WHEN THE GUESTS had gone, Stone went into the kitchen and found Bob Cantor. “How did it go?” he asked.
“I’ve got clear prints of the thumb and four fingers of his right hand,” Bob said, handing Stone a sheet of paper. “I’ve scanned and printed them for you.”
“Great job,” Stone said. “Talk to you later.” Stone went back into the living room and handed Felicity the prints. “All five fingers, right hand,” he said.
“Perfect,” she replied. “I’ll get them checked in the morning.”
They went upstairs and undressed for bed. “Well,” he asked, “what did you think about Hackett?”
“I was mesmerized,” she said.
“Was there anything about him that reminded you of Stanley Whitestone?”
“Everything and nothing. First I would think that I had detected some word or movement that was Whitestone, then it would be gone, submerged in Hackett’s personality. He gave a bravura performance.”
“So you think it was a performance?”
“At least to the extent that everyone performs at a good dinner party, and, by the way, it was a good dinner party. You’re an excellent host.”
“I suppose your people will be checking out this Tim Timmons?”
“Oh, certainly,” she said, “and I expect we’ll find that the facts will jibe with Hackett’s account of them.”
“Then why bother?”
“Because everyone makes mistakes, even James Hackett, and when he does, I want to be on top of things.”
“I have to tell you that I’m convinced Hackett is who he says he is.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody could so completely morph his identity into that of another. I mean, you knew Whitestone, and Hackett had no hesitation in talking to you all evening.”
“You know the films of Laurence Olivier, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“That’s what Olivier did-submerge himself into character-and I think that’s what Hackett has done. I think Hackett is the Olivier of liars.”
“What is Whitestone’s background?”
“You’ve heard some of it: Eton and Cambridge, recruited there.”
“Who was his father?”
“The bastard son of a marquess who was sent into the church and served out his years as a small-parish vicar.”
“Has all that been substantiated?”
“Of course. When one is at both Eton and Cambridge, one leaves indelible footprints that anyone can follow.”
“Hackett says that when Whitestone met him, seeking employment, he said he was Harrow and Sandhurst, son of an army colonel.”
“A person with such a background would leave equally indelible footprints and if he lied would easily be found out. It is impossible to believe that Whitestone would have invented such an easily penetrated legend.”
“What about Hackett’s ‘legend,’ as you put it?”
“More difficult, at least his early years. The Paratroop Regiment is another thing, though. After all, they keep records.”
“And you’ve already read them?”
“It’s being looked into,” Felicity said.
Stone reflected that he would not enjoy Felicity looking into some lie of his own.
34
Stone was at his desk the following morning when Joan buzzed him. “Mr. Jim Hackett on one,” she said.
Stone picked up the phone. “Good morning, Jim,” he said.
“A perfectly wonderful dinner last night, Stone, and with very fine company.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Jim. We were happy to have you.”
“Dame Felicity turned out to be much more… approachable than I had surmised from our first meeting.”
“A couple of glasses of Champagne will do that.”
“Well, thanks again. Now to business: you’re mine for the next two, two and a half weeks. I’ve cleared this with Bill Eggers, so clear your decks.”
“All right. What do I do?”
“Someone is sitting in your outer office at this moment who will explain everything. I probably won’t speak to you again until you’ve completed your assignment, so have a good time.”
“I’ll try,” Stone said, but Hackett had already hung up.
Joan buzzed. “A Ms. Ida Ann Dunn to see you, representing Mr. James Hackett.”
“Send her in,” Stone said.
A handsome woman of about fifty entered his office carrying a satchel and followed by Joan, who was carrying two other cases. “Good morning, Mr. Barrington,” she said, dropping her heavy satchel on his desk and opening it.
“Please call me Stone.”
“And you may call me Ida Ann,” she replied, hefting a large three-ring notebook from her satchel and dropping it with a thump before him. “Over the next five days or so, you will memorize this,” she said. The cover read Operators Manual, Cessna 510. “And this,” she said, placing a smaller book on top of it, the title of which was Garmin G-1000 Cockpit Reference Guide.
“After the five-day study period with me, you will meet Mr. Dan Phelan, who will instruct you in the actual flying of the Cessna 510. After thirty or forty hours in the airplane, you’ll take a check ride with an FAA examiner, who will issue you a type rating for the 510. Any questions? No, never mind. I’ll ask the questions; you start reading.”
Stone opened the operator’s manual. “Why am I doing this?” he asked.
“If you’ll forgive me, Mr. Barrington-Stone-that’s a rather stupid question. You are doing this because Mr. Hackett is paying you to do so.”
“Of course,” Stone replied. He picked up the phone and buzzed Joan.
“Yes?”
“Clear my schedule for the next two weeks,” he said. “Make that two and a half weeks.”
“That will be easy,” Joan replied. “The only thing we have scheduled for the next two and a half weeks is a visit from the Xerox man and, probably, several visits from Herbie Fisher.”
“You deal with the first fellow, then tell Mr. Fisher I’ll be unavailable. And hold all my calls, except those of Felicity Devonshire.”
“You betcha,” she replied and hung up.
Ida Ann Dunn now had a laptop projector set up on the conference table and a screen hung on a wall. “Come over here, please, Stone, and bring the operator’s manual with you.”
Stone took a seat at the conference table, and Ida Ann began. By the time Stone was allowed to have a sandwich at the conference table, she had covered structural systems, electrical systems and lighting with slides and animation, while he kept up the pace in the manual. She ate wordlessly, flipping through her notes.
After lunch, Ida Ann covered the master warning system, the fuel system, auxiliary power system and power plant. Promptly at five p.m., Ida Ann switched off the projector and handed Stone several sheets of paper.
“Quiz time,” she said. “As you will note, the examination is multiple choice. You have forty minutes.”
“May I be excused to go to the restroom?” Stone asked.
“Be quick about it,” she replied.
Stone was quick, and then he tackled the exam.
Ida Ann ran quickly through it. “You missed a question,” she said. “Let’s review the fuel system again.”
Twenty minutes later, satisfied that he understood his error, she dismissed him, said she would see him at nine the following morning, then was gone.
Stone stood up and stretched, rubbing his neck.
“And what was that all about?” Joan asked from the doorway.
“I’m being taught to fly a jet airplane,” he said.
“At the conference table?”
“First, ground school, then flying.”
“And Hackett is paying you to do this?”
“He is. Call Eggers’s office later this week and find out how much to bill him.”
“Will do. Oh, Felicity called and said she’d meet you at Elaine’s at eight-thirty.”