Cut and Thrust

49

Stone had an early breakfast at seven with Ann, who then dressed quickly and left for the campaign office. He read the Times and did the crossword, then dressed and got downstairs just in time to greet the 60 Minutes crew. He showed them around the house while the Eagles and their party had breakfast in the kitchen, and the director chose Stone’s study as his set for taping the interview.

He stopped by the kitchen before going to his office. “Everybody sleep well?” he asked.

There was a chorus of positive answers.

“They said they’d be ready for you, Ed, at eleven sharp in my study. Knock it out of the park.”

“I’ll do my best,” Eagle said.

Stone went to his office and began returning phone calls and answering correspondence. Joan came in and turned on his TV. “Kate Lee’s commercial was on just a minute ago,” she said. “She’s on Morning Joe right now, so I’ll run it down for you.” She went into the DVR and rewound. “Here we go.”

Kate came on-screen in what appeared to be the study at the Carlyle apartment. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Kate Lee, and you may have heard that I’m the Democratic nominee for president.”

She continued talking conversationally, directing the viewer to her website for detailed policy information, while never breaking eye contact with the camera and not reading from a teleprompter. It was over in thirty seconds, leaving an impression of freshness, intelligence, and personal warmth.

“I’m convinced,” Stone said. “She’s got my vote.”

“Yeah, but you’re a pushover.”

“How about you?”

“Well, I’m a pushover, too, I guess. And if I weren’t, that ad would do it for me.”

Eagle came in. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.”

Ed dumped his long frame into a chair. “I just called Cessna, and I got lucky. They’ve got a Citation M2 coming off the line in a couple of weeks, and the buyer wants out. I can buy his position at a discount.”

“And you need an airplane, as I recall.”

“Yep. The insurance company has already seen what’s left of the Mustang, and it’s a total loss, so I get the hull value. The training course at FlightSafety in Wichita starts in a couple of weeks, too. You want to do it with me?”

“Why not? My airplane gets delivered the week after next. What’s the course, two weeks?”

“That’s it.”

“You’re on. Tell ’em to book me in the class with you, and I’ll get Joan to book us a big two-bedroom suite at the airport hotel. Is Susannah coming?”

“Yes, she is. She’s qualified to train for a copilot’s rating, and she’s looking forward to it.”

“That’s great, and when you get real old, you can swap seats.”

Joan came in. “They’re ready to show Ed the interview upstairs, then they’ll record his riposte.”

Ed disengaged from his chair and went upstairs.

Billy Burnett awoke early in his San Francisco hotel. After his trip to Napa he had found a room that faced the Grosvenor apartment, and he had a nice view from a block away and one floor above them, with about a thirty-degree angle. He raised the blinds and trained his binoculars on the apartment’s terrace. The angle made it impossible to see into the living room, so he would just have to catch her outside. He had no idea what time she rose, so he would have breakfast facing her building and just wait to get sight of her.

Barbara slept past her usual early hour for rising, and when she awoke, she was still rattled by the course the interview had taken. Hugh Gordon had told her not to worry, that he would sit down with Pamela Hale and see that the editing went their way. He was going to try for having the whole second part of the interview cut, but he admitted that was a bit of a stretch.

She got out of bed as Charles emerged from his dressing room in a suit, ready for his day.

“Good morning, my darling,” he said, offering a kiss on the forehead.

“Good morning,” she said listlessly.

He took her by the shoulders. “Now, you’re not still concerned about that interview, are you?”

“I’m still a little shaken,” she said.

“Nothing a buck’s fizz won’t fix.”

That was the British name for a mimosa, equal parts champagne and orange juice.

“Order me breakfast, will you? Just melon and coffee.”

“And a buck’s fizz?”

“Oh, all right, maybe it will help. I’ll be right out.”

Billy had just finished his breakfast when a movement on the Grosvenors’ terrace caught his eye. He trained the binoculars and saw a tall man in a good suit stride out onto the terrace. A maid came, handed him a newspaper, and spoke briefly with him.

Billy opened the briefcase containing the sniper’s rifle that he had built for himself. He assembled it, then unscrewed the head of a fat golf umbrella and shook out the thirty-six-inch barrel that he had made for longer shots. It took only a moment to screw it in place. He rolled the room service tray table into the hallway, put the DO NOT DISTURB sign out, and locked the door. He pulled a chair from the desk to the window, set up a short tripod, then screwed the silencer into the barrel and sat down.

He had not quite got set up when Barbara appeared on the terrace in a dressing gown.

Barbara took her seat opposite Charles, who looked up and smiled at her. For some reason, it annoyed her; he was always smiling at her or kissing her forehead or patting her ass in a proprietary way. She had found all this charming at first, but it had palled as the marriage wore on.

“Busy day today?” Charles asked.

“A board meeting and lunch at the museum,” she said. “I may develop a cold, I haven’t decided.”

“How will they ever get on without you there?”

“How will they ever paper over the cracks in their budget without my checkbook at the ready? That’s all they care about — certainly not my opinion.”

Billy used the telescopic sight, now. He checked a flag on top of her building and it hung slack. He got comfortable and set the rifle on the tripod. This was looking good.

He sighted, and discovered that at least three-quarters of Barbara was behind her husband; he waited for one of them to move.

Barbara finished her melon. “I’m going to take my coffee and paper to bed,” she said. “I’m more comfortable there.” She got up and walked into the living room.

Billy had no more than an instant for a shot at her, but she was moving, and a sheet of newspaper on the table suddenly blew off with a puff of wind. Then she was inside, carrying her coffee and newspaper. He had missed his opportunity.

“Shit,” he said aloud.

His cell phone began to ring, and he answered it. “This is Billy Burnett.”

“Good morning, Billy, it’s Peter. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you, Peter.”

“We’ve got that casting session you set up at three this afternoon. Will you be here for it?”

Billy had nearly forgotten. “Yes, Peter, I’ll be there after lunch.”

“See you then.”

Billy hung up and began dismantling the rifle. This was going to have to wait, probably until after the weekend.