Dirty Work

41

Stone went home and called Bob Cantor.

“Hey, Stone.”

“Hey, Bob. Where’s that nephew of yours?”

“Back running the photo processing equipment at the drugstore.”

“What happened to his business plans in Saint Thomas?”

“The boy is—how shall I put it?—mercurial.”

“You’re a master of understatement.”

“What’s up?”

“I want my house swept every day for a week. Can you manage the time?”

“Every day? What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Never mind. I just don’t want to be overheard while I’m doing it.”

“It’d help if I knew what sort of surveillance you’re worried about.”

“Phones, rooms, the works.”

“Who’s the opposition?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“If it’s some amateur, this is easy. If it’s a pro, or a group of pros, it’s going to be harder.”

“It’s a group of pros.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

Cantor turned up and began by checking the phone system. After an hour he came into Stone’s office, holding up something electronic-looking. “Your phones were bugged, big time,” he said, “and this is very sophisticated stuff.”

“How sophisticated?”

“They don’t have to have a van parked outside your house. This probably has a range of a mile, maybe two. They can leave a voice-activated recorder running and listen to your conversations whenever they get around to it. This device wasn’t bought at Radio Shack, or off the shelf anyplace else, come to that. This is custom-designed, custom-made, and it’s not a one-off, either. Whoever did this has quality manufacturing at his disposal. Who are these people?”

“An intelligence service.”

“Not ours, I hope. I don’t want to mess with those people.”

“It’s foreign.”

“How foreign? We’re not talking about Arabs, are we?”

“They speak our language; let’s leave it at that. Are the phones secure now?”

“Yep—at least, until I leave the house. There are other ways to do this, you know, if they can get access to underground phone company equipment.”

“What about the rest of the house?”

“Give me a few minutes.”

Cantor came back a while later. “I haven’t picked up anything planted, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. These people could rent an apartment behind your house or across the street and pick up the vibrations from the glass in your windows.”

“I have double glazing throughout the house.”

“That’ll help. Are you planning to have some important conversations in the house?”

“Maybe.”

“Then let’s go find places where you can defeat surveillance. I wouldn’t use this office,” he said, pointing at the view of the gardens. “Too easy for them. Let’s go upstairs.”

They walked around the house, looking at rooms. “The dining room’s your best spot; no windows at all. The study is good, too, if you draw those velvet curtains. Your bedroom and the kitchen are not good.”

“Okay, Bob, I get the picture. I need some more help.”

“What kind?”

“I want you to round up three or four ex-cops and have them tail me.”

“You afraid of some sort of personal attack?”

“No, I’m afraid of being tailed. I want your people to look out for other people following me.”

“Gotcha,” Cantor said, leafing through his address book. “You want to be wired to my watchers?”

“That would be good.”

“When do you want to start?”

“I’m going to have a meeting here later. Right after that.”

“What time is the meeting?”

“I have to arrange it, then I’ll let you know. You start rounding up your guys.”

“You’ve got my cell phone number. Call me.”

“Will do.” Cantor let himself out of the house.

Stone called Carpenter. “I want another meeting with Sir Edward.”

“I’m not sure he has the time.”

“What? Is he jerking me around?”

“Can you arrange the meeting with La Biche?”

“We can talk about that at the meeting.”

“I’ll see if he has the time.”

“If he wants to get this done, tell him to find the time. We’re meeting at my house, as soon as possible.”

“He’ll want to choose the spot.”

“Then tell him to go fuck himself.” Stone hung up.

The phone rang ten minutes later.

“Yes?”

“Five o’clock, at your house,” she said.

“Just him,” Stone replied.

“He wants me.”

“I want you, too, when you’re not killing people. Tell him I’ll frisk him for a wire—you, too.”

“He won’t sit still for that.”

“We’re going to do this my way, or not at all,” Stone said. “What’s it going to be?”

She covered the phone and spoke to someone else, then came back. “See you at five,” she said.

Stone hung up and called Bob Cantor. “The meeting’s at five.”

“That’s going to be tough. How long will it last?”

“Half an hour to an hour is my best guess.”

“I’ll do the best I can.”

Stone went to the dining room. He moved all the chairs back to the wall, except three, then he went to his desk, rummaged through a drawer, and came up with a small scanner. He replaced the batteries and put it into his pocket, then he sat down and called Marie-Thérèse’s cell phone.

“Yes?”

“Call me from a pay phone,” he said. “I’ve had my phones checked. They were bugged, but they’re clean now.”

“Ten minutes,” she said, then hung up.

Stone waited as patiently as he could, then picked up the phone as soon as it rang. “That you?”

“It’s me.”

“I have a meeting with the English gentleman at five.”

“Good.”

“We have to talk about what you want, so I’ll have something to negotiate about.”

“I want what he offered me, plus as much else as I can get.”

“You mean money? Damages for your parents’ death?”

“That would be nice.”

“Given the attrition you’ve caused in his organization, I don’t think you’d have a leg to stand on. You’ve already realized a good deal more than tit for tat.”

“All right, I want a written apology for the deaths of my parents.”

“I like that. It’s good to start with something we know he’ll never give us. What else?”

“I don’t really care, except I think we need something to punish him with, if he reneges.”

“Let me give that some thought. I’ll call you when the meeting is over.”

“Where is the meeting being held?”

“Oh no, you don’t. You’re not going to harm a hair on anybody’s head while I’m in this, or you’ll have to get yourself a new lawyer. I’m not going to be an accessory to a killing.”

“Oh, all right, I won’t murder anybody for a while,” she said, like a child promising to be good.

“Good. Talk to you later.” He dictated some notes to Joan and read them as they came off the printer, then read them again. He was ready. He looked at his watch, impatient to get on with it.