Criminal Mischief

59

They woke up the following morning without motion or engine noises. Stone looked out a window. The sun was rising, and they were moored in a marina containing all sorts of craft, none of them the size of Star.

Stone dressed quietly, so as not to waken Brio, then went on deck and looked around. People, mostly professional crews, were stirring on other craft, hosing down decks, boarding provisions, and sending garbage bags ashore.

Stone walked to the afterdeck, and a crew member appeared and asked if he required breakfast and if so, what? Stone had just ordered scrambled eggs and sausages when Henry Wilcox appeared on deck and put in his own order. They were brought a thermos of coffee and sat down.

“How are you this morning, Stone?” Wilcox asked.

“A little nervous,” Stone replied. “I just want to get this done and get out of here.”

Stone’s phone rang and he answered.

“It’s Faith,” she said. “We’ll be serviced and ready to taxi at ten am.”

“I’ll arrange for the boarding of your passenger about that time, perhaps a little earlier, if I can manage it.”

“Your two FBI special agents are boarding as we speak,” she said.

“Send everybody out for breakfast and have them back in an hour,” Stone replied. “I’ll be in touch.”

“All is well, I presume,” Wilcox said.

“All is as well as can be expected,” Stone said. Breakfast arrived, and they tucked into it. Brio arrived shortly and settled for pastries and coffee.

“Where is your airplane?” she asked.

“At the airport. So are your two agents.”

“That was my information. I think they’re ready for anything. Where is the exchange going to take place?”

“At the airplane. That’s where the money is, so if Said wants it, that’s where he’ll have to go.”

“I hope you’re more relaxed than you were last night,” she said, placing a cool hand on his cheek.

“Thanks to your ministrations, yes.”

“Anytime.”

“Henry, have you had any communication from the secretary of state?”

“Yes, and with approval of our arrangement.”

“So, you’re no longer a forger.”

“Pure as the driven snow.”

Their host, in a khaki uniform, but with his new rank displayed, appeared, greeted them one by one, and joined them, looking cheerful. “I trust you all slept well,” he said. “And if you are packed, the crew will see to your luggage soon. Are you all going to the airport?”

“Yes, we’re all traveling on the same aircraft, General.”

“Ambassador Wilcox, too?”

“I’m thumbing a ride,” Wilcox said, making hitchhiking motions.

“Ah, yes, an American expression. I saw it in an excellent film with Clark Gable.”

“And Claudette Colbert,” Brio said. “It Happened One Night.”

“Quite so, and it did,” Said replied. His breakfast appeared before him, and he attended to it.

“And so, Stone,” Said said, sipping his coffee. “You wish to make the exchange at your airplane?”

“That is correct. Where is Mr. Zanian?”

“He is arriving shortly, aboard his own airplane — his own until he departs in yours. The documents are all in order.” He reached into a pocket and detached a small key from a clump of others. “This is the key to Mr. Zanian’s shackles,” he said.

Stone slipped it into his pocket. “Thank you.”

“And where is your money?”

“It will appear, as if by magic, at the airplane. Shall we say, nine o’clock?”

“That will do nicely.”

Stone took a checkbook from his jacket pocket. “I’m afraid I dipped into the valise for the charter fee of our yacht,” he said. “I hope my check for that sum will be acceptable.”

“Oh, please,” the general said, waving a hand. “Let us not quibble over small sums. Your charter is on me.”

“I would like to keep my valise,” Stone said, “since it is part of a matched set of luggage. Perhaps you could bring along something to put that part of the cash in.”

“Of course. I would not wish to spoil a matched set.”

Stone looked at his watch. “Well, we have nothing to do until we leave for the airport. What time will that be?”

“It’s not far; say, eight-thirty?”

“Excellent. Brio, are you packed?”

“Yes, my bags are on our berth, with yours.”

“Henry?”

“All ready for pick up,” Wilcox responded. Then he turned to Said. “General, perhaps you could satisfy my curiosity on your intentions toward the sultan. The secretary is concerned. He asked me about it in our conversation yesterday.”

The general leaned back in his chair. “I can give you only my current thinking,” he said. “Things could change, if he proves to be as obstreperous as he usually is.”

“Please,” Wilcox said.

“There is a small oasis, somewhere in the Arabian Desert, perhaps two or three hundred miles from anywhere, and a comfortable residence is being made ready for him there. He will be provided with everything he desires, except transportation — not so much as a camel.”

“Does his son approve?”

“His son would be harsher, if he were acting alone. He will continue to be schooled by me in the arts of governing, with an occasional lecture on compassion.”

“Always attractive in a ruler.”

“When he is ready, I will retire.”

“To where?”

“I have a number of places in mind, one or two of them in the United States. I hope I may have your kind help in dealing with the State Department.”

“Of course, assuming they have not yet put me out to pasture.”

“They are far too wise for that,” the general said, standing. “Ah well, I have some phone calls to make. A large Mercedes van will call for us in time for an eight-thirty departure.”

They stood and saw him off, then sat again.

Wilcox poured them more coffee. “Still nervous, Stone?”

“Yes,” Stone replied. “Perhaps more than ever.”