Criminal Mischief

43

Stone napped a little, and at six o’clock there was a rap on the door. “Come!” Stone shouted.

A valet pushed a cart into the room. There was a rack where Stone’s clothes hung and another at the bottom, containing his personal luggage. Everything was put away. Stone very nearly tipped the man but reconsidered. Who knew what the local custom was?

There was a bottle of Knob Creek in among his shirts and underwear, and he thought of having a drink, since, in a Muslim society, he was not likely to be offered one later. Instead, he had a soak in his large tub, then he shaved, showered, and got dressed in his dinner suit. After some thought, he unlocked the trunk, removed his pistol and holster, and put them in his briefcase, then he relocked the trunk.

At precisely seven o’clock, the colonel returned and collected Stone and Brio and led them for a bit of a walk through the palace. It was more elegant and in better repair than Stone had anticipated. They were finally admitted to an indoor garden space with a ceiling height of about forty feet. An area like a living room had been set in its midst.

Two men stood in the middle of the room, one a Westerner dressed as Stone was, but with gray hair and horn-rimmed glasses. The other wore an evening suit with a silk brocade jacket of a floral design; he had iron-gray hair and a Vandyke beard and mustache.

The colonel spoke, “Your Majesty, may I present Ms. Brio Ness of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and Mr. Stone Barrington of the law firm of Woodman & Weld. Mr. Barrington is also an associate director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Mr. Barrington, may I present His Majesty, the Sultan of Saud and the Honorable Henry Wilcox, ambassador to His Majesty from the United States of America.”

Stone and Brio both executed a slight head bow and a how do you do. Wilcox shook both their hands. The sultan stood with his hands behind him.

“I am very sure that each of you would like a drink,” the sultan said, with an English accent born at Eton. “My imam has declared this room neutral territory in that regard.”

They both assented. Brio asked for a dry martini, and Stone was handed a glass of Knob Creek without asking for it.

The sultan accepted a whiskey, too, and the ambassador had one already clenched in his fist.

Glasses were raised.

“The president of the United States,” the sultan said, and a drink was taken.

“The Sultan of Saud,” the ambassador said in return, and they drank again. Then things became more relaxed.

“I hope your travel here was not a punishment,” the sultan said.

“We were very comfortable,” Brio replied.

“Ah, yes, in Mr. Barrington’s beautiful Gulfstream.”

“Which I am fortunate to have,” Stone replied, with as much modesty as he could muster.

“I also admired the FBI’s choice in aircraft,” the sultan said. “I once owned such an airplane. It was very nice, but it was not a Gulfstream. They are in a class by themselves. I once toured their factory in Savannah, Georgia, and was impressed with their attention to every detail. If I were not an honorable man, I would confiscate your airplane.”

Everyone chuckled at the mere suggestion that the sultan might not be an honorable man.

“Mr. Barrington,” the sultan said, “I am told that you have come bearing gifts.”

“I have, sir. Perhaps we can find a more opportune time later in the evening for me to present them?”

“As you wish, Mr. Barrington.” He smiled at them all. “Now I am beginning to think that this may be more a business meeting, than merely a social one.”

“I hope that the sultan may find it a pleasant transaction,” Stone said.

“I have been reading up on Mr. Barrington,” the sultan said, “and he has led a fascinating life.”

“Only because I have the good fortune to meet such fascinating people,” Stone said, raising his glass in the sultan’s direction.

“My condolences on the loss of your beautiful wife, Arrington,” the sultan said.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. She is greatly missed by our son and me.”

“Ah, yes, your son, Peter, the film director. I have ordered his films, but they have yet to arrive.”

“Had I known of Your Majesty’s interest, I would have brought them to you. I shall see that their delivery is expedited.”

The sultan beamed. “I shall look forward to receiving them. I am disappointed, I must say, not to meet your good friend, New York’s Commissioner of Police Bacchetti, who I was told is your constant companion.”

“A frequent companion, certainly,” Stone replied, “but not a constant one. The commissioner has a wife and job, both of which occupy much of his time.”

“And Ms. Ness,” the sultan said. “There are rumors that you will soon become an assistant director of your organization.”

“As we say in America, Your Majesty, from your lips to God’s ear.”

The sultan laughed uproariously.

“I am very taken with your garden,” she said.

“Come, and let me show you some rare plantings,” the sultan said.

Brio set down her glass and took his offered hand.

“If you would excuse us, gentlemen.” They walked, arm in arm, into the garden.

The ambassador faced Stone. “I must say, this is all going very well. I was afraid I would have to intercede to keep the conversation light.”

“You may have to yet, Ambassador,” Stone said.

“Please call me Henry.”

“Of course, Henry. May I question you on a point of diplomacy and gift-giving?”

“Of course.”

Stone explained what he had in mind.

“Well,” Wilcox said. “I don’t see why not. It’s no skin off the nation’s nose, after all.”

The sultan returned with Brio, and they were called to dinner.

As Brio brushed past Stone, she said, “The old dog propositioned me.”

“Careful that you don’t end up in his harem,” Stone replied.