Paris Match(74)

            “I’ve gotta run, but I wanted you to know about the column. I wish I knew who Axelrod was.”

            Stone hung up. He thought he knew.





                     40


            Shortly after he had received Carla’s and Axelrod’s columns, Stone’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”

            “It’s Rick.”

            “Where the hell have you been? You missed a good dinner with Lance.”

            “In Berlin, talking to people at our station.”

            “Lance hasn’t said a word about the newly wrecked van.”

            “He’s too happy with the story in the French papers to think about anything else.”

            “Has anyone heard anything from Jacques Chance?”

            “He’s gone to ground. My journalist friends tell me they haven’t been able to get any comment from him, his sister, his father, or the police.”

            “I can understand why,” Stone said. “What do you think of Lance’s theory that Jacques is behind the attempts on me?”

            “I think it’s insane, but probably true.”

            “Do you think his being exposed will put a stop to the attempts on me?”

            “Don’t count on it—the people he was acting for are still there and in business. Have you made any arrangements for getting out of town after the shindig at l’Arrington?”

            “Not yet, but I will. Will you give Holly a message for me?”

            “She’s right here—deliver it yourself.”

            “Good morning,” she said.

            “Afternoon.”

            “If you say so.”

            “I just wanted to tell you, the coast is clear.”

            “When did it clear?”

            “Not too late last night,” he lied. “She had an early flight to New York.”

            “Have you heard about the Howard Axelrod blog?”

            “Yes, somebody in New York read it to me.”

            “And Fontana’s column?”

            “I hear it’s favorable.”

            “You must have been a good interview.”

            “I did my best.”

            “And your best, as we all know, is pretty good.”

            “Aren’t you kind. Will you be back this evening?”

            “I’ll be there around five. Dinner?”

            “Sure. You want to go out?”

            “Not really.”

            “We’ll dine in, then.”

            “See ya.” She hung up.

            Stone called Mike Freeman at his Paris office.

            “Afternoon, Stone. How are you keeping?”

            “Fairly busy. You must be, too.”

            “Yeah, the security arrangements for the l’Arrington opening had to be rethought, in light of all the vehicles you’ve been losing.”