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  “Put her in the barn,” Stone said to the other lineman, then he and Pat followed their luggage through the Jet Aviation terminal and out to where Stone’s factotum, Fred, waited with the Bentley.

  “Good flight, sir?” Fred asked.

  “A great one, Fred. This is Pat Frank.”

  Fred tipped an imaginary cap, and they got into the car.

  Pat produced her phone. “I didn’t book a hotel for tonight,” she said.

  “Don’t bother,” Stone replied. “I have guest rooms.”

  “How kind you are!”

  “Saves picking you up for dinner.”

  Half an hour later they were in the garage, and while Fred dealt with the luggage, they took the elevator to the third floor. “We’ll put you in here,” Stone said, showing her to the largest guest room. “I’m right down the hall.” He looked at his watch: “You’ve got two hours to get gorgeous,” he said. “We’ll meet in my study for a drink at seven—it’s on the first floor.”

  “How are we dressing?” she asked.

  “You mean you have more than one dress in that little bag?”

  “The option is jeans.”

  “Wear the dress. See you at seven.” He walked down the hall to the master suite.

  —

  AT SEVEN he was reading the New York Times in his study when she walked in, clad in a tight LBD and sporting pearls and very high heels.

  “You got gorgeous,” Stone said. “What would you like to drink?”

  “What are you drinking?”

  “Bourbon. Knob Creek. I have gimlets and martinis already made and in the freezer, and most other drinks, but I can’t make a banana daiquiri.”

  “I’m a Georgia girl,” she said. “I’ll have the bourbon.”

  He poured them both a drink. “Some friends are meeting us at the restaurant,” he said. “Dino and Vivian Bacchetti. She’s called Viv.”

  “Fine.”

  “In my extreme youth I was a cop, and Dino was my partner. Now I’m a failed cop, and Dino is the police commissioner of the City of New York.”

  “How did you fail?”

  “I got shot in the knee, and I disagreed with my betters on the handling of an important case. They used the knee as an excuse to dump me.”

  “And how did you go about becoming a lawyer?”

  “I was already a law-school graduate. I took a cram course and passed the bar, and an old school buddy had a job waiting for me.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “I was lucky. I had inherited this house from a great-aunt, my grandmother’s sister, and I was renovating it, doing most of the work myself. I was more than a year into the job, my savings were gone, and I was in debt to the bank and a lot of building suppliers, when I ran into my old friend Bill Eggers, of Woodman & Weld. The rest, as they say, is history.”

  “A pretty successful history,” she said, looking around. “The place is beautiful.”

  “Fairly successful. When my wife died I came into some money that had been made by her first husband.”

  “Thus, the gift of a jet to your son.”

  “Thus. How do you happen to be moving into an apartment in New York tomorrow?”

  “My sister got married and moved to the suburbs. She owned an apartment and rented it, until I could clear the decks for the move. The tenant’s lease is up tomorrow. I’ll probably buy the place from my sister, eventually.”

  “Good idea.” Stone wrinkled his brow. “What’s your sister’s name?”

  “Greta Frank.”

  “The Greta Frank who was recently acquitted of murdering her husband?”

  “Her first husband.”

  “I followed the trial in the media.”

  “She was completely innocent, of course.”

  “Of course. And she was lucky enough to have a very smart attorney.”

  “Yes, Herbert Fisher. Do you know him?”

  “He’s a partner in my law firm, and was a protégé of mine.”

  “Then I suppose Greta has you to thank, as well.”

  “In a roundabout way, I guess. She didn’t lose any time remarrying, did she?”

  “Nope. I think they were an item before her husband’s untimely death.”

  “Whom did she marry?”

  “Larry Goren, a hedge-fund zillionaire.”

  “Her late husband was also one of those, wasn’t he?”

  “Greta has always been attracted to money.”

  Fred appeared in the doorway. “The car is out front, Mr. Barrington.”

  They both polished off their drinks and left the house.

  3

  THEY BEAT DINO and Viv to Patroon and ordered another drink. A jazz group was playing, a new wrinkle of which Stone approved.

  Mike Freeman ambled over. “Good evening.”

  “Hi, Mike,” Stone replied. “Pat, this is Mike Freeman, an old friend and business associate. Join us, Mike.”

  “I’m stag tonight. Sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not in the least.”

  Mike signaled to Ken Aretzky, the owner, that he was joining Stone, then sat down and ordered a drink.

  “Dino and Viv will be here soon,” Stone said, looking at his watch. “I think.”

  “I thought you were in Wichita,” Mike said, “and yet here you are with a beautiful woman.”

  “She’s not a woman, she’s a pilot,” Stone said. “Pat did the acceptance for me at the factory, and the insurance company okayed her to do the first flight with me. We just got in this afternoon.”

  “How’s the new Citation M2?”

  “Wonderful. It’s already parked in your hangar. Pat, Mike is the head of Strategic Services, a large security company, and they own a hangar at Teterboro.”

