"Certainly not."

"Then who did?"

"If it didn't happen, nobody did it."

"Do you think Tiff has had a boob job?"

"I have no idea."

"Because, if those are original equipment, they are really something."

"Dino…"

"This is the funniest thing I've ever seen. The whole squad room is going nuts."

"Did you tell anybody about the picture on the wall?"

"Let's see, I'm not really sure."

"Because if you did, I'm going to come down there and kill you with my bare hands."

"Relax, nobody knows but me."

"And Tiffany will have you taken out and shot, right after she has me taken out and shot."

"So, I take it, your position is, you're denying everything."

"I'm denying everything. We're both denying everything. And I'd be grateful if you would plant the notion in the minds, if such exist, of the gentlemen in the squad room that the person appearing in the video is not, repeat, not who they think it is or who you thought it was."

There came a disappointed roar through the phone.

"What was that?" Stone asked.

"Hang on, I'll check," Dino said. A moment later, he came back. "Somebody at Justice caught on; they've shut down the Web site. My detectives are crushed."

"Excellent. Do not ever speak to me about this again. Goodbye." Stone hung up and buried his face in his hands.

After a moment, he went upstairs and moved his mother's picture to another spot in his bedroom.

STONE WENT DOWN to his office and sat at his desk, wondering if there were anything he could do to short-circuit the mess he was in. Joan buzzed him.

"Yes?"

"There's somebody from Page Six at the New York Post on the phone for you. You want me to tell them to get lost?"

Worst thing he could do. "No, I'll take it." He picked up the phone, pressed the line one button and tried to sound bored. "Stone Barrington."

"Mr. Barrington, this is Henry Stead, Page Six at the Post."

"Good morning."

"Have you visited the Justice Department Web site this morning?"

"Are you kidding? Who visits the Justice Department Web site?"

"A number of our readers, as it happens. Our phone is ringing off the hook."

"What are you telling me? Have I been arrested and held without bail and deprived of legal counsel? I hadn't noticed."

"No, but there was a very interesting piece of video on the site this morning."

"I have a feeling you're going to tell me about it."

"Are you acquainted with a Tiffany Baldwin, who is the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York?"

"What, is there more than one Tiffany Baldwin who is the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York? Yes, I know Ms. Baldwin."

"Well, the video on the Web site features a woman who bears what some think is a striking resemblance to Ms. Baldwin."

"Mr. Stead, I have a busy morning ahead of me. Do you have a point?"

"Well the woman in the video is naked and is apparently having sex with a man underneath her whose face is not visible."

"Somehow, that doesn't sound like the U.S. Attorney I know."

"My question is, are you that man?"

"Mr. Stead, to the best of my knowledge, I have never been photographed having sex with anybody, let alone with the U.S. Attorney."

"To the best of your knowledge, maybe. Could you have been videotaped having sex with Ms. Baldwin without your knowledge?"

"Certainly not."

"So there has never been any video equipment present when you were having sex with Ms. Baldwin?"

"Mr. Stead, Ms. Baldwin has never been present when I was having sex. Are you beginning to get my drift?"

"Mr. Barrington, have you seen the video?"

"No, I have not. It doesn't sound like a lot of fun."

"So you think having sex with Tiffany Baldwin is not fun?"

"I would not be so ungallant as to characterize in that manner sex with a woman I have never had sex with."

"But you and Ms. Baldwin have been seen in public together, having dinner at Elaine's."

"Mr. Stead, it is a very large leap from dining at Elaine's to making sex videos for the Internet. Now you have my denial on record, and if you don't already have Ms. Baldwin's denial, I'm sure you soon will. Speaking as an attorney, I think you should consult with your newspaper's legal counsel before printing any preposterous nonsense."

"I will certainly do so, Mr. Barrington. Just one more question. Your mother was the painter, Matilda Stone, was she not?"

"Yes, all my life."

"Do you have a painting of hers hanging in your bedroom? Because one appears in the video."

"That's two questions, Mr. Stead, but I should tell you that a number of my mother's paintings have been reproduced and sold in the thousands in the shop at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and I imagine that they adorn many bedrooms. I bid you good morning." He hung up, sweating again. He was getting tired of sweating.

Joan buzzed him again.

"Yes?"

"Lance Cabot has been holding on line two."

"Great." Stone pressed the button. "Lance, sorry to keep you waiting."

"Stone, have you done anything to deal with the Internet video problem?"

"I've just denied everything, except knowing Tiffany Baldwin, to the New York Post, and I will continue to deny it to anyone who brings up the subject. I've also spoken to Tiffany, who denies it."

"Good idea."

"What is it, Lance? Am I somehow compromising the CIA's reputation?"

"Not yet. Tell me, is there one of your mother's paintings hanging on your bedroom wall?"

"I'll tell you what I told the Post: My mother's paintings have been reproduced and widely sold."

"I'm going to send Sandy back over there to check out your alarm system."

"Why?"

"Stone, there are, after all, publications that would stoop to sending photographers to surreptitiously enter your home and photograph your bedroom."

"Oh, all right, send him over."

"And, if I were you, I'd take that particular picture down, hide it, and hang a nice Keane portrait of a small child with big eyes in its place."

"Thank you for the advice."

"When you spoke to Ms. Baldwin, did you mention the matter of Billy Bob's cell phone number?"

"As it happened, she mentioned it and took full credit."

Joan buzzed and spoke on the intercom. "Stone, Tiffany Baldwin is on line one, and I think you'd better speak to her."

"I'll have to call you back, Lance."

"Don't bother." Lance hung up.

Stone pressed the line one button. "Tiff?"

"You miserable sonofabitch," she said. "Did you tell Page Six that I'm no fun in bed?"

"Absolutely not. Did they say that?"

"Yes, and a lot more."

"I simply denied everything, as you asked, and as I would have done even if you hadn't asked."

"What about that picture on your bedroom wall?"

"That's being dealt with."

"Burn it."

"My mother painted it."

"All right, I'll buy it from you."

"It's not for sale. Tiff, calm down. The video was taken off the Web site almost as soon as it appeared."

"Yes, I saw to that."

"Then there's nothing to worry about. This will go away by tomorrow, and then…"

"And then nothing," she said. "I never want to see you again." She hung up.

"And just when it was going so well," Stone said aloud to himself. He hung up the phone.

Joan buzzed again. "Stone?"

"Now what?"

"Someone to see you."

"Who?" But his question was answered before she could speak. He looked up to find Arrington Carter Calder standing in the door to his office.

"Hello, Stone," she said.

She stood there in a tight, short, brown dress, her hair golden, a sable coat over her shoulders, looking better than he had ever seen her. Something inside him melted, as it always did when she entered a room. She had not entered a room of his for more than two years, and a dinner they had had together in London a year before had ended disastrously. Involuntarily, as happened every time he saw her, he wondered whether he or the late movie star Vance Calder was the father of her son, Peter. And he wondered why she was here.