Shakeup

6

Dino gave Stone a ride home. “What do you think of this guy Jacoby?” Dino asked.

“I’m not sure what to think of him or his story,” Stone replied.

“I’ll check him out from our end,” Dino said.

“I also don’t know what to think of a grown man who’s never been to New York City before.”

“Weird,” Dino said.

They pulled to a stop in front of Stone’s house. As he got out of the car, he saw his front door open an inch or so, then close.

“Something wrong?”

“Yes,” Stone replied. “The Secret Service is camping out here.”

“They suspect you of something?”

“No, they have instructions to maintain watches at the Carlyle and here, on the grounds that the president will be visiting often.”

“And the bad news is that you can’t get laid in your own house with them hanging around.”

“That’s it,” Stone said. “G’night.” He closed the car door, walked up the front steps and unlocked the door.

“Evening, Mr. Barrington,” a man said.

“You’re not Jeff.”

“You’re very observant. I’m Carmichael, night shift.”

“Welcome aboard, Carmichael,” Stone said. “Now listen up, because I’m going to give you some new marching orders.”

“Sir?”

“You see that door over there?” he asked, pointing to his left.

“Yes, sir. It leads to the house next door.”

“That is correct. If you open it, the first door on the right is to a small apartment, which is unoccupied. During the hours of five PM to nine AM, you and your fellow agents are confined to that apartment — that is to say, when I’m in the house. I sometimes entertain, and I don’t want to have to explain who you are. Clear?”

“It is to me, sir. I’m not sure how clear my boss will think it is.”

“If he finds it the slightest bit foggy, tell him to call me, but not during those hours, and I’ll explain it to him in terms he will understand. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Stone pointed at the door. “Good night. Sleep well. There are books there, and a TV, to keep you entertained. If anything goes wrong, I’ll hit the panic button on my alarm system.” He watched Carmichael leave, then went upstairs in the elevator. He had just gotten into bed when his cell phone rang. The calling number was blocked. “Hello?”

“Hello yourself,” the president of the United States said.

“It’s nice to hear your voice. I’ve just banished your Secret Service agents to an apartment next door, during the hours of five PM to nine AM,” Stone said.

“Those are the hours when you might be, ah, entertaining,” she said.

“You never know.”

“I understand completely, and I will convey your instructions to the head of my detail, Claire Dunne.”

“Not Bill Wright?”

“Bill got kicked upstairs to assistant director of the Secret Service. After a decent interval, he might become director.”

“Congratulate him for me, after a decent interval.”

“I’ll do that. Are you feeling a little... shall we say, itchy?”

“Most of the time, with you way down there and me way up here.”

“Well, I may be able to get to New York next week. If I do, I’ll come give you a good scratch.”

“At last, something to live for!”

She laughed heartily. “Same here.”

“Tell me,” he said. “What do you think of Deborah Myers?”

“Little Debby? That’s what they call her at her department.”

“One and the same.”

“I found her efficient, businesslike. She didn’t waste my time, and I like that quality in people.”

“Well, I have further to report on Little Debby.”

“Oh, good! Tell me!”

Stone told her everything Jacoby had said.

“Wow, that’s quite a story,” she said, when he was through. “So, you’re saying that my nominee for secretary of commerce may have hired somebody to do in his wife?”

“In light of what I just told you, it seems a possibility.”

“Now I have to wonder if I should continue his confirmation process in the Senate.”

“Seems logical to wonder that.”

“It’s more than that. Given what you’ve told me, it’s mandatory, even if I think he’s not guilty.”

“Ah, politics,” Stone said.

“I’ve always thought it easy to make decisions, but it gets harder when you’re dealing with contradictory information.”

“If what Jacoby is suggesting is true, Clark being cleared in the investigation isn’t really so important, is it? Especially, when his girlfriend is conducting the investigation.”

“You’re quite right. Mr. Clark will remove himself from consideration and be back at his home in New York in time for dinner tomorrow night. I’ll get him a lift in a helicopter; he’ll like that.”

“So what brings you to New York next week?” he asked, since the subject of Clark was now closed.

“I haven’t decided yet, but I’ll think of something.”

“What sort of telephone are you talking on?”

“A burner. I had some at home. Nobody is listening in.”

“I certainly hope not; especially when we’re talking about scratching itches.”

“Certainly not.”

“Have you given any thought to how we’re going to manage this assignation?”

“Well, I don’t think it can happen at the Carlyle. Too many people involved.”

“Perhaps you should be driven here in a plain-looking vehicle, and just drive into my garage.”

“That sounds doable, if I can get into the vehicle without being noticed.”

“Wear a disguise.”

“What do you recommend?”

“How about a burka?”

She roared. “Wonderful. It will cover every inch of me, won’t it?”

“I think that’s the intention. Don’t worry, I’ll remove it for you.”

“Now, that I will look forward to,” she said. “It just occurred to me that I don’t need to wear anything under a burka, do I?” She hung up, leaving Stone to imagine that.