Hot Mahogany

2

Stone thought Lance looked as though he needed a drink.

“Can I get you a drink, Lance?”

“Thank you, no. We’ve got a flap on – two agents missing in Afghanistan – and I have a meeting with the director in two hours.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“I have to make a recommendation,” Lance said. “We think we know where they are: Do we send in more people to get them and risk the lives of a hundred men, or do we call in an air strike and kill everybody.”

“Including the two agents?”

“That’s the decision. There’s a chopper waiting for me at the West Side helipad. That’s why I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Deal with what?”

“My brother, Barton.”

“Start at the beginning, Lance.”

“My brother is four years older than I. Barton has been a star all his life: In school, in sports, wherever he went, he was always the star. Our mother died in childbirth with me. When I was twelve, our father died, and Barton became a surrogate father. He joined the Marines during the war in Vietnam, right out of Harvard; got a commission, led a platoon. I was at Harvard then. By the time it was over he was a colonel, commanding a regiment. Nobody in the Marines had advanced so quickly since World War Two. He was sent to the War College and told he would be a general before long, perhaps a future chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

“Sounds like a spectacular career.”

“It was, until he abruptly resigned his commission and disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“Nobody could find him. I tried and failed. When I was giving my commencement speech at my graduation I looked down and saw him in the audience, but when the thing was over, he had disappeared again. I didn’t see him again until tonight.”

“So he abandoned you when you were in college?”

“Not entirely. My fees were paid, and a generous check arrived every month from a trust he had set up to receive my inheritance, since I was not yet of age. I wrote to him in care of the bank, but my letter was returned.”

“But you heard from him tonight?”

“Not exactly. I had a call earlier this evening from a hospital in New York, saying that the police had found him, three days ago, unconscious, on the street. He had been beaten and, apparently, robbed, since he had no money or identification. His wristwatch had been taken, too. He was unconscious for around thirty hours, and when he woke, he didn’t know who he was. The police tried to identify him, and today they finally got a match on his fingerprints and got hold of his service record, where I was listed as his next of kin. Somebody at the Pentagon recognized my name and called me.”

“Has Barton recovered his memory?”

“Somewhat. He knows his name, he remembers me, but not much else. No one has been able to find an address for him, since his wallet was stolen. That’s why I need your help.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“His doctor told me that this sort of amnesia is usually temporary; the memory comes back in bits and pieces. It’s a good sign that he has begun to remember. The hospital had to discharge him, since he has recovered from the beating and he has a next of kin. They released him to me tonight. But I can’t take him back to Langley with me, not in the middle of this crisis.”

“Do you want me to find him a hotel?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea just yet; he needs to regain his memory before he can be left alone.”

“I suppose I could put him up at my house for a couple of days,” Stone said.

“Thank you, Stone. I don’t think he’ll be any trouble; he’s quite docile. I’d also like you, perhaps with Dino’s help, to find out where he lives and, when he recovers himself, take him to his home.”

“But you don’t have any idea at all where he lives?”

Lance shook his head. “None.” He looked at his watch. “There’s a car waiting to take me to the helipad. Come and meet Barton.” He got up and led Stone into the main dining room.

Barton Cabot was sitting at his table, talking in a companionable way with Elaine, who was sitting with him.

“Stone,” Lance said, “this is my brother.”

Barton rose and extended his hand. “Barton Cabot,” he said. “Elaine and I were just catching up.”

“You know Elaine?” Lance asked.

“He’s an old customer,” Elaine said. “Haven’t seen him for at least twenty years.”

“I remember being here,” Barton said, “but not how I got here or why.”

“That’s good,” Lance said. He sat down and turned to his brother. “Barton, I have to return to my office right now, but Stone, here, who is a good friend, is going to put you up at his house for a few days. You’ll be very comfortable there.” He slipped a card and some money into his jacket pocket. “My number is there, if you need to reach me. We’ll catch up in a few days.”

Barton nodded. “It’s very good of you, Stone, to put me up,” he said. “After all, I’m a perfect stranger, even to myself.”

Stone shrugged. “Any brother of Lance’s.”

Lance stood up and motioned for Stone to follow him. “I’m very grateful for this, Stone,” he said as they walked toward the door. He took a card from his pocket and scribbled a number on the back. “That’s my cell number,” he said. “I’ll call you tomorrow to see how he is, but if there’s any sort of emergency, you can reach me, night or day, at that number. He seems to be about your size; can you loan him some clothes?”

“Sure, but first let him have some dinner, then I’ll get him home and to bed.” They shook hands, and Lance went outside, got into a black SUV at the curb and was driven away.

Stone turned and went back to Barton Cabot’s table. As he passed his own table he heard Genevieve and Dino.

“If you would just tell me what this is about,” Dino was pleading.

“You know what it’s about,” Genevieve replied.

Stone kept walking. He sat down with Elaine and Barton and ordered some pasta, and the three of them had a quiet chat for a while. Barton kept up nicely, offered an opinion once in a while, and was charming, even witty. But he said nothing that seemed to require any direct memory of his circumstances.

Stone gave Barton his card, and he tucked it into a jacket pocket. “Thank you, Stone,” he said.

Well, Stone thought, at least he can remember my name. He excused himself to go to the men’s room, and when he returned, both Barton and Elaine were no longer at the table. He saw Elaine sitting up front with some customers and walked up to her. “Where’s Barton?” he asked.

“He left,” she said. “Got into a cab. I put his dinner on your tab.”

Stone hurried outside and looked up and down Second Avenue. There was no sign of Barton Cabot.

“Oh, shit,” he said aloud to himself.