There were expressions around the table ranging from disbelief to near tears.
“Wait a minute,” somebody said. “Between Democrats and Republicans we’re holding at fifty-five percent Dems to forty-six percent Reps, aren’t we?”
“Not anymore,” Alpert said. “The numbers won’t be in until the day after tomorrow, but we know the margin is narrowing. What I’m saying is, we’re on the knife’s edge of losing, and the personal conduct of the candidates could throw it either way. If either of them does or says something stupid in the next few days, it could make the difference.”
Ann spoke up. “Kate is not known for making stupid statements or behaving stupidly,” she said. “Honk, on the other hand . . .”
“Don’t count on that happening this week,” Alpert said. “Honk won’t say a word that isn’t typed in great big letters into a teleprompter—you may count on that.” He cleared his throat. “I would advise Kate to do the same.”
“Kate hates prompters,” Ann said, “and she’s very good on her feet.”
“Maybe we can find a way to slip a blunder into Honk’s prompter,” somebody said.
“Don’t you even think about doing that,” Ann said. “First of all, Kate would fire you if you tried, and second of all, getting caught at it could throw the election to Honk, and then you’d have to go to a place where I could never find you.”
“I have an aunt in darkest Mexico,” the prankster responded.
“Do yourself a favor, and leave now.”
The woman raised both hands. “Just kidding.”
“Stop kidding and get to work. We’ve got to make these last days the smoothest and most credible of the campaign,” Ann said. “Keep it high-minded and keep it straight: no missteps, no pranks, and thus, no backfires. And above all, not a single leak to the press about this poll! Everybody clear on that? If this leaks, I’ll find out who did it and personally kill that person!”
There was a murmur in the room, and the group began to disperse.
“Good, now let’s get to work.” Her cell phone rang, and she recognized Stone’s number, stepped into her office, closed the door behind her, and drew the shades, signaling to the staff that she wished to be left alone. “Hi,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.
“You sound as though you’re trying to sound cheerful,” Stone said. “And you aren’t making it.”
“Oh, God,” Ann said, her voice quavering, “I’ve got the most awful feeling we’re going to lose this thing, and I can’t tell anyone but you.”
“What’s gone wrong?”
“Nothing has gone wrong, that’s what worries me.”
“You’re worried about nothing going wrong?”
“Not exactly. We just got a new private poll, a big one that cost us a lot of money, and we’re trailing Honk among independent likely voters by eight points, with only two percent undecided, and we can’t figure out why. Kate has been brilliant, but for some reason, the very people we’re counting on are drifting away from her. Don’t breathe a word of this to anybody!”
“Certainly not. This sounds like a bad poll to me. They must have made some sort of mistake in the sampling, or something.”
“From your lips to God’s ear,” Ann said. “Tell me some good news.”
“I bought a house in Paris.”
“That is good news! I’ll have somewhere to hide from the world next week!”
“You’re not going to need a hideout, but if you did, you’d like this one. It has a little mews all to itself, in the seventh arrondissement, just off the Boulevard Saint-Germain. It’s walled off from the world, but Paris is just outside the gates.”
“It sounds heavenly. Can I come right now? I won’t even pack, I’ll just go straight to the airport and disappear forever.”
“No, you won’t, you’ll go to work as if that poll didn’t exist, and you’ll win it.”
“When are you coming home?”
“The grand opening gala is later this week. I’m getting on the Strategic Services jet immediately afterward and heading straight for Washington. Kate has offered me the Lincoln Bedroom for election night.”
“I know about that, I’ll be there, too, but down the hall.”
“Then you can sneak in and sleep with me in Abe’s bed.”
“I’d sleep with you in anybody’s bed.”
“I’ll count on that.”
“I’ve gotta run. I have three thousand things to do.”
“Then go do them. I’ll see you soon.”
—
STONE HUNG UP and sighed. That poll sounded like very bad news for Kate.
“You ready for dinner?”
“Yes!” he called back.
“Upstairs or downstairs?”
“I’ll meet you in the study!” He got into a robe and trotted down the stairs, fear for Kate replacing hunger in the pit of his stomach.
50
Stone bounded out of bed, shaved, showered, dressed, and bounded down the stairs, ready for breakfast.
“You slept well,” Holly said, dishing up eggs and bacon.
“You exhausted me,” Stone said.
“That’s a good reason.” She kissed the top of his head. “I’ve gotta run—a meeting about you at the station.”
“I’m flattered, but I don’t believe it for a moment.”
“Believe it—there’s already an office pool on whether you’ll make it as far as the grand opening of l’Arrington.”
“How are you betting?”
“I haven’t decided yet—maybe after the meeting.” She kissed him, grabbed her coat, and headed for the door. “Oh, by the way,” she called over her shoulder, “the pistol Rick loaned you is in your sock drawer.”
“Thanks!”
Stone finished his breakfast alone, then went into the living room, his sense of well-being evaporating. He picked up a book and tried to read; no use. He played some Jerome Kern on the piano; no effect. Cabin fever began to set in.
He got up and paced a bit, then, seeking fresh air, he opened the front door and stepped out into the mews. His guards were, apparently, on the boulevard side of the big doors. He walked carefully around the cobblestoned area in front of the house, then inspected the flowers growing in the center turnaround but quickly ran out of walking space. He heard the phone ring inside the house and ran back indoors to answer it, but when he picked it up, the caller had already hung up.
He collapsed into one of his new/old armchairs and wondered what to do next. Then there was a tapping on the window behind him. He looked around to see one of his guards peering inside.
“Good morning,” the man said when he opened his door. “There’s a man who shouldn’t know where you are, asking to see you, and he has a woman with him.” He handed Stone a card that read “Yves Carrier, Woodman & Weld.”
“It’s okay, you can let him in,” Stone said. “He’s from the Paris office of my law firm.”
“Right you are,” the man replied. He went to the big doors, opened the small inset door, and waved in a man and a woman. The man was young and fashionably dressed; the woman was middle-aged and motherly-looking.
Stone ushered them into the house and offered them chairs.
“I’ve brought some documents for your signature, with regard to the purchase of . . . this house, I presume?”
“You presume correctly, M’sieur Carrier.”
“Please call me Yves,” he said. “Madame Roche has come along to attest to your identity and signature. Is your passport handy?”
“I’ll get it.” Stone went upstairs and rummaged through his things until he found the passport. He also found the gun in his sock drawer and dropped it into his pocket, not that he thought Monsieur Carrier and Madame Roche represented a threat. He ran down the stairs and handed the passport to the woman, then took a seat.
She looked at him, then at the passport, then did it again. “D’accord,” she said.
Carrier began handing Stone documents; he signed them and handed them to Madame Roche, who stamped and signed them. Stone tried to read one, but it was in French.
“I must say,” Carrier said, looking around, “that you have got yourself a very good buy here. Properties of this sort in this neighborhood are going at much higher prices than you are paying.”