Stone Barrington 36 - Scandalous Behavior (28 page)

S
tone came down for breakfast, feeling thick-headed and slightly off. He helped himself to bacon and eggs from the buffet and sat down. A moment later he was joined by Billy Barnett.

“Good morning,” Billy said. “Peter and Ben were up early, and they’ve already ridden over to Curtis House.”

Stone stared at him. “You let them . . .”

“Relax,” Billy said. “The threat has been removed.”

“How so?”

“Nonviolently. He’s headed for Heathrow as we speak.”

“You let him go free?”

“You asked me not to kill him. What was the alternative?”

“Well, I suppose . . .”

“Don’t worry, he won’t trouble you again. He’s even going to do a little favor for you.”

“What favor?”

“I’ll tell you when it happens.”

“Do you have any idea who he is?”

“I know exactly who he is,” Billy said. “Alvin Greenberg Junior. His father was Al Senior, who is reputed, in certain circles, to be the assassin who removed Ben ‘Bugsy’ Siegel from the scene, some decades ago. He ran a gun shop, now run by Al Junior. Both father and son are said to be very good at their work.”

“If he’s so good, how did you stop him?”

Billy shrugged. “I got there first. The rest was easy. I just offered him an opportunity to continue his life by leaving the country and not bothering us again.”

“What would you have done if he hadn’t agreed?”

“Then, having made the threat, I would have had to kill him.”

“I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

“So am I. It would have been messy.”

Stone changed the subject, then left the table.

Billy got up and went downstairs to find Major Bugg, who was working at his desk. “Good morning, Major.” Billy sat down across from him.

“What can I do for you this morning?”

“Just some information, please. Have you recently employed anyone new to work in the household?”

“Yes, I employed a young woman from the village to help with the housekeeping.”

“Just the one?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know her beforehand?”

“I knew her father—still do.”

“Is he a military man?”

“Was. He’s retired and owns a construction business. He did some of the work on the remodeling of this house.”

“Would he be the sort who would maintain his military connections?”

“Oh, yes, he goes to all the reunions, has a lot of friends on Salisbury Plain.”

“May I have his name and address?”

Bugg gave it to him. “May I ask what this is about?”

“I believe his daughter may have provided information about what goes on here to someone who meant us harm.”

“I am shocked to hear that,” Bugg said, and he truly looked it. “What should I do about it?”

“Just don’t employ him again, and discharge the daughter. She’ll know why. Leave the rest to me.”

“I’ll speak to her immediately.”

“No, give it an hour or so.”

“As you wish.”

Billy thanked him and left his office. He got into his rental car and tapped the address into the GPS, then drove into town. He found the man’s building yard, then took a shopping bag
from the boot and went to his office, where he found the ex-officer working at his desk.

The man looked up. “Can I help you?”

Billy sat down across from him. “I’ve come to tell you that your attempt to help an assassin has failed.”

The man didn’t blink. “And you are . . . ?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Billy took the gun case and the pistol from the shopping bag and placed them on the man’s desk.

“What’s this?”

“You know very well what it is. I thought you’d like the opportunity to return these things to the armory from which you borrowed them.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do,” Billy said, rising. “I’m going to let matters rest as they are, but you will no longer receive contracts from Windward Hall or Curtis House, and your daughter is being discharged as we speak.”

The man looked surprised for the first time.

“We won’t have a problem in the future, will we?”

“Ah . . .”

“Say it.”

“No, you won’t have a problem with me or my daughter in the future.”

“Good. That way you will both avoid unpleasant consequences.” Billy walked out of the building, closing the door behind him, then drove back to Windward Hall.

56

A
l made a noon flight from Heathrow to Los Angeles and managed a first-class seat. He accepted two mimosas from the flight attendant before takeoff, and as soon as they were at cruise altitude, had the first of a series of Gentleman Jacks. The bourbon went to all the right places, and he did his best to keep it there.

After the meal and a couple of glasses of wine he managed to fall into a deep sleep, not regaining full consciousness until the landing gear lowered with a jerk. He collected his luggage in a fog of hangover, made it through customs and immigration without fuss, and got a cab home. By the time he had let himself into the apartment above the store and tossed down some hair of the dog, his attention was fully focused on the problem of Dr.
Don Beverly Calhoun. He regarded the man as the source of his trouble and humiliation in England.

—

D
r. Don made it to Teterboro the following morning on time for his flight—not that it mattered, because the flight would go when he said it should. One of the crew—a pilot whom he recognized from an earlier flight on his CJ4, examined his passport and gave him a curious look, but he asked no questions. Same with Cheree. They and their baggage were quickly settled in. Dr. Don had taken the precaution of filling out a customs form online, declaring the eight hundred thousand dollars he carried in cash, but under his employee’s name, which matched the passport. It was not illegal to carry large sums of cash abroad, as long as it was declared, and he figured that there was a large stack of those forms waiting to be scrutinized at some customs office. He would be in Rio by the time they got around to his.

They settled into the comfortable cabin of the new airplane, which offered the size and space of a larger aircraft, and waited for the pilots to work through their checklists and get a clearance for their flight. As they waited, Calhoun’s cell phone buzzed on his belt. He was mystified for a moment as to who might have that number, but then he remembered Al. Good news, no doubt.

