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  “Hold on, I’ll see.” Stone put the phone down, went back to the study, and beckoned Ed to join him.

  Ed got up and left the study. “What’s up?”

  “Will Lee is on the phone, and he’d like to speak to you.”

  “What about?”

  “He says some people at the Agency would like to come here and talk to you.”

  “Where’s the phone?”

  Stone pointed to the end table where he had left it. Ed walked over and picked it up. “Yes, sir?” He listened for a moment. “No, sir.” He listened some more. “I’m sorry, but no, sir.” He held up the phone. “You want to speak to him again?”

  Stone shook his head.

  “Good night, sir.” Rawls broke the connection and handed the phone to Stone.

  “I take it you don’t want to talk to them.”

  “You take it right.”

  “Why not?”

  “An uncomfortable number of people have already come to know about this situation, and I see no profit in adding to that list,” Ed said. “The more people who know about it the more dangerous this gets.”

  “I understand,” Stone said, pocketing his phone. He wondered if Will Lee understood, or if the people at the Agency did.

  They went back into the study to finish their brandy.

  “You two don’t look very happy,” Dino said.

  “Conversations with powerful people make me nervous,” Ed said. He picked up his cognac and raised his glass. “Cheers.”

  26

  STONE WORKED AT BEING AN attorney all day, and at lunchtime, Fred brought him a sandwich at his desk.

  “Thank you, Fred. You might ask Mr. Rawls if he’d like some lunch.”

  “I visited his quarters a few minutes ago, sir, but he was not present, nor is he anywhere else in the house.”

  “Did you see him leave?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And you have no idea where he’s gone?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Please check his suite every half hour and let me know if he turns up.”

  “Yes, sir.” Fred departed.

  Stone called Dino.

  “What?”

  “Ed Rawls has disappeared from the house.”

  “Maybe he went for a stroll—people do that.”

  “Ed isn’t the stroll type.”

  “How do you know? On Islesboro he could take a stroll every hour, and you wouldn’t know it.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m worried.”

  “And you want me to put out an APB on him, is that it?”

  “Not exactly. Could you just ask your people to keep an eye out for him?”

  “Keep an eye out where?”

  “I don’t know, exactly, in my neighborhood, I guess.”

  “You mean you don’t want me to block the bridges and tunnels? The airports? Check the hospitals?”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  “I don’t think anything will be necessary at this point in time. If he doesn’t come home for dinner, call me again. You can be such an old woman, Stone.” Dino hung up.

  Stone buzzed Fred. “Will you take a walk around the neighborhood and see if you see Mr. Rawls?”

  “Of course, sir. How far around the neighborhood?”

  “A couple of blocks in all directions.”

  “And if I find him, what shall I do?”

  “Just make sure he’s okay, and call me if you find him. Just observe from a distance.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Stone called Ed’s cell number, got the usual message, and asked him to call in. He hung up and tried to think ahead. If Ed didn’t turn up, what would he do? He would call Dino, that’s what. But what would he do about the strong case? Open it? He’d burn that bridge when he came to it.

  Joan buzzed him. “An insurance man on line one for you.”

  Stone picked up the phone.

  “Mr. Stone Barrington?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Marvin Raymond in the claims department at the Steele Insurance Group.”

  “The claims department?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I haven’t filed a claim.”

  “No, sir, but if you had, it would have come across my desk.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The claim was filed by a Mr. Edward Rawls, through our agent in the Penobscot region of Maine. He listed you as his attorney.”

  “What sort of claim?”

  “It seems that someone burned down his house. We’ve had confirmation of that from the Maine State Police, who investigated.”

  “That is so.”

  “What we’re concerned about is Mr. Rawls himself.”

  Stone refrained from mentioning that he was concerned, too.

  “What about him?”

  “Well, the police told us that they found a male body in the ruins of the house, and they assumed it was Mr. Rawls. If that is so, how did he come to file a claim?”

  “The body was apparently that of the arsonist. Mr. Rawls was having dinner with me at my home on Islesboro at the time of the fire.”

  “Ah. Can you confirm that Mr. Rawls is still extant?”

  Stone thought before answering. “He was, at dinner last evening. I haven’t seen him today.”

  “So you can’t swear that he is still alive?”

  “Having heard nothing to the contrary, I surmise that Mr. Rawls is alive and well.”

  “In that case, we will proceed with paying his claim.”

  “Good.”

  “If you should hear anything, ah, discouraging about Mr. Rawls’s continuing existence, I’d be grateful for a call.”

  “Mr. Raymond, even if Mr. Rawls is not still extant, as you put it, his claim is still a valid one and should be processed as such.”

  “Quite so,” the man said. “Thank you for your assistance and good day.” He hung up.

  —

  STONE FIDGETED THROUGH the afternoon, reviewing documents and forgetting what he’d read, then starting over. He didn’t get a lot done.

