“I don’t know. I hear you’re keeping your hand in, so to speak.”
“Oh, you can do all right, if your tastes run to sixty-year-old widows.”
“I’ll bet.”
“They’re not accustomed to a lot of attention.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Of course, the only place you could meet them is in the village store, this time of year, the yacht club being closed.”
“Maybe if I continue to wear my disguise,” Jack said.
They had dinner, and Jack enjoyed himself. It was nearly the only conversation he’d had since he was dead.
29
Stone was doing the Times crossword the following morning when the phone rang.
“Yes?”
“It’s Rawls. This late enough for you?”
“Eight o’clock,” Stone said. “That’s better than six.”
“I had your boy over to dinner last night.”
“And what did you think of him?”
“A bright young fellow, though not all that young. Everybody looks like a young fellow, when you’re my age.”
“Did you interrogate him?”
“I prefer to give a man some whiskey, then let him debrief himself. They don’t feel cornered that way.”
“What did you learn that I don’t know?”
“Almost everything,” Rawls said. “Looks like Lance Cabot sent him up here to deal with Valery Majorov, and somehow things went belly-up.”
“How’d that happen?”
“Majorov was laying for him, but he picked the wrong victim.”
“Who was the victim that got the two in the head?”
“Your boy’s partner, so to speak. They had met only once, at the Farm, and Lance teamed them up.”
“So Lance knows everything about everything?”
“He didn’t at first. He thought Jack had taken the bullets.”
“Who did Lance want to take the bullets?”
“Lance wanted a clean hit on Majorov, but he didn’t get what he wanted. Instead, Jack’s backup man, a guy named Jeff Burns, took the lead.”
“And got himself cremated and scattered as a result?”
“Yeah, but Lance, apparently, didn’t know that until after the remains had been dealt with.”
“And when, in this scenario, did Jack emerge as the survivor?”
“Not until he was outta here, and back in New York.”
“So Lance was twice surprised?”
“He was. He’d already written a letter of consolation to Jack’s mother, but she turned out to be deceased. The letter was returned to Lance as undeliverable, and now it has to be forwarded to Burns’s mother.”
“So who’s the bad guy in all this, if not Lance?”
“Valery Majorov, that’s who.”
“And he thinks he killed Jack?”
“As best as Jack can determine. I mean, two in the head is dead to a guy like Majorov. He’s got somebody bleeding at his feet, that’s where he expected Jack to be.”
“Okay, I buy all that. But why did Majorov want Jack to be the dead guy?”
“Because in London a few years back, when Jack was working for your cousin Dick, he embarrassed Majorov in a major way — I’m not sure how — and Valery has a real good memory, never forgets anything, like an elephant.”
“If his memory is so good, wouldn’t he want confirmation that he offed the right guy?”
“I think we have to assume, for the moment, that Majorov thinks he killed Jack. Nobody has tipped him off, yet, about the identity confusion. This is why Jack is sporting a disguise.”
“Why don’t we assume — just for the hell of it — that Majorov has somehow figured it out. Does he still want to kill Jack?”
“He does.” Rawls took a breath. “And you.”
“Me? What do I have to do with all of this?”
“Apparently, Majorov just automatically assumes that anything bad that happens to him within, say, a thousand miles of your current location, is your fault.”
“He holds a grudge, does he?”
“With a death grip. And my memory is that you have fouled up Majorov’s existence half a dozen times. Or so.”
“So I’ve been watching the wrong guy’s ass all this time?”
“It would seem that the ass to worry about is the one you can hold on to with both hands.”
“Any advice?”
“I think Jack came up here to find Majorov and kill him. Why don’t you just give him time to do his work? And maybe get out of town while he’s at it. And not here in Maine.”
“That sounds like sane advice,” Stone said.
“Sanity is my hallmark,” Ed said. “Though there’s them that think otherwise.”
“England is nice this time of year,” Stone suggested.
“Yeah, but not London. Majorov knows too many people there who know you. Same for Paris.”
“You have a point.”
“I usually do, and England seems like a good choice, as long as you stay out of the city and stay indoors. But then, you’ve always been a great indoorsman, Stone.”
“Will you excuse me, Ed? I have some packing to do.” Stone hung up.
30
Stone didn’t have to pack much. After all, having a wardrobe at each of his houses was sort of the point, wasn’t it? What needed to accompany him was a suitable person of the female persuasion. His first choice would have been Holly, but she traveled with one hell of an entourage. The only other choice was Vanessa, but she was loose-lipped, so he wouldn’t be able to tell her anything. He called her.
“This is Vanessa.”
“It’s Stone. How would you like to get away for a week or two?”
“To where?”
“A pleasant place, the name of which you may not know, until we arrive, and maybe not even then.”
“I like mysterious. How did you know that?”
“I guessed.”
“And when do we depart?”
“My car will be at your door in sixty minutes.”
“Holy shit! You expect a grown-up girl to be able to pack for an unknown destination and get down to the sidewalk in an hour?”
“Those are the arrangements.”
“What clothes will I need?”
“Country, outdoorsy, along with a couple of nice dresses, in case somebody asks us to dinner — or we ask them.”
“I think I can do it. I’ll need to call the office.”
“Call them from the car. Oh, and bring a passport, in case anybody gets curious about your nationality.”
“I have to hang up now and start throwing things at suitcases. Any weight limitation?”
“Three large cases and a hanging bag and a cosmetics case.”
“I’m wasting time talking to you.”
“One hour.”
“I know!” She slammed down the phone.
Stone had been prepared to give her an extra half hour, but, in the circumstances, her panic was his friend. He buzzed Joan.
“Yes, sir?”
“Tell Fred we’re leaving for Teterboro in fifty-five minutes.”
“So we’re going somewhere?”
“Not we, me.”
“Of course. I had forgotten that it is a condition of my employment that I never get to go anywhere.”
“I need whatever pounds sterling are in the safe, and some real dollars, too.”
“Sandwiches for travel?”
“Not necessary. Oh, call the Strategic Services hangar and tell them we need the airplane out of the hangar, wheels up in an hour. Oh, and you’d better let Faith know, too, since she’s the pilot and needs to round up a copilot. I can fly right seat, if necessary.”
“Destination?”
“Windward Hall, but don’t tell a soul, except Faith, friendly or unfriendly. Tell Faith to expect to be gone for two weeks. Gotta run.” He hung up. He ran for a shower and his clothes.