Foul Play

Sixteen

Stone ordered them all a cognac.

“What do you think?” Shep asked.

“I think it’s going to go something like this,” Stone said. “You’ll keep getting demands like this from them, and they’ll increase the pressure and the amounts. Finally, they’ll want to renegotiate the sale, and they’ll make a demand that you can’t or won’t meet.”

“Then what?”

“Then they’ll do one of two things: They’ll decide you’re too much trouble, and they’ll go away. Or they’ll kill you and go after your estate for the money.”

“At what point will it become clear which option they’ve chosen?”

“That’s unclear, but I think it’s safe to say that you would be in a hospital for a protracted stay while they’re deciding, so neither option is going to be much fun.”

“Any suggestions as to my next move?” Shep asked.

“Do you own any real estate other than your father’s house in Massachusetts and the Carlyle apartment?”

“Yes, there’s a house on Martha’s Vineyard. It’s nearing the end of a renovation, as we speak.”

“Who owns title to the property?”

Shep gave him a small smile. “A Delaware corporation,” he said.

“I like it,” Stone said. “Is it habitable?”

“Now?”

“Last week would have been better, but I’ll settle for now.”

“It should be. The builder has asked me to come and approve the finished product. He’s worked for us in the past, and he prides himself on finishing on time and on budget.”

Stone looked across the room at a couple just being seated. “Just the man I want to see,” he said. He stood up and waved, then beckoned.

Mike Freeman excused himself and walked across the room. “Shep, Dino,” he said. “Stone, have you got a better idea than my having drinks and dinner with a beautiful woman?”

“Mike, I’m sorry to take you away from all that, but it will only take a couple of minutes to deal with this.”

“Let’s deal with it then.”

“I need to get Shep out of the Carlyle and to a house on the Vineyard at the crack of dawn tomorrow, and he’s going to need a detail of at least eight, until this situation is resolved.”

“I can deal with all that with one phone call, and you can explain the situation to me later. Shep, a car will pick you up tomorrow morning at six o’clock, inside the garage at the Carlyle. Take the service elevator down. You will be transferred to our hangar at Teterboro Airport, and then in our jet to Martha’s Vineyard. Do you have a car there?”

“No.”

“Then a rental in the name of Strategic Services will be waiting for you, plus a van for hauling my people. We’ll talk more after you’re settled on the Vineyard. Any questions?”

“No,” Shep said.

“Stone? Dino?”

“No,” Stone said. “I’ll go with him, and I’ll get myself to your hangar at Teterboro.”

“I’ll go with you,” Dino said. “This sounds like fun.”

Mike went back to his table, and Stone turned over Shep to his Strategic Services detail, who transported him to the Carlyle. “Take a lot of clothes,” Stone said. “Do you have any cash on hand?”

“A couple of thousand, in my safe in the apartment.”

“I’ll bring you some more. For the duration of your stay on the Vineyard, don’t use credit cards or write checks, and stay indoors at your property.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll see you at Teterboro at six-thirty am.”

“Good night, Stone, and thanks.”

“All part of the service.”

Stone waved him off, then turned to Dino. “Pick me up at six am?”

“Sure.”

Stone went home and called Joan from his bedroom. “How much cash do we have in the safe?” he asked.

“Seventy-five grand, give or take.”

“Pack twenty-five of it into a briefcase and leave in on my desk. I’m going out of town early tomorrow morning, and I can’t tell you where until I’m there. You can text me, if there are problems.”

“Okay, boss.”

They hung up, and Stone packed two bags.

The following morning, Stone and Dino arrived at the Strategic Services hangar at Teterboro and loaded their gear into the company’s G-500. Shep arrived soon after, and he and a whole bunch of Strategic Services people got on board. They were touching down on Martha’s Vineyard less than an hour later, and two vehicles awaited them: a Mercedes S550 sedan and a Mercedes Sprinter, a large van. A half hour later they turned down a tree-lined drive and drove up to a handsome shingle-style house by the sea, maybe five miles from Edgartown.

Stone and Dino were shown to bedrooms while Shep toured the house with the builder, then met the others downstairs.

“Everything is perfect,” Shep said, and introduced them to the builder, Mr. Shipley.

“Mr. Shipley,” Stone said. “Mr. Troutman is not here and has no plans to be here for the next six months. Please explain that to any of your staff who need to know.”

“Right,” Shipley said. He shook hands with Shep and left.

“Breakfast?” Shep asked.

“I’m hungry,” Stone said.

Shep’s cook took their orders and prepared them.

“I’ve already spoken to the staff about my non-presence here,” Shep said. “I trust Shipley and all these people.”

“The fewer people you need to trust, the better,” Stone said.

Later, over coffee, Shep looked at Stone and Dino. “Who are we dealing with here?” he asked.

“You mean besides a Delaware corporation?” Stone asked.

“I do.”

“Dino, you want to take this one?”

Dino cleared his throat. “Based on my experience with this sort of thing and a little guessing, I think we’re dealing with Russians — specifically, the Russian mob.”

“Oh, shit,” Shep said.

“Well put,” Dino replied.