“Only until morning?” Holly asked. “Can’t you do better than that?”

“Sweet dreams,” Rick said, letting himself out.

Holly came and took Stone’s empty glass from him, led him to the bed, undressed him, and tucked him in. “Tell me,” she said, adjusting the covers, “do you often have these déjà vu/premonition things?”

“Déjà vu, yes. Doesn’t everybody? But premonitions, no. My first time.”

“Next time, try to have it a bit earlier, like, before we get into the van.”

“I’ll work on that,” Stone said, stroking her hair. “Are you really all right?”

“If I attack you in the morning, then I’m all right. Ask me then.”

“I’ll be sure and do that,” Stone said, drifting off.

37

The International New York Times arrived with breakfast. Stone searched the front page for news of Jacques Chance, but there was nothing.

Holly bit into a croissant. “Maybe the Times closes early,” she said. “Let’s try the French newspapers.”

Stone called down for the papers, and they arrived as they were finishing their coffee.

“Here we go,” Holly said, holding up a paper.

SCANDALE!

ASSASSIN! CORRUPTION! ESPIONNAGE RUSSE!

EN HAUT LIEU!

“Now, that’s more like it,” Holly said.

“May I have a translation, please?”

“Here you go: ‘Scandal! Murder! Corruption! Russian Spying!’ And all of it ‘in High Places!’ Or maybe ‘Instead of High Places!’”

“That’s pretty comprehensive, except that last one doesn’t sound quite right.”

“My French isn’t all that hot,” Holly admitted, “but what more could we—correction, Lance—ask for? Look, there’s even a mention of Howard Axelrod, a couple of paragraphs down. Apparently, it broke on his website.”

Stone scanned the front page and, alarmingly, saw his name mentioned, along with Axelrod, in a box. “What does this say?”

Holly read it a couple of times. “I can’t make much sense of it, but they use the word ‘excuses.’”

“Axelrod is making excuses for something?” Stone’s cell phone rang. “Yes?”

“Good morning,” Lance said with enthusiasm. “Seen the papers?”

“Yes, we’re looking at them right now. I think we figured out the headlines, but the text is rough going for us, with Holly’s French.”

“Have you got the Times?”

“Yes.”

“Page six, bottom half. They didn’t play it quite as big.”

The headline read “Blogger ‘Howard Axelrod’ looses salvo in the French Press.” Then, in smaller letters, “Apologizes for false rumor about Democratic nominee Katharine Lee.’” Stone read quickly. “Howard Axelrod, as he styles himself, added to his French story an apology to Katharine Lee for a rumor he published claiming that she was pregnant by a man not her husband, New York attorney Stone Barrington. Said Axelrod, ‘I relied on a source who turned out to be unreliable. In fact, he has been revealed to be a Republican provocateur who has been instrumental in airing other falsehoods about Mrs. Lee. I apologize, unreservedly, for any distress I have caused both Katharine Lee and her friend Stone Barrington by the publication of this scurrilous fabrication. Neither I nor anyone else has presented the slightest evidence that her child was fathered by anyone but her husband, the president.’”

“How does that sound, Stone?”

“It sounds just wonderful.”

“I know you must be relieved.”

“I certainly am.”

“There is, however, one more step that has to be taken to fully clear your name.”

“What’s that?”

“We need a news story by a credible, well-placed journalist.”

“And how do we do that?”

“Do you remember meeting Carla Fontana last evening? She’s the Washington bureau chief for the New York Times.”

“Yes, of course.”

“She has expressed a desire to have dinner with you this evening and interview you about this experience.”

“I can see how that could be advantageous.”

“However, she doesn’t want to be seen interviewing you, so dinner will have to be in your suite at l’Arrington. Must you ask Holly’s permission?”

“Hang on.” He covered the phone and turned to Holly. “Lance wants me to have dinner with Carla Fontana, of the Times, tonight. He thinks she will help to further clear the air.” Holly shrugged. “Also, he says I have to see her here—she doesn’t want to be seen doing this in public.”

Holly’s eyebrows shot up. “Aha! Lance wants to get you laid!”

“I don’t think that’s what he has in mind,” Stone said, and went back to the phone. “Okay, Lance, Holly doesn’t have a problem with that. What time?”

“She will present herself there at seven P.M. And if sex raises its ugly head, it can’t hurt.”

“Thanks, Lance, I’ll see her then.” He hung up.

“You see, he wants to get you into bed with Carla Fontana,” Holly said.

“He wants nothing of the sort, and please remember that this was Lance’s idea and not mine.”

“Okay, I’ll clear out for the night. I can bunk at our embassy station. But you wait, I’ll bet La Carla is in on it, too.”

“Lance says I have to do this to put an end to the story.”

“Yeah, sure,” Holly said.

38

Stone was waiting for Carla Fontana to arrive when his cell rang. “Hello?”

“Hey!”

“Hey, Ann, how are you?”

“I am just fine,” she said. “Never better, in fact. You are all over the American media, and this time, it’s a good thing.”

“I read the story in the International New York Times.”

“It made the front page here, and just about every other front page, too. Kate is delighted, and a flash poll wipes out the earlier losses after Axelrod published the rumor. And you didn’t have to take a DNA test on national television!”

“I would have done so, if I’d had to.”

“I’ll tell Kate you said that. In fact, hold on.”

“Stone?”

“Kate? How are you?”

“Ever so much better, thanks. I don’t know how you did it, but the apology from Axelrod worked wonders.”

“I didn’t do it, Lance did.”

“Thank him for me.”

“Will do. He’s also arranged for an interview with Carla Fontana, from the Times, so that she can do a story. I’m giving her dinner tonight.”

“Excellent. She’s a credible reporter, and we have a cordial relationship. However, if you’re not careful, Carla will be carrying your baby. Take precautions.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Stone said. “How’s Will?”

“Much, much better since the paternity issue was so neatly solved. He was getting very tired of the questions.”

“I can imagine.”

“When are you coming home?”

“In a few days. I have to get the grand opening of l’Arrington out of the way, then I’m free to return.”

“Oh, good, you’ll be here for election night. I’d like for you to join us at the White House that evening.”

“What a wonderful invitation. I’ll call the Hay-Adams and book a suite.”

“The town will be sold out that night—you’re staying with us. How’s the Lincoln Bedroom?”

“If you’re sure Abe won’t mind.”

“Believe me, he won’t. Is Holly there?”

“She’s at the Agency station at the embassy, if you want to reach her.”

“No, just tell her I send my love.”

“Will do.”

“I’ll let you go. Your interview must be soon.”

“Momentarily.”

“Until election night,” Kate said, then hung up.

Stone glanced at his watch, then found the room service menu and ordered a sumptuous dinner for two. Then the doorbell rang.

He answered it to find the Washington bureau chief for the New York Times, clad in a clinging black dress that revealed an enticing amount of décolletage.