  At around six o’clock he heard a small chime that meant the front door had been opened. He buzzed Fred.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Did you just come into the house?”

  “Yes, sir. I had a thorough look around the neighborhood and saw no trace of Mr. Rawls.”

  “Thank you, Fred.” He hung up.

  Ten minutes passed, and he heard the chime again. He went upstairs to check for himself and found Ed and Holly making drinks in his study. “Good God,” he said aloud.

  “I don’t believe he’s joining us for cocktails,” Holly replied, “but we’d be delighted to have you anyway.”

  “Ed, where have you been?”

  “Shopping,” Rawls replied.

  “Shopping?”

  “At Brooks Brothers. I haven’t bought any clothes for some years that didn’t come from L.L. Bean, and everything I had went up with the house.” Ed raised a glass and took a swig of his Talisker. “Then we took a stroll in Central Park.”

  “A stroll?”

  “A stroll,” Ed repeated. “You know, one foot in front of the other? We had a hot dog, too.”

  Stone poured himself a drink and sat down. “I was concerned.”

  “About me? How nice of you, Stone, but why?”

  “You vanished. We didn’t know where you were.”

  “I’m very sorry. I didn’t consider that you might want to know where I was.”

  “Apparently,” Holly said, “you didn’t miss me at all—not the least concern for my whereabouts.”

  “I believe that’s called being hoist with your own petard,” Ed said with something resembling a smirk. />
  Mercifully, the phone rang before Stone had to reply. “Hello?”

  “It’s Dino.”

  “Hello, Dino, what can I do for you?”

  “I was calling to ask if I should block the bridges and tunnels, check the airports, and canvas the hospitals.”

  “What?”

  “For Ed.”

  “Oh, no, that’s quite all right. He’s fine, he just went for a stroll.” He said that before he caught himself.

  “A stroll?”

  “Well, yes, he went shopping, too. Brooks Brothers.”

  Silence.

  “His clothes all burned up in the fire.”

  “And he wasn’t kidnapped or assassinated along the way?”

  “He’s perfectly all right, Dino.”

  “I am relieved to hear it,” Dino said, then hung up.

  Stone hung up, too. “That was Dino,” he explained.

  “We got that when you called him Dino,” Holly said. “I believe you were explaining, or attempting to, how it came to be that you missed Ed, but not me.”

  “Ah, can I get anybody another drink?”

  “We’ve hardly started on this one.” Holly turned to Ed. “He has no explanation.”

  Stone got himself another drink.

  27

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING Stone was at his desk again when Joan buzzed.

  “Yes?”

  “There are two gentlemen here who would like to see you, but they won’t tell me who they are.”

  “Tell them to go away,” Stone said.

  Joan buzzed back. “That didn’t work.”

  “Tell them to show you some ID, or you’ll call the police.”

  Joan hung up, then buzzed back.

  “Yes?”

  “They say they’re from the Central Intelligence Agency.”

  “ID?”

  “Yes, on both counts.”

  Joan brought two middle-aged men in business suits into Stone’s office. They introduced themselves as Parsons and Queen.

  “Let’s see some ID,” Stone said.

  They produced wallets.

  “All right, sit down.”

  “We’re here to see Edward Rawls.”

  “Mr. Rawls isn’t seeing callers,” Stone said. “I’m his attorney. What’s this about?”

  The two exchanged a glance. “We can’t go into that,” Parsons said.

  Stone pointed. “There’s the door.”

  “Now, listen, Barrington—”

  “Don’t let the doorknob hit you in the ass on the way out.”

  The two didn’t move.

  Stone buzzed Joan. “Please get me Lance Cabot on the phone.” Cabot was director of central intelligence.

  Parsons threw up a hand. “Just a minute.”

  “Hang on,” Stone said to Joan, but he didn’t hang up. “What?”

  “Let’s not make this adversarial,” Parsons said. “We just want to talk to him.”

  “And I just want to find out if you’re who you say you are,” Stone said, “and what the hell you’re doing in my office.”

  “Shall I ring Lance?” Joan asked.

  “We’ll go,” Parsons said, rising.

  “Cancel the call,” Stone said to Joan, and hung up. “Why are you still here?” he asked the two men.

  They shuffled out of his office, and he heard the door close behind them. He buzzed Ed’s room.

  “Hello?”

  “Two guys from the Agency were just here to see you.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “That you weren’t receiving callers.”

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself. I’m sorry you were disturbed.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Stone said.

  Joan buzzed. “Lance Cabot on one.”

  Stone pressed the button. “Good morning, Lance, long time no see or hear from.”

  “Good morning, Stone,” Lance said smoothly. Lance said everything smoothly. “I understand you’ve been rude to two of my people.”

  “Oh, God, have I violated the National Intelligence Security Act again?”

  “You made that up—you know very well there is no such act.”