“Hello?”

“It’s Al.”

“I’m delighted to hear from you, Al. I assume everything went well.”

There was a pause, then, “Not exactly.”

A trickle of disturbance ran down Calhoun’s innards and stopped somewhere in his bowels. “What do you mean, not exactly?”

“I mean that Mr. Barrington had better security than I had bargained for.”

“Explain that, please.”

“I mean that after assessing the situation and making a perfect plan, my plan turned out to be imperfect. I was confronted, disarmed, and dismissed from the country.”

“By whom?”

“He didn’t mention his name, but he was pointing a 30.06 deer rifle at my head. I was allowed to leave the country in one piece.”

“Al, I paid you fifty thousand dollars and expenses to take care of this.”

“And I will refund your money, every cent of it, immediately. Give me an address, and I will have it hand-delivered tomorrow.”

“I’m about to leave the country—I’m on an airplane that is taxiing as we speak.”

“No matter. I’ll get the cash to you wherever you land.”

“Can you get it to Rio, ah, undisturbed?”

“I can. Just give me an address.”

Calhoun gave him the address of his apartment. “Don’t leave it at the desk—come upstairs. I’ll tell them to expect you.”

“Fine.”

“What name will you use?”

“Mr. Jones.”

“Call me from the Rio airport.”

“Right.”

“When will you arrive?”

“In a day or two. I have arrangements to make.”

“I’ll expect you. Don’t disappoint me.”

“I try never to disappoint.”

“Except this time.”

“Except this time.” Al hung up, stinging with embarrassment. He had never had to apologize to a client.

—

C
alhoun hung up.

“What was that about?” Cheree asked.

“Nothing much—just a delivery of more cash to the Rio apartment.”

The aircraft taxied onto the runway, and they were pressed into their seats by the acceleration on takeoff.

“There,” Calhoun said when the landing gear came up. “We’re off.” He raised his glass of champagne. “Better times,” he toasted.

“God, I’ll drink to that,” Cheree said.

—

A
l began making phone calls: flight, transportation, tools.

57

A
t Windward Hall, a wrap party for the film was held, as other guests began arriving for a double wedding. Peter and Hattie would take their vows, standing next to Ben and Tessa, his English girlfriend.

The redecoration of Curtis House had been completed by Susan’s crews, working two shifts a day, and staff had been hired or imported from other Arrington hotels to man the place. It would be a good trial run for the new country house hotel.

Windward Hall rooms were occupied by members of the wedding party, and they filled out the cast and crew of the film for the wrap festivities.

—

A
l got off an airplane in Rio after a night flight, and a car awaited him at the curb, driven by a man who handed him a briefcase. Al gave him the address of the apartment house, then opened the briefcase and examined its contents. The drive took a little less than an hour. On the way, Al phoned Calhoun.

“Yes?”

“It’s Al. I’ll be there shortly. Please let the reception people know.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you. Did you bring me something?”

“Everything,” Al said. He hung up and took a plastic envelope from his bag, containing a thick mustache, a bottle of glue, and a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses with Al’s prescription. He applied the mustache, put on the glasses, and examined the result in the rear-seat vanity mirror. Better than good enough, he thought.

—

P
eter stood on a chair and made a slightly tipsy speech to his people, and champagne glasses were raised by all.

—

T
he car pulled up half a block short of Calhoun’s building; Al got out and strode into the lobby carrying the briefcase. “Dr. Calhoun is expecting me,” he said to the man at the desk
without slowing down. No one stopped him as he got onto the elevator and pressed the button for the penthouse.

Al got off the elevator to find Calhoun and his wife waiting for him in the foyer, next to a table holding a large flower arrangement. He hadn’t counted on the wife, but what the hell?

“Al,” Calhoun said, spreading his hands in welcome. “What have you brought me? And hey, I like the mustache.”

Al shook the man’s hand, then set the briefcase on the table and opened it. He took out the silenced pistol and, in one motion, pointed it at Calhoun’s forehead and squeezed off a round. The wife was too shocked to move, and before she could speak, Al shot her in the same manner. He put the pistol back into the briefcase and turned to walk out. On second thought, he set the case back on the table and removed the pistol. Calhoun had not come here empty-handed, he figured. He walked quickly from room to room. No servants, that was good. And then, in the master bedroom, he found the rolling suitcase. He set it on the bed and unzipped it, then fell back as if struck. He had never seen so much cash in one place.

Al didn’t bother to count it. He zipped it shut, then returned to the foyer, put the gun back into the case, and pressed the button for the elevator. It had not moved, so he stepped aboard and pressed the button for the lobby. The elevator fell as if the cable had broken, then, seconds later, opened into the lobby. Al strode across the space, looking neither to his left nor to his right, and left the building, carrying the briefcase and towing the suitcase.
The car was still where he had left it no more than ten minutes before, and he got into the rear seat and set his luggage beside him. “Back to the airport. Departure terminal,” he said to the driver while checking his watch. Two hours before his return flight.