  “How convenient,” Pat said.

  “Pat is starting a new business, running the flight department for owner-operators, like me.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I’m her first client. I had to fire her to get her to have dinner with me.”

  “What’s your business called?” Mike asked.

  “The Pat Frank Flight Department.”

  “Catchy.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  Dino and Viv finally arrived, and introductions were made. They had just ordered drinks when another man approached the table. Dino introduced everybody to Everett Salton, who was the junior senator for the state of New York. Stone had never met him but was usually impressed with what he heard about the man in the news.

  “Will you join us, Ev?” Dino asked.

  “Thank you, but the senior senator and I are having dinner, as if we don’t see enough of each other. Another time, I hope.” The senator said good night and wended his way to his table.

  “Good guy,” Dino said. “I think.”

  “You think?” Stone asked. “Don’t you know?”

  “He’s a politician—you can never really know a guy like that, you just know what he’s for and against, issue by issue, and sometimes even that changes with the wind.”

  “You know, since becoming commissioner, you’ve also become a cynic.”

  “I’m a realist, that’s all. You, however, are a pushover for anybody who’s nice to you.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Name somebody who’s nice to you that you don’t like.”

  Stone thought about that for a moment. “Well . . .”

  “A pushover, like I said.”

  “I think that’s a good personal trait,” Pat said.

  “Do you like Pat?” Dino asked.

  “Of course, she’s nice to me.”

  —

  THEY WERE BACK at Stone’s house by eleven, and he kissed her good night at her bedroom door. “I don’t suppose you need tucking
in?”

  “I can handle it, thanks.”

  “Do you have an early start tomorrow?”

  “Not so early. The movers are supposed to show up at noon.”

  “Then wander down the hall around seven and have breakfast with me.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “What would you like?”

  “Whatever you’re having.”

  “See you at seven.” He kissed her again and went to the master suite, undressed, and left a message about breakfast for Helene, his housekeeper. He turned on the news, but there was nothing much new since the early-morning shows, and he fell asleep quickly.

  He was awakened by a soft hand on his cheek and a light kiss on the lips.

  “Good morning,” she said. “I’m early.”

  “How early?”

  “Half an hour.”

  “Then join me,” he said, reaching over and turning down the covers on the other side of the bed.

  She shed her robe, giving him a glimpse of a curvaceous body, and pulled the covers up over her breasts. “I don’t think I’ve ever started a day like this without an intimate evening before.”

  “Best time of day,” Stone said, raising an arm and offering her a shoulder. She moved over and nestled against him. Things moved quickly along, and they were resting in each other’s arms when a chime rang. “That’s the dumbwaiter,” Stone said. He got out of bed, opened the door, and removed a large tray, setting it on the bed.

  “Wow,” Pat said. “That’s what I call room service.”

  “Helene is always punctual.”

  Stone switched on the morning shows and saw an interview with the two senators on the sidewalk outside Patroon.

  “Salton is pretty slick,” Pat said.

  “He is, isn’t he?”

  “You didn’t know him before last night?”

  “Only from television.”

  “He seemed to know who you were.”

  “I didn’t notice that, and there’s no reason why he should.”

  “But he knew Dino.”

  “Dino’s the police commissioner.”

  “You have a point,” she said. “Still . . .”

  Stone’s bedside phone rang, a rare event at this hour. Stone picked it up. “Hello?”

  “This is Ev Salton. I hope I haven’t called too early.”

  “Not at all, Senator.”

  “Will you have lunch with me today?” He didn’t ask if Stone already had a date.

  “Yes,” Stone said.

  Salton gave him an address. “Just ring the bell,” he said. “Twelve-thirty?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Good morning to you, then.”

  “Good morning.” They both hung up.

  “That was Senator Salton,” Stone said.

  “I told you he knew who you were,” Pat replied.

  4

  STONE ARRIVED at the address, a double-width town house in the East Sixties, and rang the bell. He noticed a security camera high and to his left. Almost immediately a man in a black suit and green tie opened the door. “Your name, please?”

  “Barrington.”

  “Please come in, Mr. Barrington, and follow me.” The man took his overcoat, then led him to an elevator, and Stone was ushered in. “Press five,” the man said.

  Stone pressed five, the doors closed, and when they opened, Senator Everett Salton stood waiting in a small foyer. He shook Stone’s hand.

  “Good to see you, Stone.”

  “And you,” Stone replied.

  “This way.”

  Stone followed him to one of several doors opening off the foyer, and into a sort of sitting room with a table set for two.

  Salton indicated where Stone should sit. “I hope you don’t mind, I’ve ordered for us—saves time.”

  “That’s fine,” Stone said, taking a seat. His place was set with elegant china and crystal and a huge, starched Irish linen napkin.

  “Would you like a drink?” Salton asked.

  “Thank you, just some fizzy water.”

  Instantly, a waiter entered the room and took their drink orders.

  “What is this place?” Stone asked.

  “It’s a sort of club, I suppose,” Salton said.

