“Who is he?”
“The man is a mystery to me.”
“I’m glad that episode is over. Let’s eat.”
“What would you like?”
“Shall we have a look at the room service menu?”
“Just think of something—I’ll force them to prepare it.”
“I’d like a New York strip steak rare, some fried onion rings, some sugar snap peas, and a great California Cabernet. I like it better than the French stuff.”
Stone picked up the phone and ordered.
“While we’re waiting, some business,” she said.
“Shoot.”
“My New York station has suddenly discovered that I can speak, even when I’m out of town, so they’ve been on the phone all day.”
“Anything you can tell me about?”
“My friend Scott, over at the NSA, has been surfing the metadata for Russian mob stuff, and your name came up.”
“In what regard?”
“In what regard do you think?”
“Something to do with my demise, no doubt.”
“Bingo!”
“Anything specific?”
“The word ‘gala’ was mentioned. Or whatever the Russian for ‘gala’ is.”
“I’m scheduled for only one gala,” Stone said.
“I know, and since I plan to accompany you, wearing my new dress, I’m going to take particular care to see that you end the evening in the same condition as you start it.”
“That’s very kind of you. Mike Freeman has similar intentions.”
“Not quite the same as mine,” she said.
“By the way, the Strategic Services Gulfstream 650 departs Le Bourget at one A.M., after the gala. Mike says both you and Lance are welcome to bum a ride.”
“There’s a bed on that airplane, isn’t there?”
“Now that you mention it, yes.”
“I’ll be there,” she said.
42
Stone’s cell phone rang a little after eight. Holly was still sleeping soundly. “Hello?”
“Mr. Barrington?” A woman’s voice. “I’m calling for Marcel duBois.”
“Yes?”
“He would be very pleased if you would join him for breakfast at his home. He has something important to discuss with you.”
Stone checked the bedside clock. “Of course. What time?”
“As soon as you can be here.”
“Give me half an hour,” he said. He tiptoed out of the room, shaved, showered, and dressed, then went downstairs. The courtyard was empty of his usual transport. He thought of calling Rick LaRose, then thought better of it and got into a cab. Ten minutes later he was deposited in the courtyard of the duBois building. Two security types loitered near the door, but neither was dressed in the usual body armor. One of them gave him a little salute as he approached the door, then held it open for him. Stone had a good memory for faces, but he didn’t recognize the guard.