“It’s Ann. Have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

She read him the Axelrod blog. “It made the Times this morning. Can you believe it?”

“I suppose I have to believe it.”

“Gordon Glenn’s life will be hell for a few days,” she said, “and he deserves it. It’s only six A.M. here, but I expect that by nine there’ll be a statement from Honk, deploring Glenn’s actions and accepting his resignation.”

“Have you talked to Kate? Does she know about it?”

“She doesn’t get up until seven, and by then it will be all over the morning TV shows, and I’ll be releasing a statement saying that she will have no further comment.”

“You think this is the end of it, then?”

“How could it not be?”

“You think Axelrod will really kill himself?”

“I think he meant that he was ending Axelrod’s life, not his own.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“By the way, Carla Fontana’s column about you in the same edition was highly favorable.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’ve gotta run, but I wanted you to know about the column. I wish I knew who Axelrod was.”

Stone hung up. He thought he knew.

40

Shortly after he had received Carla’s and Axelrod’s columns, Stone’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“It’s Rick.”

“Where the hell have you been? You missed a good dinner with Lance.”

“In Berlin, talking to people at our station.”

“Lance hasn’t said a word about the newly wrecked van.”

“He’s too happy with the story in the French papers to think about anything else.”

“Has anyone heard anything from Jacques Chance?”

“He’s gone to ground. My journalist friends tell me they haven’t been able to get any comment from him, his sister, his father, or the police.”

“I can understand why,” Stone said. “What do you think of Lance’s theory that Jacques is behind the attempts on me?”

“I think it’s insane, but probably true.”

“Do you think his being exposed will put a stop to the attempts on me?”

“Don’t count on it—the people he was acting for are still there and in business. Have you made any arrangements for getting out of town after the shindig at l’Arrington?”

“Not yet, but I will. Will you give Holly a message for me?”

“She’s right here—deliver it yourself.”

“Good morning,” she said.

“Afternoon.”

“If you say so.”

“I just wanted to tell you, the coast is clear.”

“When did it clear?”

“Not too late last night,” he lied. “She had an early flight to New York.”

“Have you heard about the Howard Axelrod blog?”

“Yes, somebody in New York read it to me.”

“And Fontana’s column?”

“I hear it’s favorable.”

“You must have been a good interview.”

“I did my best.”

“And your best, as we all know, is pretty good.”

“Aren’t you kind. Will you be back this evening?”

“I’ll be there around five. Dinner?”

“Sure. You want to go out?”

“Not really.”

“We’ll dine in, then.”

“See ya.” She hung up.

Stone called Mike Freeman at his Paris office.

“Afternoon, Stone. How are you keeping?”

“Fairly busy. You must be, too.”

“Yeah, the security arrangements for the l’Arrington opening had to be rethought, in light of all the vehicles you’ve been losing.”

“Yeah, well . . .”

“I can just see Lance explaining it to the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence.”

“Let’s hope that’s not necessary. Surely the Senate doesn’t want to hear about every fender bender in the CIA budget.”

“I’m sure that’s the position he’ll take, should it come up. Are you going to need a ride back to New York?”

“I’d like that very much, and Lance would like it, too. He’s advised me to decamp.”

“I have to be back in New York for a big meeting the day after the opening, so we’re planning wheels up afterward, at one A.M. That do you?”

“That do me fine, thanks. Is there room for Holly, should she want to decamp, too?”

“Sure. Leave your packed bags in your suite, and someone will collect them and put them on the airplane. You may want a bag in the cabin so that you can change out of your evening clothes.”

“We’ll mark one for that.”

“If you see Lance, tell him there’s room for him, too.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Stone, it’s important for my security arrangements that neither you nor Marcel step outside the hotel at any time that evening, not even the courtyard where the cars arrive.”

“I will cooperate.”

“Something else: Marcel had sent invitations to the Chance family, and they R.S.V.P.’d this morning: the old man won’t be there, but Jacques and Mirabelle accepted.”

“You astonish me.”

“It astonished me, too. Part of my rethinking of the security arrangements is concerned with protecting you from Jacques.”

“Do your arrangements involve a metal detector?”

“Of course.”

“Then I don’t think I’ll have anything to worry about.”

“Nevertheless.”

“Oh, all right.”

“See you there.” Mike hung up.

41

Holly breezed in a little after six. “Hey, there!” she said, giving him a wet kiss.

“You’re late,” Stone said. “I was about to start without you.”

“Then I would have had you liquidated, beating the Russians to it.”

“Martini?”

“How’d you guess? Hurry up!”

Stone hurried, then handed her the chilled glass and poured himself a Knob Creek.

Holly sank into the living room sofa and kicked off her shoes. Her skirt was up around her thighs, and Stone pretended not to notice.

“I’m bushed,” Holly said.

“That is not my recollection,” Stone replied.

Holly laughed. “Touché,” she said.

“I have a very good memory for these things.”

“It remembers you, too,” she said.

His hand drifted to her thigh.

“Careful,” she said. “You don’t want me to spill my martini.”

“That’s your problem,” Stone said, raising his sights.

She gave a little gasp. “Touché again!”

“How is it you are already wet?”

“I was thinking about you in the car.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I was remembering something, from about a year ago.”

“What was it?”

She told him.

“Ah, yes, I remember it well.”

“Isn’t that a Lerner and Loewe song?”

“It is. It’s also a very pleasant memory.”

“That’s why I’m wet. Right there, please, that’s the spot.”

“Do you want me to do that thing again?”

“Yes, but not until after dinner, when we’re in bed.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“So will I,” she said, then she grabbed his arm and made noises of delight.

“That didn’t take long,” he said.

“Since we have so much time on our hands, do it again.”

Stone complied, sipping his bourbon with his other hand. Holly went limp, nearly spilling her martini. “That was fabulous,” she said, “and I still didn’t spill a drop.”

“You are to be commended for your delicate balance.”

“And you are to be commended for your delicate fingers. Do you play the piano?”

“Not for many years.”

“You should do it more often,” she said. “It would keep you in shape for doing that.”

“It was more fun than practicing scales.”

“I’m glad it was fun for you, too.”

“Entertaining you is always fun.”

“‘Entertaining.’ That’s a good way to look at it. It was certainly very that.”

“What else can I do for you?” he asked.

“Talk to me, feed me, then we’ll start over.”

“What would you like to talk about?”

“Is Kate Lee carrying your baby?”

Stone choked on his bourbon. “You’ve been reading the gutter press,” he said.

“The gutter Internet.”

“You haven’t read the latest.”

“What’s that? Did I miss something?”