Strategic Moves

FIFTY-THREE

Stone sent Willa off to work the following morning, then went down to his office.

Joan buzzed him. “Herbert Fisher on line one.”

Stone sighed. “Tell him I’m busy, to call me late this afternoon.”

“Right,” Joan said.

Stone worked through the morning, then walked up to the Sea-gram Building and entered the Four Seasons. At the top of the stairway he stopped and looked around. A man at the bar to his right got up and came toward him.

“Mr. Barrington?”

“Mr. Beck?”

They shook hands, and the maître d’ seated them between the tables of Henry Kissinger and the literary agent and attorney Morton Janklow.

“Good table,” Stone observed. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Only when the expense account allows,” Beck replied. “The table is usually occupied by our ambassador, who is away.”

“I’m surprised that the expense accounts of the Mossad extend to the Four Seasons,” Stone said.

Beck froze for half a second, then managed a small smile. “I must relate your observation to the Mossad, the next time I encounter them.”

“Come on, Mr. Beck,” Stone said, “I know who you are. This conversation will probably go better if we don’t try to bullshit each other.”

A captain came with the menus, and Stone ordered the Dover sole, his favorite fish. Beck ordered a large salad. Stone thought the sole must have used up most of the expense account for the day. Stone ordered a glass of Chardonnay; Beck stuck with the mineral water already on the table.

“I will not challenge your assumption,” Beck said after the waiter had taken their order and left them alone.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Beck?” Stone asked.

“Please call me Aaron, and may I call you Stone?”

“Of course.”

“Israelis are an informal people,” Beck said.

“If you say so,” Stone replied. “I don’t suppose I’ve met more than two or three Israelis in my life.”

“You’ve led a sheltered life,” Beck said, smiling.

“Perhaps so. What can I do for you, Aaron?”

“I won’t beat around the bush,” Beck said. “I would like to arrange a meeting with Mr. Pablo Estancia.”

“Who?”

“I thought you wished not to bullshit each other,” Beck replied.

“And why do you believe I can arrange such a meeting, Aaron?”

“You arranged it for my friend Lance Cabot and his people,” Beck said.

“Just how good a friend are you to Mr. Cabot?” Stone asked.

“We have a cordial working relationship.”

“Then perhaps you should speak to Lance about arranging such a meeting.”

“Stone, I have reason to believe that you are not ethically obligated to seek Lance’s permission to arrange a meeting with Pablo.”

“Oh, are you and Mr. Estancia on a first-name basis, too?” Stone asked.

“We have had occasion to meet once or twice in the past.”

“Then why don’t you just ring him up? I’m sure you know how to get in touch with him.”

“Our usual line of communication is presently out of service,” Beck said. “Thus, my meeting with you.”

“Tell me, Aaron, why do you think Pablo would wish to see you?”

“As I said, we’ve met before and done business.”

“Was the business you have done with Pablo conducted to your satisfaction?” Stone asked.

“You might say that,” Beck replied.

“Is there some reason why you didn’t contact Pablo a short time ago when your line of communication was still serviceable?”

“Circumstances change all the time,” Beck said. “I didn’t need to speak to him at that time. Lance didn’t need to contact Pablo until he kidnapped him.”

Stone feigned surprise. “Did Lance tell you he kidnapped Pablo?”

Beck sighed. “I have more than one source of information.”

“Aaron,” Stone said, “do you wish to harm Pablo?”

“Of course not,” Beck replied.

“Do you wish to invite him to Israel for a chat?”

“I would be happy to extend such an invitation.”

“Do you wish to take him to Israel whether or not he wants to go?”

“Do you really believe we are so ham-fisted as that, Stone?”

Stone smiled. “I have formed the opinion that the Mossad will sometimes go to great lengths to achieve its ends. I am in mind of an assassination in an Arab country that made the news recently, involving numerous Mossad agents carrying stolen passports. On that occasion the Mossad was quite ham-fisted.”

“Let us not revisit the past,” Beck said, spreading his hands. “Why don’t we concentrate on the near future.”

“Why do you wish to speak to Pablo?”

“I’m afraid that my instructions do not allow me to impart that information to anyone but Pablo.”

Their lunch arrived.

“Suppose Pablo agreed to see you with his attorney present?” Stone asked.

“Stone, Pablo is not charged with any crime in Israel; why would he require an attorney?”

“He might require a witness,” Stone said. “And you might be less inclined to press an invitation to your country upon him if an American citizen was present and handcuffed to Pablo.”

“Handcuffed?”

“Metaphorically,” Stone replied. “Let’s get down to brass tacks. What have you to gain from Pablo by such a meeting, and what would Pablo have to gain from it?”

“We wish only to have the answers to some questions,” Beck said. “As for Pablo, he might gain freedom from our attentions in the future.”

“And how long might this conversation last?”

“I’m sure we could conclude it within the same time frame as his discussions with the CIA.”

“And where do you propose that this meeting take place?”

“Perhaps at the offices of our mission?”

“You are assuming that Pablo is still in this country.”

“Yes, but if he is back in Europe, his house in Switzerland would be a satisfactory meeting place.”

“Pablo found his conversations with Lance and his people to be very tiring,” Stone said. “I’m not sure he would wish to endure another such session. How about a nice chat on the phone?”

“I’m afraid I must insist on a face-to-face meeting,” Beck replied.

“Insist?” Stone asked. “And I thought this was going to be a friendly conversation.”

“Forgive my impertinence,” Beck said smoothly.

Stone put down his napkin and polished off his mind. “All I can do, Aaron, is deliver your kind invitation to Pablo, if I should happen to speak to him in the near future.”

“If?”

“I have no way of knowing if he will call again.” Stone stood up. “Thank you for a very good lunch,” he said. “I hope they don’t take it out of your pay.”

Beck looked pained. The two men shook hands, and Beck handed him a card, identifying him as the agricultural attaché to the Israeli UN Mission.