Foul Play

Forty

Dino called Stone early. “I’ll have my detail pick you up at eight am,” he said. “The Bentley attracts too much attention.”

“Three police cops with flashing lights and whoopers don’t attract attention?”

“They’ll think it’s me,” Dino said. “We’ve had a dozen calls overnight from Kronk or his lawyers. He’s steamed; you oughta know that.”

“I’ll write it down,” Stone said. He went back to his packing, which was light; he had clothes in L.A.

They pulled into the Strategic Services hangar at eight-thirty, and they had used the whoopers only twice. Stone took Faith, his pilot, aside. “I want the satphones shut down now. No outgoing calls, unless I say so. Also, have the stewardess collect everybody’s cell phones, including mine.” He boarded and buckled in.

They set down in the Vineyard shortly before ten, and taxied to a little-used area of the ramp, where a large van unloaded the crowd from the Troutmans’ Vineyard house. They were rolling down the runway at ten o’clock.

“Now can you tell us where we’re going?” Shep asked.

“Not until she’s done,” Stone said, pointing to the stewardess, who was collecting phones in a basket and labeling them. Stone gave her his phone. “Yours and Rod’s, too,” he said to Shep, who grumbled, but gave them up. “Can I use the satphone?”

“It’s out of service,” Stone replied.

“For how long?”

“Until I say so.”

“We appear to be headed west.”

“Good guess, Shep.”

“How far west?”

“We refueled on the Vineyard, so we have the range for Hawaii.”

“Jesus!”

“Also, Vancouver, San Francisco, L.A., San Diego, or Puerto Vallarta. Take your pick.”

“A tracker could look us up on the FlightAware website.”

“We don’t appear there. Also, the pilot filed for St. Louis but will change our destination with ATC en route.”

“How will I pass the time?” Shep asked.

“Books, magazines, a movie, or my favorite, sleep. Rod has already taken that suggestion.” He nodded at the sleeping elder Troutman across the aisle, with a cashmere blanket tucked up to his chin and his seat reclined.

“If he’s out like that,” Shep said, “this must truly be the most comfortable airplane on the planet.” In ten minutes, he was asleep. He didn’t wake up until the landing gear came down.

“Where are we?”

“Welcome to Honolulu,” Stone said. “You’ll get your phone back when we reach our lodgings.” Hawaiian music played softly over the sound system. They got into a Mercedes van and were driven directly to Stone’s house on the Arrington Hotel property.

“I’m confused,” Shep said, looking around.

“Good. Imagine how Mr. Kronk must feel. You and your dad are in the downstairs bedrooms next to the library. Our luggage will be along shortly in another van.”

“May I have my phone back now, please?” Shep asked.

“No. It’s important that no one in our party makes a cell call until certain electronic details are taken care of that will make all our calls appear to be originating in New York. Give it an hour. After that, log every call you make by number and minutes.”

“Okay, I’m impressed,” Shep said.

“You should be: it’s costing you a hell of a lot of money. Just staying alive can be expensive at times.”

Stone picked up a house phone in his study. “May I speak to the head of the Secret Service detail, please?”

“Of course, Mr. Barrington.”

“Jack Dunn,” a voice said.

“Agent Dunn, this is Stone Barrington.”

“How are you, Mr. Barrington? I’m afraid it will be another two hours before she’s in the residence. She instructed me to tell you that dinner will be at seven o’clock, in the cottage between the two houses.” The two houses were Stone’s and the Presidential Mansion, kept by the hotel for visiting heads of state or tycoons who were willing to pay outrageously for lodging.

“Thank you, Jack. I’ll see her then.” He hung up and found Shep Troutman at his elbow.

“Dad is continuing his nap,” he said. “Where’s this cottage where you’re having dinner?”

“Next door. A friend of mine is staying at the large house beyond that, and we’re meeting halfway. You and your father will be dining here, at six-thirty.”

“I guess that’s satisfactory.”

“I hope so, because you’re not getting off the ranch while we’re here. You’d probably run into someone you know in the hotel dining room. Or someone you don’t want to know.”

“I get the picture,” Shep said.

“By the way, I’m keeping your cell phone, but you can make outgoing calls on the house phones. Not a word about where you are, though, or all this money will have been wasted.”

“I take your point.”

“Why didn’t you bring Phil with you?”

“I asked her, but she declined. She has a commission to finish and a business to run, she said.”

“She probably didn’t take to being shot at, either.”

“You could say that.”

“Few people do, and you want to avoid them.”

“Good advice.”

“Good advice is my work,” Stone said. “Not taking it can be dangerous.”

“Stone, I don’t need impressing any further, please.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Why don’t you go and have a chat with the butler about what you’d like for dinner and what wines you’d prefer? You may order anything to eat but foie gras.”

“Why not foie gras?”

“It has to come from out of state. We’d have to find a bootlegger.”

“Who’s your friend next door?” Shep asked.

“That’s a state secret,” Stone replied.

“That gives me a hint.”

“Try and appreciate it, because it’s all you’re going to get out of me.”

“Aha!”

“Careful. If you get too curious, somebody will have to shoot you in the head.”

“My curiosity is quelled,” Shep said, then went upstairs.