The Short Forever(104)

Stone sat up in bed again. “The valise?”

“Heathrow security found it, waiting patiently to be put aboard the next flight. There was nearly half a million dollars in it.”

“Yeeessss!” Stone shouted, punching the air.

“It will take a little sorting out, but I imagine that, in a few days, I can transfer it to your New York bank. Do you have the account number?”

Stone gave her his brokerage account number. “Send it there,” he said, “back where it came from.”

“Well, I suppose you’ll be able to buy me dinner the next time I’m in New York.”

“Yes, I suppose I will be able to afford that. Soon, I hope.”

“You never know.”

“What about Lance Cabot? Any word on him?”

“He was too slick for us. The motorcycle turned out to be his; we picked up his pilot when he returned for the machine; Cabot had given it to him, apparently.”

“What did the pilot tell you?”

“He delivered Cabot to a farmer’s field in France, he isn’t sure where, since Cabot erased the coordinates from his GPS computer before leaving the airplane. He was met by two people, one of them answering to the description of Ali. We haven’t been able to trace him from there, so we have to assume that both he and, ah, his luggage reached their destination. We don’t know where that was.”

“Mason said he probably wouldn’t be prosecuted.”

“That’s right, but we would certainly make it difficult for him if he ever returned to Britain. I expect that he won’t; he’ll enjoy his ill-gotten gains in a more hospitable climate.” She paused. “Well, I must run.”

“May I know your name, now?”

She laughed. “All in good time. You take care of yourself.”

“Listen, when do you think . . .” But she had gone.

Stone got out of bed, and by the time he had dressed and breakfasted, his secretary was at her desk, working away.

“Good morning!” she said. “And welcome back!”

“Thank you, Joan,” he said. “Will you let my broker know to expect the return of some funds I took out of my account? In a few days, I think.”

“Of course,” she said. She handed him a stack of message slips. “Here are your phone calls, and this was in the fax machine when I came in yesterday.”

Stone looked at the paper. It was from his Swiss banker.

Sir, it read, I take pleasure in reporting the receipt of the following funds into your account. Stone looked at the bottom of the form. The amount was one million dollars.

“Good God!” Stone said.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing; Lance kept his word.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.” Stone stood and thought about the ramifications of receiving this money. Should he return it? If so, to whom?

“You look puzzled,” Joan said.

Stone nodded. “I think you’d better get my accountant on the phone.”

“That doesn’t really mean what it says, does it?” she asked, nodding at the document in his hand.

“I’m afraid it does.”

She picked up the phone. “I’ll get your accountant,” she said.

“You know,” Stone said to her, “it’s amazing what can happen in a short forever.”

She stopped dialing. “What?”

“Never mind,” Stone said. He was trying to figure out how he was going to explain all this to his accountant.

He’d had worse problems.