Dirty Work

49

Carpenter sat in the pool dining room of the Four Seasons with the director of the FBI and his deputy. Their main course arrived, and Sir Edward had not returned from the men’s room.

“I’d better go and check on him,” she said to the director.

“Keep your seat,” he replied, and waved over his bodyguard. “Find the men’s room and check on Sir Edward,” he said to the man. “He may be ill.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Carpenter said. “He probably ran into someone he knew. I think we should start without him.” She picked up her knife and fork and cut into the venison on the plate before her.

“How long have you been an intelligence officer, Felicity?” the director asked.

“Twelve years, sir,” she said. “I read law at Oxford, then joined the service.”

“Sir Edward tells me your father was also in your service.”

“That’s correct,” she said, “and my grandfather, as well.” Something across the room caught her attention. The director’s bodyguard was crossing the big room, walking fast, nearly running. He arrived at their table.

“What’s wrong?” the director asked. “Is it Sir Edward?”

“Yes, sir,” the agent replied. “Please follow me, and let’s move quickly.”

Everyone left the table and followed the agent from the dining room, drawing stares from other patrons. They entered a kitchen area, then came to a large door with an EXIT sign above it.

“What’s happened?” the director asked.

“Please wait here just a moment, sir,” the agent said. He walked out the door and returned a few seconds later. “Please hurry, your car is waiting.”

Carpenter followed the three men into one of the black SUVs, and it drove away quickly.

“Now tell me what’s happened,” the director said.

Carpenter thought she knew what had happened. She got out her phone.

Stone and Dino were finishing dinner at Elaine’s when Dino’s cell phone went off.

“Bacchetti,” he said into the phone. He listened for a moment, then spoke. “I’m on it. You on your cell phone? Don’t go back to where you came from, go somewhere else. I’ll get back to you.” He hung up.

Stone looked at Dino. “What’s wrong? You don’t look good.”

“It looks like . . .” His phone rang again. “Bacchetti. . . . Yes, sir, I’ve just heard. I have men on their way. . . . Yes, sir, I understand how this looks. I’ll be there personally in ten minutes. . . . Yes, sir, I understand.” He hung up. “Come on,” he said to Stone, and they both ran for the door.

They were in the rear seat of Dino’s car, headed downtown with the siren going before Dino spoke again. “Don’t let anybody slow you down,” he said to the driver, then he got out his cell phone again.

“Wait a minute, Dino,” Stone said. “What’s going on?”

“Looks like your client just popped Sir Edward Fieldstone in the men’s room at the Four Seasons.” Dino dialed a number. “This is Bacchetti. I want four homicide detectives, a crime-scene team, and twelve uniforms at the Four Seasons, on East Fifty-second Street, now. Close the block, don’t let anyone into the restaurant, but let the patrons out as they finish dinner. Screen off the men’s room, and don’t let anybody in there until I’m on the scene and say so. I arrive in six minutes.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Stone said, sinking back into the seat.

“So you had this all fixed, huh?” Dino said.

“At the Four Seasons?” Stone moaned. “Holy shit.”

“That about sums it up for me,” Dino said. “I just had the commissioner on the phone, and if he ever finds out that I was involved in that little business of yours in Bryant Park I’ll be walking a beat in the far reaches of the Bronx for the rest of my career.”

“I don’t believe this,” Stone said. “It was all fixed—everything.”

“I like your idea of all fixed,” Dino said. “Call your client.”

“What?”

“Call her. You’ve got her cell phone number.”

“What am I supposed to say to her?”

“Ask her what she’s going to do next.”

“Why do you think she’ll tell me?”

“Just ask her. Go ahead, call.” Dino handed Stone his cell phone.

Stone dialed the number, which he now knew by heart, while Dino stuck his ear next to Stone’s.

“Yes?” she said.

“It’s Stone. What have you done?”

“They didn’t send the money.”

“Of course they sent it. I confirmed it. Didn’t you call the bank?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t the bank. It was obviously one of Sir Edward’s people. They lied to me and to you, Stone. I had it confirmed twice that the money never arrived.”

“You’ve got to stop this, Marie-Thérèse,” he said.

“I’ve no intention of stopping,” she replied. “They broke their agreement, and now they’re fair game.” She hung up.

Dino snatched his cell phone back and pressed redial long enough to get the number.

“What are you doing?” Stone asked. “That was a conversation with a client.”

“A client who has just announced her intention of committing a crime,” Dino replied. “Your obligation now is to report that to the police and render whatever assistance you can, which you have just done.” He called another number. “This is Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti at the Nineteenth Precinct,” he said. “I want a wall-to-wall surveillance on the following cell phone number.” He read out the number. “Nail it down in a hurry and call me back with a location. Highest priority. Do not—repeat—do not attempt to detain the holder of the cell phone.” He hung up. “I’m going to nail the bitch,” he said.

“What else can I do to help?” Stone asked.

“Think. Think of another way to get to her. Do you know where she’s sleeping?”

“No.”

“No idea at all? Hotel? Apartment? Safe house?”

“I have no idea. The only thing I have is the cell phone number, and you have that now.”

“I hope to God it’s enough,” Dino said. “Did I mention that at the time she shot Sir Edward, he and Carpenter were having dinner with the director of the FBI?”

“Oh, shit.”

“That’s right, pal.”

The car was waved through a roadblock at Fifty-second and Park, then screeched to a halt in front of the Four Seasons. Stone and Dino got out of the car.

“Stay with me,” Dino said, “and keep your mouth shut.”

“What could I possibly say?” Stone replied.