When she was safely inside, Fred got back into the car. “I’m very sorry about all this, Mr. Barrington,” he said.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, Fred.”
“I should not have left the garage with that window open.”
“It was not an unreasonable thing to do. Don’t worry about it.” Stone thought about that. “On the other hand, go on worrying about it. Dino and I think the shooter was after me, not Major Rattle.”
“Then I shall go on worrying about it,” Fred said.
“Call the Bentley dealer and order a repair or a new seat. Worry about that first.”
—
Frank met Jimmy James at a restaurant by the water. Jimmy stood out in the group, because he was wearing a pin-striped suit and necktie, whereas most of the other male customers seemed to believe themselves to be in Honolulu.
They ordered drinks and lunch; Frank declined the drink.
“Let’s get down to business,” Jimmy said. “Are the police in New York looking for Frank Riggs?”
“No,” Frank said honestly. “They’re looking for Frank Russo, and they’re not going to find him.”
“Why not?”
“Because I took precautions some time ago,” Frank said. “I have a genuine Florida driver’s license, carry license, and U.S. passport in the name of Franklin George Riggs, and I bought my apartment three years ago under that name. I also have a Miami bank account, credit cards, and a credit history here.” He indicated the stubble on his upper lip. “And I’ve always thought I’d look great with a mustache, and I’ve given up my contacts for these.” He pointed at his glasses.
“How are you fixed for cash?”
“I’m comfortable.”
“Does anybody—anybody at all—know where you are?”
“Just Susie. My former partner thinks I’m in L.A., and he doesn’t know what I’m driving or what name I’m using.”
“Do you have a wife?”
“I had a woman I called my wife. She’s sitting on a stash that will keep her comfortable for a while. She owns a house that I paid for, and she has a good job. And not even she knows where I am. We won’t be speaking again.”
“You’re a fellow who knows how to burn his bridges.”
“I am.”
“I admire that, and I think you and I may be able to do business.”
“I’m very impressed with you, Jim, but that depends on what you’ve got in mind. I’m not up for any business that requires a gun to close a deal.”
“Frank, I’m an attorney, and I never carry a gun. How would you like to be an attorney?”
“It’s a little late in life for me to be going to law school.”
“Of course it is, but you’d be surprised how rarely the law comes up in my business. A law license is very good cover, though, and I can supply you with one, along with a very nice diploma and a transcript from your alma mater. It’s instant respectability, and as I said, very good cover.”
“That’s an attractive idea,” Frank said. “What’s it a cover for?”
“Loan sharking, planning and financing robberies—but never participating in them. I’m the money behind a couple of bookies, too. My cash flow is excellent.”
“I’m interested in excellent cash flow,” Frank said.
Stone called Dino the following morning.
“Hey,” Dino said. “I guess you want to know if we’ve caught your shooter yet.”
“A positive answer would be an excellent start to this conversation.”
“Then let’s begin at the beginning: Who wants you dead?”
“Only one guy that I know of, and he got dead first.”
“The Russians again, maybe?”
“I think Lance Cabot negotiated me out of that mess. They might like to see me dead, but I don’t think they want to unnecessarily piss off the CIA.”
“I’ll buy that.”
“We talked about Ryan and Parisi the younger.”
“Like I said, from what we hear on our recordings, young Parisi is rich now, and Ryan has been given a payoff and told to go away.”
“Well, it’s all just so perfect, isn’t it? Except for the part about somebody firing three rounds into my car yesterday.”
“We could just wait and see what happens.”
“Gee, that’s a swell idea. If I get dead, then maybe you’ll find a clue.”
“You’re sure it’s not the guys who are after Major Rattle?”
“Felicity and I talked at length about that yesterday: only she, Holly, and I knew that Ian was staying here.”
“Okay, I’ll buy into that.”
“Any other ideas?”
“Maybe Ryan hates your guts enough to do you for free.”
“That would be weird, since we hardly know each other.”
“Not everybody thinks you make a good first impression.”
“It would be interesting to find out if Ryan owns a motorcycle, a .45, and has a shoulder wound. Think some of those flatfoots who work for you could look into that?”
“I guess that’s not the worst use of their time I can think of.”
“Well, send somebody down to the nearest donut shop and roust ’em out, okay?”
“Okay, I’ll get back to you.”
“I’ll wait with bated breath.”
“You do that.”
—
Stone hung up and thought about Ryan. The man did seem to have a short fuse, but after one brief encounter, would he hold a grudge? It seemed far-fetched to him.
Joan came into his office. “Fred and I have talked with the Bentley service department. They’re all agog—they’ve never had a customer with three bullet holes in the backseat.”
“I guess not. What did they suggest?”
“A new backseat. It would take at least a month, what with shipping and all.”
“Tell them to air-freight it.” Joan nodded and left.
Felicity called. “I had breakfast with the ambassador.”
“Did you smooth his feathers?”
“Yes, and even better, I just blamed it all on you. When Ian gets out of the hospital he can move into the embassy residence.”
“That sort of frees you up, doesn’t it?”
“I believe it does. I have some tidying up to do here. Will six o’clock be all right?”
“At the stroke of the cocktail hour—that will be extremely satisfactory. Shall I send the car for you?”
“Thank you, you’re a sweetheart.”
“Until then.” He hung up, buzzed Fred, and arranged it.
Joan buzzed him. “There’s a secretary on the line who says her boss is the ambassador to the UN from Dahai, and he wants to speak with you.”
Bad joke, Felicity, he thought. “Put him on.”
“Line two.”
Stone pressed the button. “This is Stone Barrington.”
“Mr. Barrington,” a woman with a slightly accented voice said, “Ambassador Abdul-Aziz wishes to speak to you.”
“Certainly,” Stone said, “put him on.”
“Mr. Barrington,” a man’s voice said, in a very British accent.
“Yes, Mr. Ambassador?”
“Do you understand who I am?”
“I’m given to believe that you are Dahai’s ambassador to the UN.”
“That is correct.”
“How may I help you?”
“I wish to speak with you on a confidential matter.”
“Go right ahead.”
“I think it would be better if we meet.”
“I’m in my office for the rest of the day.”
“It would be better if you could come to my residence. I’m in the UN Plaza apartment building.”
This was turning into a very elaborate joke; Stone thought he might as well see where it led.