She nodded at the still seated Overby. “Hello, Otherguy.”
An unsmiling Overby said, “Georgia.”
A waiter pulled out a chair and Georgia Blue sat down next to Stallings and across from Overby. Harry Crites took the remaining chair. The waiter passed out menus. Crites automatically handed his to Georgia Blue without a glance and said, “Order for me.” She began reading the menu.
“Didn’t know you played polo, Harry,” said Booth Stallings.
“Why should you?”
“Been playing long?”
“Ten years. I picked it up down in B.A.”
Stallings leaned toward Overby. “B.A. is Buenos Aires, Mr. Overby. Mr. Crites was down there a few years back, briefing the generals on internal security techniques.”
Overby looked at Crites with interest. “Must’ve been like teaching old ducks to swim.”
Crites aimed a forefinger at Overby but glared at Stallings. “What the fuck’s he?”
“My guide to the world’s wicked ways.”
Crites grunted. “From what I hear, he drew the map.”
The waiter returned to take the orders. Georgia Blue ordered only melon and black coffee for Harry Crites but something more substantial for herself, as did Stallings and Overby. After handing the waiter the menus, she said, “Would you bring the melon right away, please?”
When the waiter had gone, Overby smiled another too pleasant smile at Crites and said, “Georgia must be quite a Handy Annie to have around.”
Harry Crites leaned forward, his voice a rasp. “I want you to butt out, Jack. I made a deal with Stallings here. If he wants you along, fine. But I don’t want to hear any more of your crap.”
Overby added a pleasant nod to his pleasant smile. “Mr. Stallings has retained my services, such as they are, to give him my best counsel. If I decide your project will, one, put him in grave jeopardy, or two, fuck him over, I’ll tell him to walk.”
They stared at each other for seconds until Crites turned to Stallings and said, “Okay, Booth. Let’s talk money. You got fifty thousand in Washington. There’s another two hundred thousand in that attaché case Georgia’s got — half of it in unendorsed Amex traveler’s checks. That’s so you can spread ’em around any way you want. But if, for some weird and wonderful reason, you decide to do a flit, I can trace you through them — eventually. Okay?”
“Where’s the other half?”
“In Hong Kong. When you deliver the package, Georgia will hand over the other two-fifty. That means you might as well get used to her because she’s along for the whole cruise. If nothing else, she can keep an eye on him.” Crites jerked a thumb at Overby without looking at him.
“You didn’t mention Miss Blue in Washington, Harry.”
“Yeah, well, that must be why I’m doing it now.”
Stallings smiled at Georgia Blue. “Mind if I call you Georgia?”
“Not at all.”
“Tell me something about yourself.”
“I was with the federal government for seven years.”
“Agriculture, perhaps?” Stallings said. “Commerce? Housing and Urban Development.”
“Treasury,” Georgia Blue said.
Stallings shot his eyebrows up. “Not the dread Secret Service?”
Georgia Blue’s mouth formed a slight amused smile as she nodded.
“And now you’re with Harry here?”
“No, Mr. Stallings. I’m with you.”
The waiter arrived with Harry Crites’ honeydew melon. The others watched silently as he ate it in two minutes, patted his lips with a napkin, had a final sip of coffee, patted his lips again and turned to Stallings.
“Okay. That’s it. I’ve told you what you need to know and if there’s anything I forgot, Georgia can handle it. When’re you leaving?”
Stallings looked at Overby who said, “Tonight. The ten-thirty flight. Philippine Airlines.” He looked at Georgia Blue with what seemed to be concern. “I’m not sure we can get you a seat.”
“I already have a reservation, Otherguy,” she said.
Overby smiled. “Together again.”
Harry Crites looked at his watch and rose. “I’ve got a match in forty-five minutes, Booth, so I suppose I’ll see you when you get back.” His eyes went to Overby. “You, too, maybe.”
Georgia Blue also rose. “I’ll go with you to the car.”
Harry Crites turned away from the table, then turned back. “By the way, Booth. I really like that new suit.”
When they were gone Stallings asked Overby, “Where’d you know her, Otherguy?”
“Around.”
“Around where?”
“I’ll let her tell it.”
Georgia Blue was back in five minutes. She had taken the thin attaché case with her and Stallings now noticed she had brought it back. She sat down, poured herself fresh coffee, took a sip and leaned back in her chair, looking first at Overby and then at Stallings.
“I think we may as well get down to it, don’t you, Mr. Stallings?”
“Why not?”
“Good.” She leaned forward, rested her elbows on the table and smiled at Overby. “How many ways are you planning to cut up the five million, Otherguy?”
Nearly a minute went by as they again stared at each other, silently exchanging what Stallings felt were new confidences, ancient secrets and bad memories.
Overby finally looked away, not at Stallings, but at something miles off. “Four,” he said. “Four ways.”
Georgia Blue turned to Stallings with a cool stare that he thought he could feel poking around in the secret recesses of his mind. “And now it’ll be five ways, right, Mr. Stallings? A million each.”
“I guess I’m supposed to ask why it should be split five ways,” Stallings said, “and you’ll come back with some compelling reason that’ll make me agree.”
“The reason’s simple,” she said. “It’ll be far easier for you to pull it off with me than without me. In fact, without me it’ll be damned near impossible.”
“Not much on preliminary bullshit, are you?” Stallings said with a twitch of a smile.
“It’s a waste of time,” she said, continuing to study him. “Well?”
“Okay,” Stallings said with a shrug. “Five ways — a million each.”
Otherguy Overby let out the breath he had been holding and nodded comfortably. “Makes more sense all the way around,” he said.
Chapter Twelve
For the second time in his life Booth Stallings flew first-class. The first time had been nearly five years before when a Swedish small-arms manufacturer had flown him to a sales conference in London to deliver an ill-received paper Stallings perversely had entitled: “Terrorism: the Exciting Hot New Industry.”
Otherguy Overby had insisted on first-class to Manila as a matter of front and, by chance, Stallings had two seats to himself. Across the aisle were Overby and Georgia Blue who scarcely spoke to each other. After the 747 was 30 minutes out of Los Angeles, and after an overly solicitous flight attendant had pressed a second martini on him, Stallings rose, tapped Overby on the shoulder and said, “My turn.”
Georgia Blue watched as Stallings slipped into the vacated seat with his drink and said, “Tell me about the money.”
“The five million,” she said.
Stallings nodded.
“It’s real,” she said.
“Where is it?”
“It’ll be in the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank — their new headquarters on Des Voeux Road.”
“That’s where it’ll be. Not where it is.”
“Right now it’s where it can be wire-transferred without bothering Washington.”
“Not in the States then, right?”
She smiled.
“When’ll Harry wire it?”