Shep shook his head. “No, it’s over a piece of paper: the patent on the machine. We licensed the patent to ourselves some years back, and the license is coming up for renewal quite soon.”
“Have Kronk or his attorneys asked for the patent?”
“No, but I expect they’ll get around to it,” Shep replied. “If they’ve noticed the omission from the contract.”
Rod Troutman began to laugh.
“What’s so funny, Dad?”
“This whole business. It’s hilarious! I love doing this to these people!”
“Shep,” Stone said, “where is the actual, physical patent now?”
“In the company safe, in Dad’s old office,” Shep said.
“So, it’s obtainable?”
“If they haven’t changed the combination,” he replied.
Rod spoke up. “I doubt if they could open it, even if they have the combination. It’s a very special safe.”
“What kind of safe?”
“An Excelsior. It was made in Berlin shortly before the outbreak of World War II, and the factory was bombed to dust during that misunderstanding and the owner killed. My father ordered the safe on a trip to that city, and it was shipped, I believe, in June of 1939. They sent a technician with it to see that it was properly installed and that the new owners could open it.”
“If the combination has not been changed,” Stone asked, “could you open the safe?”
“The last time I tried, it took three efforts before I got it right,” Rod said.
“Were you present when the safe was delivered in 1939?” Stone asked.
“Yes. I was a small boy, of course, but the safe fascinated me. I remember that the technician lectured my father firmly about keeping me away from the safe, so I wouldn’t get locked in.”
“Do you remember the man who installed it?”
“I do, oddly enough. He was an impressive man — tall, ramrod straight, with a handlebar moustache. He had a name that amused me, but for the life of me, I can’t remember it right now.”
“Could his name have been Solomon Fink?” Stone asked.
Rod’s face lit up. “Yes! How on earth could you know that?”
“We’ve met, he and I.”
“My God, he would have to be more than a hundred years old!” Rod said.
“A hundred and five, now, I think.”
“How did you know him?”
“A very good friend of mine — Dino’s father-in-law, Eduardo Bianchi — died last year. When his daughter — Dino’s ex — was clearing out his study, they found a safe concealed behind a bookcase. An Excelsior. No one had the combination; apparently, Eduardo had taken it to his grave.”
“Did you ever get it opened?”
“Yes. A business associate of mine said that he knew a very talented safecracker, who might be able to open it. His name was Solomon Fink, and he was resident at a very nice nursing home in Brooklyn. He was a hundred and four years old. As it turned out, he had installed the safe, apparently, on the same trip when he installed the one in your father’s office, Rod. Wisely, he never went back to Berlin.”
“Could he still remember the combination?”
“Yes, but as it turned out, he didn’t need it.”
“Why not? How could he open it without the combination?”
“I watched him do it. He bent over, ran a finger along the bottom of the safe’s door, and pulled off a piece of tape. The combination was written on it. He opened the door in seconds.”
“Do you think there might be a piece of tape on my father’s safe?”
“There might be.”
“Well, Dad,” Shep said. “How on earth do we find out?”
“I suppose we’ll just have to break into my old office,” Rod said.
“Do you still have the keys?”
“I have the keys to every door in the building,” Rod replied.
“Do you still have the combination?” Stone asked.
“It’s in my head,” Rod said, “and thus, may or may not be accessible.”
“Then we’ll just consult the strip of tape on the bottom of the safe’s door.”
“How do we know it’s there?” Shep asked.
“I’ll call Sol Fink and ask him,” Stone replied.
Thirty-Four
Stone checked his iPhone contacts and touched the number.
A woman answered. “East River House,” she said.
“May I please speak to Mr. Solomon Fink?” Oh, God, he thought, what if he’s dead?
“He should just be finishing dinner,” she said. “Let me see if I can connect you with the library. He usually has coffee and brandy in there. Please hold.”
Alive! And drinking coffee and brandy! “I’ll hold.”
He held, and a deep voice said, “This is Solomon Fink.”
“Sol, this is Stone Barrington. How are you?”
“Stone! It’s good to hear from you. Are you in New York?”
“No, I’m in another location, one I can’t disclose for business reasons.”
“No need for me to know, is there?”
“I suppose not. I have a question for you, Sol.”
“Shoot!”
“Do you recall installing an Excelsior at Troutman Industries, a factory in Lenox, Massachusets, in...”
“June of 1939,” Sol said. “Of course. I installed that one of your friend Bianchi’s on that same trip, then I managed to forget to go back to Germany.”
“That’s the one. Do you recall if you taped the combination somewhere in the room where the safe was when you were done?”
“That was my normal practice, but I can’t say for certain if I did so on that occasion. Do you want to open it?”
“Yes. Two of Mr. Troutman’s descendants are my clients.”
“Do they have the combination?”
“Mr. Rod Troutman memorized it, but isn’t sure if he can recall it on demand.”
“Then I’ll have to make another trip to Massachusetts, I suppose.”
“Do you feel up to the trip, Sol?”
“I do. How long a drive is it?”
“Oh, we’ll fly you up in a private jet.”
“Wonderful! I’ve never flown in a private jet.”
“You’ll enjoy the experience.”
“When?”
“I’ll need to talk to the Troutmans and make some arrangements. May I phone you back in a day or two?”
“Of course. This is a good time of day.”
“I’ll speak to you then,” Stone said, and they both hung up. Stone went back to the dining room. “Good news: Solomon Fink is alive and well and says he’ll come to Massachusetts to open the safe, if necessary.”
“I may be able to remember the combination,” Rod said, “but did you ask if he had concealed it somewhere?”
“I did, but he’s not sure. And, Rod, unless you’re certain you have the right combination, you shouldn’t try to open it. If you enter the wrong combination too many times, the beast will lock you out. Then there’s nobody in the world to open it but Solomon Fink.”
“Perhaps we should invite him for a visit, then.”
“I have already done so, and he has accepted. My concern now is access to the safe. You say you have all the keys?”
“I do.”
“Then we will have to find a way to get past whatever security arrangements the new owners have made.”
“I still have friends there,” Shep said. “I can find out what they’ve done.”
“We’ll need passcodes, too, and the knowledge of security guards, if any, on the grounds and in the building.”
“I’ll make a couple of phone calls,” Shep said.
“I’ll do it,” Rod interjected.
“You can’t call anybody, Dad. You’re dead, remember?”
“Ah, yes. Slipped my mind.”
“Rod,” Stone said, “why don’t you write down the combination that’s in your head. It may come in useful.”
“Of course,” Rod said. He was handed a pad and pen.