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  BOOKS BY STUART WOODS

  FICTION

  Naked Greed†

  Hot Pursuit†

  Insatiable Appetites†

  Paris Match†

  Cut and Thrust†

  Carnal Curiosity†

  Standup Guy†

  Doing Hard Time†

  Unintended Consequences†

  Collateral Damage†

  Severe Clear†

  Unnatural Acts†

  D.C. Dead†

  Son of Stone†

  Bel-Air Dead†

  Strategic Moves†

  Santa Fe Edge§

  Lucid Intervals†

  Kisser†

  Hothouse Orchid*

  Loitering with Intent†

  Mounting Fears‡

  Hot Mahogany†

  Santa Fe Dead§

  Beverly Hills Dead

  Shoot Him If He Runs†

  Fresh Disasters†

  Short Straw§

  Dark Harbor†

  Iron Orchid*

  Two-Dollar Bill†

  The Prince of Beverly Hills

  Reckless Abandon†

  Capital Crimes‡

  Dirty Work†

  Blood Orchid*

  The Short Forever†

  Orchid Blues*

  Cold Paradise†

  L.A. Dead†

  The Run‡

  Worst Fears Realized†

  Orchid Beach*

  Swimming to Catalina†

  Dead in the Water†

  Dirt†

  Choke

  Imperfect Strangers

  Heat

  Dead Eyes

  L.A. Times

  Santa Fe Rules§

  New York Dead†

  Palindrome

  Grass Roots‡

  White Cargo

  Under the Lake

  Deep Lie‡

  Run Before the Wind‡

  Chiefs‡

  TRAVEL

  A Romantic’s Guide to the Country Inns of Britain and Ireland (1979)

  MEMOIR

  Blue Water, Green Skipper

  *A Holly Barker Novel

  †A Stone Barrington Novel

  ‡A Will Lee Novel

  §An Ed Eagle Novel

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  Publishers Since 1838

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street

  New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2015 by Stuart Woods

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Woods, Stuart.

  Foreign affairs / Stuart Woods.

  p. cm.—(Stone Barrington ; Book 35)

  ISBN 978-0-698-19502-8

  1. Barrington, Stone (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Private investigators—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3573.O642F67 2015 2015015844

  813'.54—dc23

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  CONTENTS

  Books by Stuart Woods

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Author’s Note

  1

  Stone Barrington was at dinner at Patroon, a favorite restaurant, with Dino and Viv Bacchetti, his closest friends.

  “Stone,” Viv said, “don’t you sometimes wish you were still a cop?” Stone had spent fourteen years on the NYPD, most of them as a homicide detective with Dino as his partner.

  “Viv,” Stone replied, “with the kindest possible intention, are you out of your fucking mind?”

  Viv burst out laughing.

  Dino looked at him with pity. “He wishes he was still a cop every time I tell him about something the department is investigating.”

  “The only time I wish I were a cop,” Stone said, “is when somebody is double-parked in front of my house and I’m having trouble getting the car out of the garage.”

  “You mean, you want to arrest the driver?” Viv asked.

  “No, I want to shoot him.”

  “Stone thinks the worst crime we have to deal with is double-parking in his block,” Dino pointed out.

  “No, I just think it’s the worst crime within gunshot range of my garage door.”

  “That seems a drastic remedy,” Viv said.

  “Not when you consider that I’d only have to do it once—word would get around, then nobody would double-park in front of my house.”

  “It wouldn’t matter, because you’d be in jail for quite a long time,” Dino said.

  “You mean, you’d have me arrested for shooting a double-parker?” Dino had stayed on the NYPD and was now police commissioner of New York.

  “Of course. You’d get no special treatment.”

  “I didn’t mean I’d kill the guy, just shoot him a little.”

  “Then you’d spend less time in jail. With good behavior you’d be out in seven to ten.”

  “But I still have a badge.”

  “Take a close look at your solid-gold, honorary-detective-first-class badge that was given to you by our former c
ommissioner, now mayor. It’s not engraved with the words ‘Authorized to shoot anybody who annoys him.’”

  “Not even double-parkers who block my garage door?”

  “Especially not them.”

  Stone’s cell phone rang and he looked at the number. “It’s Joan,” he said. “She never calls at this time of night. I’d better get it. Hello?”

