Sex, Lies & Serious Money

48

Stone expertly tied his black bow tie, slipped into his dinner jacket, and stuffed a white silk pocket square into the breast pocket, then he stepped out of his dressing room and found Holly, all five feet ten inches of her, sans heels, in an emerald silk dress that set off her red hair and skin color.

“You’re actually ready?”

“I don’t believe in futzing around for an hour while the gent taps his foot and looks at his watch.”

“Bless you. Let’s get out of here.” They took the elevator to the ground floor and exited the front door to find Fred waiting beside the Bentley. A moment later they were under way.

“Damn it,” Stone muttered under his breath, “I forgot to arm the security system.”

“Don’t worry, sir,” Fred said, “I’ll do it when I return to the house.”

“Thank you, Fred.”

They were set down at the garage entrance to the Fairleigh and took the elevator to the top floor. A uniformed butler let them into the penthouse apartment, and Laurence came over to greet them.

Stone introduced Holly. “I see you’ve hired a butler.”

“Mike Freeman provided him, just for the evening. Come, I want you to meet my mother and stepfather. They arrived yesterday from England.” He took them to an elegant-looking couple who were occupying a sofa before the fireplace.

“Stone, these are Derek Fallowfield and my mother, Dorothy. Stone Barrington and his law firm are my principal advisors.”

Hands were shaken.

“I hope you had a good flight,” Stone said.

“We’re still a little jet-lagged, but Laurence has made us very comfortable in the flat downstairs,” Dorothy said.

“Yes, I had that done up for them,” Laurence said. “Excuse me, I have other guests to greet.”

While Dorothy and Holly chatted, Derek pulled Stone aside. “Look here, Barrington,” he said quietly, “I’m very concerned about all the money Laurence is spending. My calculations put his recent spending at more than a hundred million dollars. Did he really win enough to be all right for that?”

“He’s quite able to handle it,” Stone said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” Derek said, snagging another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “This really is quite an establishment, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is. When Laurence bought it, it was the finest property on the market.”

“The boy has turned out to be smarter than I thought,” Derek said. “I thought he was going to spend his life teaching English and art history to schoolboys and playing jazz piano.”

“He has many interests,” Stone said.

“He’s taking us to Santa Fe to see his new house there,” Derek said. “Where in God’s name is Santa Fe?”

“New Mexico.”

“Is that in Mexico?”

“No, it’s an American state, just south of Colorado.”

“Ah, yes, Colorado.”

“As it happens, I’ve just bought a property there myself, so perhaps we’ll see you while you’re in town.”

“We’d be delighted. Who is the young woman you’re with? She’s a stunner in that dress.”

“She’s the national security advisor to the President of the United States.”

“Good God! Do all your civil servants look like that?”

“Hardly any of them,” Stone said. “Holly is the exception. Before her current job she was a deputy director of the CIA.”

“I’m slightly acquainted with the head of our MI6,” Derek said, “and I think she’s attractive, but not like Miss Barker.”

“Dame Felicity Devonshire?”

“You know her?”

“We’re neighbors down in Hampshire. She’s just across the Beaulieu River from me.”

“I belong to a yacht club down there, on the Isle of Wight — the Royal Yacht Squadron.”

“So do I.”

“My word, Barrington, you do get around!”

“So does your stepson.”

“Yes, that’s quite a girl he’s got. We’re very impressed with her.”

“He stole her from Ralph Lauren,” Stone said.

Irv had watched from across the street as the Bentley drove away. He got out his cell phone and dialed Curly. “They’ve left the house, and he was wearing a tuxedo, so they’re out for the evening. Now’s the time.”

“We’re just around the corner. Be there in a minute.”

Shortly, a gray van drove up, and Curly got out and got into Irv’s car. “How do you want to do this?”

“I think we’ll go in through the downstairs street entrance. It’s more sheltered than the front stoop.”

“You’re sure you can handle the lock?”

“Don’t worry, it’ll take a couple of minutes, but I’ve cracked these Israeli jobs before.”

“I’ll give you a head start while I get my handcart out of the van.”

Irv approached the house while Curly went back to the van.

“I want to get away from here,” Sofia/Maria said.

“Chill, Maria, we’re good to go. Barrington has left the house wearing a tuxedo. Now make three right turns and pull over as near to the southwest corner as you can get.” He set the folding cart on the pavement, and she drove away. Curly crossed the street, looking around for cops, and found Irv crouched at the bottom of the little flight of stairs that led to Barrington’s office.

“How’s it going, Irv?”

“It’s going. Keep quiet, I need to concentrate.”

Curly sat down next to him and watched him manipulate his lock picks. Suddenly, the door was open.

“Come on,” Irv said. “We’ve got about thirty seconds before the alarm blows, maybe a minute.”

“I know where the box is,” Curly said. “Follow me.”

Ten blocks away, a bored security technician named Sid manned a bank of monitors in the basement of a small office building. He had been at work for half an hour and had ordered a pizza for his dinner and had changed into his Strategic Services coveralls, dumping the contents of his pockets on his desk. He usually worked with a partner, but the man had called in sick.

He sat down and checked the condition of the systems he was monitoring. Suddenly, an alarm began to beep. He switched his monitors to an apartment a few blocks away but saw nothing. He looked up the phone number and called.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice said.

“This is Sid, at Strategic Services. I have an alarm at your place. Is everything all right? Do you need the police?”

“It’s my fault, I entered my old code before I thought about it.”

“What is your cancellation code, please?”

“Black Cat.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll cancel your alarm. Let us know if we can be of service.”

His phone rang. “This is Sid.”

“This is Domino’s. Our guy is at the service door with your pizza.”

“I’ll be right there.” He grabbed some money from his desk and trotted down the hall to the door. He opened it and leaned against it while he paid the pizza guy. It was heavily sprung and took an effort to keep open. Then his foot slipped; he pitched forward, and the heavy door slammed behind him. He went to his pocket for the keys, then remembered that they were on his desk with the contents of his pockets.

“Oh, shit,” he said to himself.