Criminal Mischief

44

After more conversation, but no discussion about Stone’s mission, they were escorted behind a hedge of ferns, where an elaborately set dinner table rested: tableware and goblets of gold, and two bottles of claret — Château Mouton Rothschild, ’61 — stood beside decanters that had received the wine. The center of the table was occupied by a large, roasted fowl, decorated with a peacock’s fantail.

A servant expertly carved the bird, nearly the size of a turkey, and distributed the plates, finished with a risotto and fresh petit poi. The sultan tasted the wine and signaled his approval. Stone approved, too. It was a rare treat. Stone thought the bird delicious, and he was relieved that it didn’t have a hump.

When they had finished and drunk both bottles of wine, crêpes Grand Marnier were served, along with a Château d’Yquem, ’59 — the finest dessert wine of Bordeaux.

After dinner, port — a Quinto de Nationale, ’29 — was passed to the left in a Baccarat decanter, and a perfect Stilton accompanied it.

“Your Majesty,” Stone said, raising his glass, “I have never experienced a more perfect repast, nor had a feeling of more perfect contentment, than at your table. On behalf of all your guests, I thank you.” There were “Hear, hears” all around.

The sultan beamed at them. “Nor have I had more perfect guests.” Then his face changed, and Stone was not pleased by what he saw there. “Now, to business,” he said. The sultan turned his head and nodded at his colonel, who stepped into the garden and returned, not alone

Stone heard a sound that immediately made him think of the Ghost of Christmas Past, from Dickens — the sound of chains being dragged over stone. He looked up to see a frowning man in a wrinkled and dirty suit with a collar around his neck, and his wrists and ankles shackled.

“May I present Mr. Viktor Zanian,” the sultan said.

The colonel poked the man in the ribs with a bejeweled dagger.

“How do you do?” Zanian said.

“I regret that you must meet the gentleman in reduced circumstances,” the sultan said, “but he did not dine on peacock and French wines this evening.”

Stone reflected that he appeared not to have dined at all, looking gaunt and shrunken.

“Now,” the sultan said. “What am I offered?”

It took Stone a moment to understand that he was referring to Zanian.

Brio was quicker. “On behalf of the United States Government,” she said, “I will take him off your hands.”

“Once again,” the sultan said. “What am I offered?”

“A quarter of a million dollars,” Brio replied.

“I fear that Mr. Zanian is a more expensive commodity than that,” the sultan replied.

“Your Majesty,” Henry Wilcox said, “I ask you to remember that Ms. Ness is a civil servant and does not have access to great wealth.”

“Well, then,” the sultan said. “Perhaps Mr. Barrington can improve on her offer.”

“Your Majesty,” Stone said, “I would not insult your throne by bargaining with you over a criminal. Instead, I will simply offer you everything at my disposal: two million dollars, if your servant will bring my large case.” Moments later, the trunk was wheeled to the table. Stone unlocked and opened it. The cash smiled back at them.

“I am grateful for your offer,” the sultan said, “although it lacks a certain flair.”

“But I have not finished,” Stone said. “If you will permit me to continue.”

“But of course,” the sultan replied, with a wave of his hand.

“I also bring you, with the personal compliments of the president of the United States, a fleet of twenty-four Jeep Grand Cherokees.”

The sultan’s eyebrows shot up, and he smiled. “To be delivered when?”

“In due course,” Stone replied.

The sultan’s smile vanished.

Henry Wilcox stood. “Your Majesty,” he said. “The fleet now reposes in two large aircraft at the airport in Riyadh, and they will depart for the Sultanate of Saud at your command.”

The sultan beamed again. “Mr. Barrington, your country’s offer is accepted. Where would you like Mr. Zanian placed?”

“Aboard our second airplane, Your Majesty, where he will be secured.”

“It shall be done immediately,” the sultan said, motioning to the colonel, who went for Zanian and rushed him out of the building.

The ambassador produced a cell phone and pressed a button. “You are authorized to fly to the Sultanate of Saud,” he said, then hung up. “The automobiles are on their way and will be here by sunrise.”

“All is well, then,” the sultan replied. “And now, if you will forgive me, I shall retire for the night. Mr. Barrington, Ms. Ness, it has been my great pleasure to entertain you. Your luggage awaits you on Mr. Barrington’s airplane.”

Stone and Brio were escorted from the palace and into a Range Rover.

“That was swift,” Brio said.

“I’ve no complaint with that,” Stone said. “I want to get out of here before the sultan changes his mind on some whim or other.”