  “It’s Joan.”

  “I know, I have caller ID.”

  “I’ve made a tiny little mistake,” she said.

  “Oh, God,” Stone moaned. He covered the phone. “Joan says she’s made a tiny little mistake,” he said to his companions. “That means she’s made a real whopper of a mistake.” He went back to the phone. “All right, let me have it.”

  “There’s good news and bad news,” she said. “The good news is that I forgot to put a board meeting of the Arrington Group on your calendar.”

  Stone was immediately suspicious. “And what is the bad news?”

  “The meeting is tomorrow,” she said. “At noon.”

  “Well, I can probably get out of bed early enough to make that.”

  “That’s not all the bad news.”

  “Oh, God,” Stone said, mostly to himself.

  “You already said that.”

  “What’s the rest of the bad news?”

  “The board meeting is in Rome.”

  “Rome is up the Hudson somewhere, isn’t it?”

  “Not that Rome.”

  “Rome, Georgia? Rome has an airport. I could fly myself down there tomorrow morning.”

  “Think farther east.”

  “Oh, God,” Stone said. “Not that Rome.”

  “That one. Now don’t say, ‘Oh, God’ again, and don’t panic—there’s an Alitalia flight tonight.”

  “What time?”

  “In, let’s see, fifty-four minutes.”

  “Which airport?”

  “JFK.”

  “That’s a forty-five-minute drive,” he pointed out.

  “And Fred is off tonight, he went to the theater.”

  “I’ll never make it,” he said.

  “Think about this: you’re sitting next to the guy with the fastest car in town.”

  “Hang on a minute.” He turned to Dino. “I’ve got to be at JFK in fifty-four minutes to catch a plane to Rome. Can I borrow your car?”

  “You mean the one with the flashing lights on top?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I can see the headlines in tomorrow’s Post,” Dino said. “POLICE COMMISH LOANS OFFICIAL CAR TO SCHMUCK, WHO IS INVOLVED IN TERRIBLE ACCIDENT.”

  “Fifty-three minutes!” Joan shouted from the other end of the phone call.

  “Only if I’m in the car with you,” Dino said. “That would shorten the headline to, SCHMUCK HITCHES RIDE WITH COMMISH.”

  “You two better get going,” Viv said.

  “You’re not coming with us?” Stone asked.

  “I’d scream all the way,” she replied. “Go on, get your asses in gear! I’ll get the check.”

  “I’ll call you en route with further instructions,” he said to Joan, then hung up and ran for the door, followed closely by Dino.

  2

  Dino got into the backseat of the black SUV with Stone and slammed the door. “We’ve got fifty-one minutes to make a flight at JFK,” he said to his driver. “Punch it, and use the siren and the lights.”

  “God bless you,” Stone said, patting him on the knee.

  “Don’t bring God into this, and don’t put your hand on my knee.”

  “You want me to shoot him, boss?” the detective in the front passenger seat asked.

  “Not unless he does it again. You get on the horn to security at Kennedy and tell them I want to drive onto the ramp. Find out what gate the Alitalia flight to Rome is occupying, and tell them to stand by for an arriving passenger, Barrington.”

  “Yes, sir.” The detective whipped out his phone.

  Stone dialed Joan’s number.

  “I’m here.”

  “Am I on the flight?” he shouted over the siren.

  “You are—you got the last seat, and I ordered you a car.”

  “Good. I need a room at the Hassler in Rome.”

  “I’ve already called them and talked to the night man. It’s the middle of the night there, but he’s promised to have you a bed, he just can’t promise you a suite.”

  “Where’s the board meeting tomorrow?”

  “In a conference room at the Hassler.”

  “When did we get notice of the meeting?”

  “Do you really need to know?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Maybe ten days ago. I got busy and . . .”

  “Okay, go upstairs to my dressing room and pack the following, ready?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Use the two medium-sized cases. Pack a blue suit, a chalk-stripe, and—I don’t know, maybe a tuxedo, pleated shirt, and black tie. Pack the black alligator oxfords, six pairs of boxers, six pairs of black socks, half a dozen linen handkerchiefs, and six shirts that go with the suits and half a dozen ties, and include my travel toiletries kit. Oh, shit, I don’t have my passport. Find it.”

  “Are you wearing your blue blazer with the yacht club buttons?”

