“Aren’t you running out of them yet?” Holly asked.
“Soon, but not yet. Lance has the authority to requisition replacements.”
“Swell,” Stone said.
“Did anybody see anything?”
“One of the drivers said the truck driver was dressed in black clothes and wearing heavy boots, like those the police assault teams wear.”
“Yeah, Lance told me his theory about Jacques Chance.”
“I don’t think it’s a theory anymore,” Stone said.
Stone took a swig of his brandy and sighed.
“What?” Holly asked.
“I was just thinking how nice home would feel at this point.”
“Not before we’ve neutralized Jacques Chance,” Rick said.
Holly looked up. “Not before I’ve worn my new dress to the l’Arrington grand opening.”
Stone’s phone rang. “Yes?”
“Are you children well?” Lance asked.
“We’re still breathing, and nothing is broken.”
“Quite a lot like last year’s incident, don’t you think?”
“Much too much like it.”
“The van justified its existence, I’m told.”
“It did indeed. How was the rest of your evening, Lance?”
“Stimulating,” Lance replied. “And we’ll say no more about it.”
“As you wish.”
“Rick will be there soon with a new one.”
“He’s already here.”
“I’ve briefed him on the situation with Jacques Chance.”
“We’ve been discussing it.”
“Quite soon, now, M’sieur Chance will have his hands full with new problems, and he will be unlikely to be further concerned with you.”
“That would be a welcome relief,” Stone said.
“And you may get some good news from home. Good night. Read the papers tomorrow morning.”
“After I’ve slept for twelve hours,” Stone said, but Lance was already gone. He hung up. “Well, Rick, Lance seems as pleased as punch about how things have gone.”
“Lance is a little twisted that way,” Rick replied. “I’ll say good night. It’s unlikely that you two will be assaulted again before morning.”
“Only until morning?” Holly asked. “Can’t you do better than that?”
“Sweet dreams,” Rick said, letting himself out.
Holly came and took Stone’s empty glass from him, led him to the bed, undressed him, and tucked him in. “Tell me,” she said, adjusting the covers, “do you often have these déjà vu/premonition things?”
“Déjà vu, yes. Doesn’t everybody? But premonitions, no. My first time.”
“Next time, try to have it a bit earlier, like, before we get into the van.”
“I’ll work on that,” Stone said, stroking her hair. “Are you really all right?”
“If I attack you in the morning, then I’m all right. Ask me then.”
“I’ll be sure and do that,” Stone said, drifting off.
37
The International New York Times arrived with breakfast. Stone searched the front page for news of Jacques Chance, but there was nothing.
Holly bit into a croissant. “Maybe the Times closes early,” she said. “Let’s try the French newspapers.”
Stone called down for the papers, and they arrived as they were finishing their coffee.
“Here we go,” Holly said, holding up a paper.
SCANDALE!
ASSASSIN! CORRUPTION! ESPIONNAGE RUSSE!
EN HAUT LIEU!
“Now, that’s more like it,” Holly said.
“May I have a translation, please?”
“Here you go: ‘Scandal! Murder! Corruption! Russian Spying!’ And all of it ‘in High Places!’ Or maybe ‘Instead of High Places!’”
“That’s pretty comprehensive, except that last one doesn’t sound quite right.”
“My French isn’t all that hot,” Holly admitted, “but what more could we—correction, Lance—ask for? Look, there’s even a mention of Howard Axelrod, a couple of paragraphs down. Apparently, it broke on his website.”
Stone scanned the front page and, alarmingly, saw his name mentioned, along with Axelrod, in a box. “What does this say?”
Holly read it a couple of times. “I can’t make much sense of it, but they use the word ‘excuses.’”
“Axelrod is making excuses for something?” Stone’s cell phone rang. “Yes?”
“Good morning,” Lance said with enthusiasm. “Seen the papers?”
“Yes, we’re looking at them right now. I think we figured out the headlines, but the text is rough going for us, with Holly’s French.”
“Have you got the Times?”
“Yes.”
“Page six, bottom half. They didn’t play it quite as big.”
The headline read “Blogger ‘Howard Axelrod’ looses salvo in the French Press.” Then, in smaller letters, “Apologizes for false rumor about Democratic nominee Katharine Lee.’” Stone read quickly. “Howard Axelrod, as he styles himself, added to his French story an apology to Katharine Lee for a rumor he published claiming that she was pregnant by a man not her husband, New York attorney Stone Barrington. Said Axelrod, ‘I relied on a source who turned out to be unreliable. In fact, he has been revealed to be a Republican provocateur who has been instrumental in airing other falsehoods about Mrs. Lee. I apologize, unreservedly, for any distress I have caused both Katharine Lee and her friend Stone Barrington by the publication of this scurrilous fabrication. Neither I nor anyone else has presented the slightest evidence that her child was fathered by anyone but her husband, the president.’”
“How does that sound, Stone?”
“It sounds just wonderful.”
“I know you must be relieved.”
“I certainly am.”
“There is, however, one more step that has to be taken to fully clear your name.”
“What’s that?”
“We need a news story by a credible, well-placed journalist.”
“And how do we do that?”
“Do you remember meeting Carla Fontana last evening? She’s the Washington bureau chief for the New York Times.”
“Yes, of course.”
“She has expressed a desire to have dinner with you this evening and interview you about this experience.”
“I can see how that could be advantageous.”
“However, she doesn’t want to be seen interviewing you, so dinner will have to be in your suite at l’Arrington. Must you ask Holly’s permission?”
“Hang on.” He covered the phone and turned to Holly. “Lance wants me to have dinner with Carla Fontana, of the Times, tonight. He thinks she will help to further clear the air.” Holly shrugged. “Also, he says I have to see her here—she doesn’t want to be seen doing this in public.”
Holly’s eyebrows shot up. “Aha! Lance wants to get you laid!”
“I don’t think that’s what he has in mind,” Stone said, and went back to the phone. “Okay, Lance, Holly doesn’t have a problem with that. What time?”
“She will present herself there at seven P.M. And if sex raises its ugly head, it can’t hurt.”
“Thanks, Lance, I’ll see her then.” He hung up.
“You see, he wants to get you into bed with Carla Fontana,” Holly said.
“He wants nothing of the sort, and please remember that this was Lance’s idea and not mine.”
“Okay, I’ll clear out for the night. I can bunk at our embassy station. But you wait, I’ll bet La Carla is in on it, too.”
“Lance says I have to do this to put an end to the story.”
“Yeah, sure,” Holly said.
38
Stone was waiting for Carla Fontana to arrive when his cell rang. “Hello?”
“Hey!”
“Hey, Ann, how are you?”
“I am just fine,” she said. “Never better, in fact. You are all over the American media, and this time, it’s a good thing.”
“I read the story in the International New York Times.”