“I’m going to be tied up here for a few days, then maybe I’ll do that.”

“You’d be welcome. How’s Elaine?”

“As ever. What did you expect?”

“As ever.”

“I gotta run; I’ve got an appointment with a real estate agent.”

“Take care.” Stone hung up. It was past his lunchtime, and he went into the kitchen and found Mabel fixing him a shrimp salad.

“Oh,” she said, “I thought of something. About that night.”

“What did you think of?” Stone asked.

“It was the vacuum cleaner.”

“What about the vacuum cleaner?”

“It was in Mr. Dick’s study, over by the door to the terrace.”

“Where would it ordinarily be?” he asked.

She pointed to a door across the kitchen. “In there, in the broom closet.”

“Do you think Dick used it?”

She shook her head. “Mr. Dick never lifted a finger to clean anything; I don’t think he would know how to operate a vacuum cleaner.”

“Did you mention this to the police?”

“Yes, and they put some powder on the handle, but they didn’t seem to find any fingerprints. When they were through with it, I cleaned the powder off and put it back in the broom closet.” She set his plate on the kitchen table.

Stone sat down to eat. So whoever had killed Dick and his family had vacuumed as he left the house through the terrace door. Very neat fellow. Vary smart, too. “Mabel, have you changed the bag in the vacuum since that night?”

“There was no bag in it,” she said. “I put a new one in.”

Very smart fellow, indeed, Stone thought.

THE NEXT DAY STONE was sitting at Dick’s desk, trying to clean up the last details of the estate before sending a check to the foundation, when the phone rang. His hand was on the receiver before he realized that none of the buttons was lit and that the sound of the phone was very muffled. He put his ear to the door of Dick’s secret office, and the bell became louder.

Stone got out his keys, opened the door and picked up the phone. “Yes?” he said.

There was a silence on the other end, then a man’s voice: “Stone?”

“Yes, speaking.”

“This is warning,” the man said. His voice was heavily accented.

“Yes?”

“Kirov.”

“What?”

“You understand me?”

“I understood Kirov.”

“Then you know.”

“Know what?”

The man was silent for another long moment. “Is Stone?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you know.” He hung up.

Then it dawned on Stone that the man had thought he was talking to Dick. “I’m a little slow on the uptake,” he said aloud, then hung up the phone. He locked up the office, went back to the desk and called Lance’s cell phone.

“Yes?”

“It’s Stone.”

“Hello”

“Dick just got a call in his other office.”

“You mean the phone rang?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Until I answered it.”

“You answered Dick’s hotline?”

“Is that what it is?”

“Yes, did you answer it?”

“Yes.” Stone told him about the conversation, such as it was.

“He said Kirov?”

“Yes.”

“Like the ballet company in St. Petersburg?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure he said Kirov?”

“Positive. And he had a heavy accent, maybe Russian, maybe Eastern European.”

“Kirov is a code word,” Lance said.

“You think?”

“It means that something has happened.”

“What?”

“Or that something is going to happen.”

“What has happened or is going to happen?”

“I don’t know; I’ll have to do some checking with London.”

“Okay. If something is going to happen, I’d like to know about it.”

“I’ll call you back.”

“Okay.”

“Wait a minute.”

“I’m still here.”

“Call me when you get back Dick’s personal effects, the things that the police took from his body.”

“They arrived yesterday.”

“There should be a small coinlike object, larger than a penny, smaller than a nickel.”

“There were no coins, just ninety-four dollars in a money clip.”

“Look through them again. I’ll hold.”

Stone put the phone down, went to the cupboard, retrieved the bag and shook the contents out on the desk.

“No coins,” he said.

“Tell me what’s there.”

“Small wallet, ninety-four dollars, money clip, handkerchief, comb, Chapstick, keys, Kleenex.”

“It’s got to be there. Take a minute and go through everything again, especially the wallet.”

Stone removed everything from the wallet and inspected it carefully. Nothing. He went through the money. Nothing. Nothing anywhere. He sneezed.

“Bless you,” he heard Lance say.

“Just a minute.” He picked up the Kleenex pack, got one out and blew his nose. “Hang on,” he said. He took all the Kleenex out of the pack, and left inside the plastic was a small disc. “Got it,” he said. “It was in the pack of Kleenex.”

“Okay, are you in the little office?”

“No.”

“Get in there, and take the disc with you.”

Stone unlocked the door and went inside again, taking the phone with him. “Okay, I’m in.”

“Look at the bottom of the computer; there’s a little panel.”

Stone looked at the black computer tower. “Yes, I see it.”

“Push on the panel.”

Stone did so, and out slid a little tray that had an indentation the size of the disc. “Okay, do I put the disc in the tray?”

“Yes, smooth side down.”

There were four little bumps on one side, so Stone put the disk, bumps up, Into the tray and closed it. “Done.”

“Now turn on the computer and the monitor. There’s a button at the top of the tower, next to the floppy-disk drive, and another on the monitor.”

Stone turned them both on. “Booting up.”

“Wait a minute, and you’ll get a prompt at the top of the screen.”

Stone waited, and the prompt appeared. “It’s there.”

“Type in, all caps, TELOG.”

Stone typed it in, and instantly a list of names and phone numbers appeared. “I have a telephone log.”

“Tell me what the top line says.”

“It says, ”Cell“ and gives a number.” He read the number to Lance.

“Thank you,” Lance said. “Now switch off the monitor and the computer, remove the disk and put it in Dick’s safe. It will be collected.”

“Okay. Now what?”

“Now I’ll run down the phone number and find out what the hell is going on. I’ll get back to you, maybe today, maybe not. Bye-bye.” Lance hung up.

“Spooky,” Stone said.

THE PHONE RANG, and Stone picked it up. “Hello?”

“It’s Rawls,” a gruff voice drawled.

“Good morning.”

“You free for lunch? I’d like you to meet some people.”

“Yes.”

“Noon at the yacht club?”

“Good.”

“See you then.” Rawls hung up.

The phone rang again. “Hello?”

“It’s Lance.”

“That was fast.”

“I checked with the London station; Kirov means trouble is coming, watch your ass.”

“A little late,” Stone replied.

“Obviously, Dick’s contact hadn’t heard about his death.”

“Is that it, trouble is coming?”

“Kirov is used as a specific warning, based on solid information. It was just too late.”

“What was the solid information?”

“The man who called was a paid source of Dick’s; you’d call him a snitch. He was at a card game last week in East Germany when he overheard two players, Russians, discussing a revenge hit on a highly placed American. The snitch is Hungarian, but he speaks Russian.”

“Then why the hell didn’t he call Dick last week, when it might have done some good?”

“He was in jail; got into an accident while driving home from the card game, drunk.”

“What was the revenge for?”

“Apparently the Agency was responsible for the breakup of a large drug ring in which the two Russians had a stake. The hit was meant to be a warning to the London station.”