  “Yes.”

  “Try the left inside pocket.”

  Stone slapped his chest, rummaged in the pocket, and came up with the alligator passport case. “Got it. How did you know where it was?”

  “When the new one came in the mail, I saw you put it there. What else do you need?”

  “A briefcase—the black alligator one, and all the stuff that’s in it. You might make sure there’s a legal pad in there.”

  “Right. What else?”

  “Is it cold in Rome?”

  “It’s spring, and Rome is a subtropical climate.”

  “No coat, then. What’s the agenda for the board meeting?”

  “I’ll fax it to you before I go to bed.”

  “FedEx the luggage, so it’ll be there the day after tomorrow. I’ll make do until then.”

  “Have a good trip.”

  “Bye.” Stone hung up and looked around. They were on what looked like the Van Wyck Expressway, and cars were scattering before them. “I like this,” he said. “This is how to go to the airport.”

  “You’re lucky it isn’t rush hour,” the driver said.

  “He’s lucky he knows me,” Dino said.

  “I know you, and I love you, Dino.”

  “Stop that.”

  “Is his hand on your knee again, boss?” the detective asked.

  “He knows better than that now.”

  “Shucks, I was counting on shooting him.”

  They were off the expressway and onto the labyrinth of roads around the airport. They stopped at a gate, which rolled back to admit them, and a security guard gave them the gate number and directions.

  “You can turn off the siren now,” Dino said. “But keep the lights on.”

  “Gotcha, boss.” The driver floored it, and two minutes later they pulled up next to a giant airplane, connected to the terminal by a snaking boarding tunnel.

  “Thanks, Dino,” Stone said. “I owe you.”

  “I’ll send you a bill. Now get your ass on the plane—it was supposed to push back three minutes ago.”

  A security guard waved Stone to a door, and he ran up a flight of stairs, emerging in the tunnel near the aircraft door. A flight attendant awaited, his hand on the door. “Any luggage, Mr. Barrington?”

  “None,” Stone said, entering the airplane.

  “Just a moment.” He closed the door behind them, turned right, and started down an aisle. They were in the tourist cabin, and the attendant was pointing at a
seat right in the middle of the airplane.

  “Wait a minute—no first class?” Stone asked.

  “The flight is full. This is it.”

  Stone sighed and squeezed past the knees of two very large passengers and flopped into the seat. An extremely fat man sat to his left, taking up the entire armrest. “Welcome aboard,” he said.

  “Thanks.” Stone looked to his right and found a woman of reasonable proportions.

  “Aren’t you the lucky guy?” she said.

  “Not lucky enough,” Stone said, trying to find something to do with his left arm. “How long is this flight?”

  “For me, nine hours. For you, forever.”

  “Too right.”

  “I’m Hedy Kiesler,” she said. “Actually Hedwig Eva Maria Kiesler, but only my mother calls me that.”

  “All of it?”

  “Just Hedwig. If you call me anything but Hedy, I’ll hurt you.”

  “I believe you,” Stone said, offering a hand. “I’m Stone Barrington.”

  She leaned in. “I’m glad you made it. I thought I was going to have to deal with the fat guy.”

  “I heard that!” the fat guy said.

  “Sorry.”

  The airplane was moving backward; after a moment an engine started. A female flight attendant appeared. “Mr. Barrington? I have two seats for you and your companion in first class.”

  “What companion?” Hedy asked Stone.

  “I think she means you. Join me?”

  “You bet your sweet ass,” she said.

  The two of them struggled past the two fat men. “Good riddance,” one of them said. “Move over one, George.”

  Stone, followed by Hedy, walked up the aisle and was shown to the first pair of seats at the front of the cabin. “You can have the window,” he said.

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t seat you sooner,” the attendant said, “but the seats were booked by someone else who didn’t show. I had to wait until we closed the door and pushed back before giving them to you.”

  Hedy eased into her seat. “God, what a relief,” she said. “Do you always fly like this?”

  “No, usually I fly myself in a light jet.”

  “Why not tonight?”

  “I had to leave on short notice for a board meeting tomorrow in Rome.”

  “What kind of board?”

  “A hotel group. What takes you to Rome?”

  “I’m a painter. I’ve taken an apartment for a month, and I’m going to paint Rome.”

  “I don’t see any canvases or paints.”