  “I just said it to annoy you. What do you want, Lance?”

  “We want to speak to Ed Rawls.”

  “I’m his attorney. You can speak to me.”

  “These are experienced officers, just doing their job.”

  “And what is their job?”

  “I can’t go into that.”

  “They didn’t even want to show me ID.”

  “They are unaccustomed to dealing with the general public.”

  “I’m hurt, Lance, I thought you and I were intimates.”

  “Sometimes—not this time. Did they show you their IDs?”

  “Eventually. I’m a little skittish about that because a few days ago two men identifying themselves as FBI agents, with IDs and badges, presented themselves at my door in Maine. Turned out they were bogus, and so were their IDs.”

  “I can imagine how upsetting that must have been for you,” Lance said archly.

  “And one of them turned up dead in the ashes of Ed Rawls’s house, complete with his bogus badge.”

  “That’s very unsettling. Did you report this to the FBI?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “I’m waiting to learn why you want to talk to Ed Rawls.”

  “I assume you know that already.”

  “Assume nothing.”

  “I believe that Ed is in possession of some documents that don’t belong to him.”

  “I can assure you he is not.”

  “Then you are in possession of documents that don’t belong to Ed.”

  “The only document of Ed’s I’m aware of is the insurance claim pertaining to the loss of his residence by arson.”

  “Obviously, that is not what I’m referring to.”

  “Well, if this conversation is to continue you’re going to have to tell me what documents you think I’m in possession of.”

  “I expect you have already read them.”

  “I have not read any such documents.”

  “Why must you be so difficult to deal with, Stone?”

  “Because you’re not dealing with me, you’re just badgering me and my client. If you want to deal with me, then deal.”

  “They are documents of a political nature.”

  “Then the CIA, being nonpolitical, should have no interest in them. I mean, they’re not covered by any act of Congress I’m aware of, including the one I just made up.”

  “Stone, will you have lunch with me today?”

  “Oh, you’re in New York?”

  “Just for the day.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “You just want to badger me into betraying my client’s confidence, and I’m not going to do it, so why have lunch?”

  “All right, tell me how I can get in touch with Ed Rawls.”

  “Through me.”

  “That is, apparently, a dead line.”

  “Now you’re getting the picture, Lance, and it took such a long time.”

  “Stone, one day soon you’re going to call me and ask me to do something for you.”

  “What would I want you to do for me?”

  “Oh, something—very likely something I shouldn’t do. Life is a two-way street, Stone.”

  “That’s very pithy. Can I quote you?”

  “You can tell Ed Rawls I said that.” Lance hung up.

  28

  STONE HUNG UP and was immediately sorry he had let Lance do it first. Joan appeared in his doorway. “I’m afraid . . .�
��

  Lance Cabot stepped from behind her. “Good morning again, Stone.”

  “You were in your car all along, weren’t you?”

  “I was. I didn’t want to be intrusive.”

  “You mean like you’re doing now?”

  “My more courteous efforts were rebuffed.” Lance made himself comfortable in the chair facing Stone.

  “Have a seat, Lance,” Stone said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  “I renew my invitation to lunch,” Lance said. “We’ll go to that club where we both are members. Then we won’t have to fight over the check.”

  Stone glanced at his watch. “I’m still not hungry.”

  “You will be by the time we’re done here.”

  “And what are we doing here?”

  “Please pick up the phone and ask Ed Rawls to join us.”

  “I’ve already told you . . .”

  Lance held up a hand. “I don’t mind if he’s represented by counsel. This is not a legal proceeding, it’s just a friendly chat.”

  “And where is the muscle?”

  Lance laughed. “Those two paunchy timeservers? They’ve gone their own way. I’m glad we’re able to get together. I have some things to tell Ed, and it’s best if you hear them, too. Saves time.”

  Stone picked up the phone and buzzed Ed.

  “Yes?”

  “Lance Cabot is in my office. I think it’s best to come down. Don’t worry, you won’t have to say anything, unless you want to.”

  “Be right down,” Ed said, and hung up.

  They sat quietly, trying not to stare at each other, until Ed walked into the office and sat down on the sofa across the room.

  “Hello, Ed,” Lance said. “It’s been a very long time.”

  “Copenhagen, wasn’t it?” Ed asked.

  “In the Danny Kaye suite at the Hotel d’Angleterre, the one where the star stayed when they were filming Hans Christian Andersen.”

  “I recall,” Ed said.

  “Ed, you’ve been away from us for a long time, so I thought it might be a good idea if I reminded you of some old Agency practices and, perhaps, informed you of some newer ones.”

  “I’m here to listen,” Ed said.

  Stone gave him a thumbs-up by way of agreement.

  “You will surely recall that the Agency requires its officers to submit any book or magazine material for approval before publication, even before showing such manuscripts to agents or publishers.”