, after he had swallowed. “Would you like to see a menu?”

“We’ll just order dessert,” Lance said, raising a finger, which instantly summoned a waiter. “Two apple pies, à la mode.” The waiter vanished.

“Neither of you is watching your weight, then?” Stone asked.

The pies were set down before them and place settings produced. They dug in.

“We’ll wait until you finish the pie before we ask what you’re doing here,” Stone said.

Neither of them spoke, but both kept eating. Lance finished first and held up the magic finger again. “Coffee for two,” he said to the respondent waiter.

Stone and Dino kept eating.

The coffee arrived. “Now,” Lance said.

“We’re listening,” Stone said, while still chewing his steak. “It may not seem so, but we are.”

“There are two more gentlemen at this table than we require,” Lance said.

“Are you telling my dinner guest and your deputy to go away?” Stone asked.

Lance said, “Since they both have my complete confidence, they may remain.”

“Swell,” Dino said.

“Stone,” Lance said, “I am recalling you to active duty.”

“You make it sound as if I’m in the Army reserves.”

“Pretty much the same thing,” Lance said. “You are aware that you collect a monthly salary as my associate director.”

“I seem to recall that,” Stone said. “But the amount must be very small, since I can’t remember how much it is.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Lance responded.

“What is it you want, Lance?”

“I need you to provide a safe house for a person who shall remain unidentified, even with regard to gender.”

“So, it’s a woman?”

“Stop guessing. It’s unbecoming. The person will be referred to in the editorial masculine.”

“Okay, we’ll pretend it’s a man. What does he need? A bed for the night?”

“Several nights, perhaps many.”

“At my house?”

“At your house in England.”

“Will he make up his bed and be neat at all times?”

“I believe you employ staff to attend to those details.”

“When may I expect him?”

“As soon as you can transport him there.”

Stone blinked. “You want me to transport him to my home in England and house him there, indefinitely?”

“For reasons I cannot explain to you, he may not be transported on an airline or government aircraft.”

“So, you want me to fly him to England in my aircraft?”

“Yes, and accompany him—all in the strictest secrecy, of course.”

“Of course. Why?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Oh, yes, you mentioned that.”

“This is a person who has been of considerable value to the Agency. And if he survives, we trust he will be again.”

“So, his survival is in question?”

“There are powerful people who do not wish him well.”

“Well, I would sure hate to be him,” Stone said.

“Do not make light of this, Stone. It is too important.”

“Important to whom?”

“Powerful people.”

“I trust these are not the same powerful people who don’t wish him well.”

“There are all sorts of powerful people involved in this, Stone.”

“And what will they do to me, if they should discover that I have transported this fellow to England and put him up in my house?”

“If they don’t know that, they can’t do anything to you, can they?”

“Don’t make light of this, Lance.”

“Stone, do you have any questions that are not annoying?”

“Two: Who pays for the airplane? And why me?”

“You may present me with a bill for the airplane and fuel, at standard rates. As for why you, I have already reminded you that you are on salary.”

“And when do you want me to do this?”

Lance gazed at his wristwatch. “How soon can you take off?”

“Lance,” Stone said. “Not in the middle of a convivial dinner. Have the person at Teterboro at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. His driver should deliver him inside the Strategic Services hangar and put him aboard the airplane there. The crew will already be aboard. I and my guests will be along shortly after that.”

“Guests?”
Lance had turned pink. “There will be no guests aboard.”

“You have already said that Dino has your complete confidence,” Stone pointed out. “And I presume that confidence extends to his wife.”

Lance worked his jaw a bit. “Oh, all right,” he said, finally.

“I’ll check our schedules,” Dino said.

“Otherwise, who would I talk to during and after the flight? It sounds as though I may not speak to the subject of this conversation.”

“You should stay in England for at least a week,” Lance said. “We can’t have this looking like a simple delivery.”

“I don’t think that will be too much of a burden on my good nature,” Stone said. “After all, it’s my house. I love it and don’t get there often enough.”

“Me, either,” Dino said.

Lance placed his palms on the table. “Well, that concludes our business, I think.”

“Are we allowed to communicate with the person, and he with us?” Stone asked.

“Once you’re clear of New York air space,” Lance said, rising, and Wilcox with him. “The apple pie is on you,” he said, and the two men left.

“Well,” Stone said, “that was unexpected.”

“Yeah, and you get a free trip to England and to your own house,” Dino said.

“You coming?”

“Yeah, I can take some time. If Viv shows up tomorrow morning, she’ll go, too. Otherwise . . .”

“She’s off to Bangkok or somewhere.”

“You know the drill.”

Stone called Faith, his pilot, and gave her instructions for the morrow, then he and Dino ordered apple pie ala mode.


The following morning, Stone went down to his office and checked his desk for unresolved work. His secretary, Joan Robertson, walked in.

“I hear you’re off to England,” she said.

“I hear that, too,” Stone replied. “Lance delivered the word personally last night at Patroon.”

“Any idea how long?”

“At least a week. More, if I’m having fun.”

“Oh, God, you always have fun.”

“I forgot. You don’t know about this trip. It’s a big-time secret. I’m traveling, and you won’t know where until you hear from me, and somehow, you won’t. Take a message.”

“Got it.” She handed him a fat envelope. “Here’s all the pounds sterling we had in the safe. I can’t spend it here.”

“Thank you.” She started to return to her office. “Oh, I almost forgot. One of your guests has been delivered to the Strategic Services hangar and is safely—and secretly—aboard.”

“Good to know.”

“Safe trip.”

“You betcha.”

BOOK: Criminal Mischief
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