Criminal Mischief

53

Stone and Brio were at breakfast the following morning when Henry Wilcox joined them, later than usual.

“Oversleep, Henry?” Stone asked.

“No, I got up early this morning and sent the document for the secretary’s signature, plus an explanation of the circumstances, to his personal e-mail address, so that as soon as he is in a location with access to electronics, he will find them waiting for him.”

“Assuming he checks his e-mail,” Stone said. “We all fail to do that, sometimes.”

“He’s pretty good about it,” Wilcox replied. “At least, we can tell Said that we’ve sent it to him and are awaiting a reply.”

“Good point. We can tell him that we’ve done all we can, and that the secretary’s response time is out of our hands.”

“I don’t expect he’ll find that comforting,” Wilcox said, “but he should find it plausible.”

“Let’s hope so. Said said last night that Zanian had offered a billion dollars, but he didn’t say how much Zanian had been able to raise so far.”

“And that is a bit of information I’d like to have,” Wilcox said.

“I take it as a good sign that Said is still interested in our two million and a quarter dollars,” Stone said.

“He’s not going to pass that up for a billion-dollar pipe dream of Zanian’s,” Brio said.

“Let’s hope not.”

The yacht’s captain came aft. “Mr. Barrington, a call for you on the ship’s radiotelephone.” He handed Stone a portable handset. “Just press the button marked ‘answer.’ ”

Stone accepted the phone and put it on the table. “This is odd,” he said. “A radiotelephone call can be heard by anyone with a radio tuned to the correct frequency.”

“You’d better answer,” Brio said.

Stone pressed the answer button. “Yes?”

“Am I speaking to whom I think I am?” It was a voice that sounded like Said.

“That depends on whom you think I am.”

“When did we last dine?”

“Last evening.”

“What was missing from your dinner?”

Stone thought about that for a moment. “A hump,” he said, finally.

“Has the document of which we spoke last evening been completed?”

“Yes, and sent to the mailbox of the intended addressee,” Stone replied. “He is presently in a distant location and electronically unavailable, until some services can be restored.”

“In what time frame?”

“We are unable to divine that from our present position.”

Said made an angry noise.

“You understand this is quite out of our hands?”

“I suppose.”

“May I return this call when we know more?”

“Yes, but use the cell number.”

“Roger. Out.” Stone ended the call. “He is unhappy.”

Wilcox shrugged. “So am I.”

“I still don’t understand why he used the radiotelephone.”

“Perhaps his own electronic services are temporarily unavailable.”

“Good. If so, he understands our problem. Do you think it’s worth trying to reach the secretary again?”

“I can try,” Wilcox said, taking out his phone and pressing a single digit. He listened for a moment. “This time I got a recorded message, saying the service I seek is temporarily unavailable.”

“That is not an improvement on the situation,” Brio said.

“No, it isn’t,” Wilcox said. “It appears that we are going to have to exercise the most difficult skill of diplomacy.”

“And what is that?” Brio asked.

“Patience,” Wilcox replied.

“Well, shit!” Brio responded.

“Perhaps so, but it is all I have to offer.”

“Relax, Henry,” Stone said. “Nobody’s blaming you, not even Said.”

“Thank you.”

“My own personal motto is Si non nunc quando,” Stone said.

Wilcox laughed, something he did not do often.

Brio looked puzzled. “What is that, pig Latin?”

“Just plain Latin,” Wilcox said. “As anyone with a New England schoolboy’s prep-school education can tell you, it means: ‘If not now, when?’ ”

“Well translated.”

“Where did you prep, Stone?”

“At P.S. Six, in New York City.”

Wilcox laughed uproariously. His cell phone rang. “Yes? Good morning, General. Is your cell service working again?”

“It is, as you can see.”

“So is that of the secretary of state,” Wilcox lied.

“And what is the disposition?”

“He has approved the language of the document and is transmitting a signed copy to me.”

“When?”

“As soon as their service is fully operational. It shouldn’t be later than this afternoon.”

“I shall look forward to receiving it.”

“If you will give me a secure e-mail address, I will forward it to you as soon as I receive it.” He made a note of the address. “I shall speak to you later,” Wilcox said, then hung up.

“Excuse me, Henry, but that was a lie.”

“I am aware of that, Stone. Lying is sometimes just another tool in the diplomatic toolbox.”

“And what tool in your toolbox will you use to obtain the secretary’s signature on the document?”

“An equally good one,” Wilcox said. “Forgery.”