  He supposed? “Does it have a name?”

  “It does not. The members refer to it vaguely as ‘the club’ or ‘the association’ or ‘the East Side House.’ To what clubs do you belong, Stone?”

  “Only a small golf club in Washington, Connecticut, where I have a house.”

  “No city clubs?”

  “None.”

  “I find that remarkable,” Salton said.

  Stone didn’t ask why. “Are all meals taken in this setting?” Stone asked, indicating the room.

  “No, there is a proper dining room downstairs, but only members are permitted to use it. As a group, they guard their privacy jealously. Guests are received in these private rooms.”

  “I see,” Stone said, overstating his understanding.

  “I’ve wanted to meet you for some time,” Salton said.

  Stone wrinkled his brow. “Why now?”

  “Because, until last evening, we had not been introduced.” He smiled. “I realize that’s a bit old-fashioned of me, especially since I’m a politician, but it has been my experience that the means by which one makes acquaintances is almost as important as the acquaintance.”

  “That’s not only old-fashioned, it’s very selective,” Stone said.

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it? Last evening you were in the company of two men I know fairly well, and that spoke well of you.”

  “Is either of them a member of this club?” Stone asked.

  “One is. I proposed the other this morning, along with you.”

  Stone was dumbfounded. This man, who professed to be so selective, had proposed a man he didn’t know for what was obviously an extremely exclusive club. “I’m not sure I have the qualifications for membership,” Stone said. “What are they?”

  “Substance, character, and to a lesser extent, cordiality,” Salton replied.

  “And influence?” He thought he was beginning to see what this was about.

  “Sometimes. Many members acquire more of that here than they bring to the party. And we are more inclusive than you might imagine. There is an unspoken rule—virtually all the rules here are unspoken—that no candidate is discriminated against for any of the usual exclusionary traits—race, religion, et cetera. The membership is quite broad in that regard.”

  “Is it also large?”

  “Given that the membership is worldwide, not terribly. There are no more than a couple of hundred members who have their main residence within a fifty-mile radius of the city, and you know more of them than you think you do. Several of them joined you in a group whose contributions started Katharine Lee’s campaign for the presidency.”

  And that, Stone thought, is why I am here. Their lunch arrived—a fish soup, followed by poached salmon and a glass of a flinty white wine.

  “You’re going to the inauguration, of course,” Salton said.

  “Of course.”

  “Will you be staying at the White House?”

  “No, I wouldn’t want to impose on the Lees at such a frenetic time for them. I’ll be at the Hay-Adams Hotel.” He didn’t mention that he had declined an invitation to stay at the White House because his date was his friend Holly Barker, who ran the New York station of the CIA. Holly had felt it was inappropriate for her to stay there because of her position.

  “My wife and I would be delighted to have you stay with us at our home in Georgetown,” Salton said.

  “That’s very kind of you, but there will be four in my party.”

  “Then perhaps you, your companion, and the
Bacchettis would be our guests for a buffet dinner before the Inaugural Ball?”

  “We’d be delighted,” Stone said. They ate in silence for a few minutes.

  Finally, Salton spoke up. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m not pumping you for more information about yourself, but you see, I already know a great deal about you—your background, parentage, education, police service, and law practice. There are at least a couple of members here whose fat you pulled from the fire during your early career.”

  Stone laughed. “I used to do quite a lot of that,” he said.

  “And you did it well and discreetly,” Salton replied. “I admire that.”

  “I know a fair amount about you, too,” Stone said. “You’re that rare person whose first public office was the United States Senate. I liked, when you first ran, that you didn’t seem to scramble for the seat.”

  “Oh, I consumed my share of rubber chicken,” Salton said, “but my way was eased somewhat by members of this club.”

  The waiter returned to take their dishes.

  “Would you like dessert?” Salton asked.

  “Thank you, no.”

  The waiter came back and poured coffee. Shortly another man in a black suit and green tie entered and handed Salton an envelope, then departed.

  Salton opened the envelope, took out a sheet of stationery, and read what was written on it. He tucked the paper into his inside pocket. “Congratulations,” he said. “You have been elected to membership, as has Michael Freeman.”

  Stone blinked. “Do you mean that Dino Bacchetti was already a member?”

  “Dino was your co-proposer, as was Bill Eggers. You mustn’t blame them for not telling you. Another of our unwritten rules is that we may not tell any non-member that we belong, or even confirm that the association exists.”

  Stone laughed. “I’ll blame them anyway.”

  “This is how it works: for a year you will not receive a bill from the group. After that, you’ll be billed annually for a sum that is the cost of our previous year’s operating expenses, divided by the number of members, plus a sum—usually around ten percent—to account for inflation and new expenses. Occasionally, the board will authorize an assessment to cover some large expense—a new roof, renovation, et cetera. There is no initiation fee. If you do not receive a bill on the first day of your thirteenth month of membership, then enough of the membership will have thought ill of you to cancel it, and no more will be said.”