Hit List

19

They lunched in the center of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, at Brasserie Lipp, which was Stone’s favorite Paris restaurant. The food was Alsatian, as was the beer, and they all had the choucrute garni, a mix of sliced meats and sausages, with sauerkraut and potatoes. The crowd in the restaurant reminded Stone of the group at Elaine’s — now long-lamented, since her death — a mixture of arts, academia, and journalism, with a smattering of showbiz, even if he didn’t recognize many of them.

Rick La Rose arrived as they were on dessert. He ordered a beer and was introduced to Vanessa. “Your place is clean of any detritus left by departing bad guys,” he said, “electronic or otherwise. We had set a bunch of tiny traps the last time you left, and none of them was tripped.”

“It’s a relief to know that,” Stone said, asking a waiter for the bill. “What’s going on in Paris these days?”

“Oh, the usual: Russians, Balkans, and jewel thieves from Marseilles, and not much of those. We could use a little excitement; maybe you’ve brought some with you.”

“We’re dealing with only one man,” Stone said.

“Yeah, I read in the International New York Times about your hit list. I did some research: I guess winning ten million dollars in the lottery made him bold.”

“I heard it was two million dollars,” Stone said.

“That was a cover story, so he wouldn’t be besieged by his relatives. Anyway, he dumped them all and abandoned his house without a trace.”

“Smart move, if you’ve got relatives,” Dino said.

“And left three months unpaid rent,” Stone added.

“A real prince, huh?”

“Born to the blood.”

“I’d like to catch him for you, just for the hell of it,” Rick said.

“If we’re lucky,” Stone said, “he doesn’t know we’re in Paris. And if we’re very lucky, he doesn’t know yet that we’ve left England.”

“I read he knocked off an American doctor in London.”

“Absolutely true, and he was on the hit list. That’s three gone, and nobody’s laid a glove on the guy.” He pointed this remark in Dino’s direction.

Rick fished a photo from his inside pocket. “I ran him through our aging program, and this is its best guess at what he looks like now, sans beard.”

Stone looked at the photo. “Even so, he’s as close to anonymous as you can get.”

“Yeah, he does seem to fade in the light, doesn’t he?” Rick said.

Rick finished his beer, Stone paid the bill, and they walked out into the Paris sunshine.

“A van delivered your luggage,” Rick said. “We got it inside, and Marie unpacked everything. Good luck on finding your stuff.”

They walked back to the mews, and Stone let them in through the human-sized door in the big doors that made the mews private.

“Ooh,” Vanessa said, looking down the mews. “This is so... French, isn’t it?”

“It is, indeed,” Stone agreed.

“Now,” Viv said, “you see why we don’t travel, unless it’s with Stone.”

“A good policy,” Vanessa replied.

They were greeted at the door by Marie, the cook/housekeeper, a pretty, well-padded woman of indeterminate age, who showed the guests to their rooms while Stone went into the study and stretched out in a comfortable chair.

A few minutes later, Vanessa came in. “That woman is a genius,” she said. “I found every single thing she unpacked for me, and each one was exactly where I would have put it myself. Is she for sale? May I buy her from you?”

“She is not, and you may not,” Stone said. “What would you like to do this afternoon?”

“Why, shop, of course. What did you think?”

“I’ll arrange a car and driver for you,” he said, picking up his phone. He chatted briefly with the car service, then hung up. “They’ll be here in half an hour.”

She came and made a nest in his lap. “You and everyone around you are so attuned to my needs,” she said.

“I’m glad you find us tolerable. By the way, your driver will be more than a driver, and he will be armed. Still, it’s up to you to be alert for anyone who pays too much attention to you, unless it is I.”

She unbuttoned a couple of buttons on his shirt and bit him lightly on a nipple.

“That’s unfair when you’re leaving in only half an hour.”

“Oh, all right,” she said, rebuttoning. “You’ll have to wait for my return.”

“With bated breath,” Stone said, allowing her to dismount and return upstairs.

Dino came in, poured himself a scotch from the little bar, and sat down.

“I’m a little surprised,” he said.

“At what?”

“At the fact that we seem to have eluded Larkin, at least for the moment. I’d be willing to bet that he’s on the Chunnel train as we speak, headed for Paris.”

“Oh, God, I hope not,” Stone replied. “Did you notice how quickly and easily he disabled the airplane?”

“I did. I fully expected him to attack before we could get it fixed.”

“Tell Viv that Vanessa’s going shopping.”

“Vanessa brought her up to date. They’re both going.”

“A pity the French don’t follow cricket on TV. You’ll have to watch soccer.”

“World’s most boring game,” Dino said. “It would be a much better sport if the field were half as long and the goal twice as wide. How can anybody follow a sport where the final score is so often one-nil? You sit there for four hours, or whatever it is, and they score once?”

“I’ll bet the stadium sells a hell of a lot of beer,” Stone commented.

The women appeared long enough to say goodbye, then they were off on their spree.

“Quiet, isn’t it?” Dino said, after the car had left.

“How do you want to spend your afternoon?” Stone asked.

“I think I’ll just read something from your library and wait for something terrible to happen,” Dino said. He got up and looked through the shelves, then came back with one.

“What did you find?”

“The autobiography of Elia Kazan,” Dino said.

“You’ll love it,” Stone said.

“You’ve actually read it?”

“I read it, closed it, then opened it again and started over. That doesn’t happen very often.”

The doorbell rang.

“You expecting anybody?” Dino asked.

“No, and Maria has gone grocery shopping.”

“You first,” Dino said. “I’ll back you up.”