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                        “You two had quite a little heart-to-heart, didn’t you?” Stone asked. “Why hasn’t he told me any of this? He’s certainly had the opportunity.”

                        “Because he doesn’t trust you, dummy; you work for Hedger, don’t you? He’d like to have Hedger shitting in a bucket somewhere and you for an accessory. Jones and his buddy Cricket were apparently two of Throckmorton’s favorite people.”

                        “Jesus, I’m never going to get out of this country,” Stone said.

                        “That’s a possibility,” Dino agreed. “What we’ve got to do is find out what’s going on here, so we can tell Throckmorton, and then he can lock up the perpetrators, except for you.”

                        “Hedger is my client; I can’t help lock him up.”

                        “What’s the matter, don’t you enjoy putting away bad guys anymore? Where’s the cop in you?”

                        “He’s still there, but so is the lawyer.”

                        Dino sighed. “You’re hopeless.”

                 Chapter 42

                        DINO WENT TO GET DRESSED, AND Stone shaved and showered. He was tying his tie when the satellite phone rang.

                        “It’s Hedger.”

                        “Good morning.”

                        “You said you’d have a list of the people at table twelve.”

                        “Right, let me get it.” Stone retrieved the list, the only fruit of his aborted dinner with Arrington. “Want me to read you the names?”

                        “Yes.”

                        Stone did so.

                        “It’s the Israeli cultural attaché,” Hedger said.

                        “Why do you think so?”

                        “Because the governments of Sweden, Australia, Germany, and Belgium do not usually participate in kidnapping innocent Americans off the streets of London. But I wouldn’t put it past the Israelis. What’s his name?”

                        Stone consulted the list. “David Beth Alachmy.”

                        “Holy shit.”

                        “Do you know him?”

                        “Just of him; he’s very smart, very tough. And his very presence in London means that he’s the new chief of station for the Mossad, the Israeli intelligence service. He’s so new in town that my people didn’t know yet.”

                        “Then the two ‘Greeks’ were Israelis?”

                        “Probably. You said you had a contact in the London police; why don’t you ask him?”

                        “He and I are not on cordial terms at the moment.”

                        “Why not?”

                        “He thinks I was involved in the murder of the two Israelis.”

                        “Why would he think that?”

                        “Because one of them was wearing my raincoat.”

                        “How the hell—”

                        “I took off the raincoat when I was doing my little survey of Lance Cabot’s house, and apparently when I left, I picked up the wrong coat. The murderer dressed one of the two corpses in mine.”

                        “Oh, swell, now you’ve come to the attention of the local police.”

                        “You could say that.”

                        “That greatly reduces your value to me.”

                        “You expect me to feel guilty about that? Let me remind you that I came to their attention while trying to get information for you.”

                        “In the old days, we’d have just shot you; as it is, I’ll have to fire you.”

                        “As you wish—you’ll recall that I’ve already resigned once.”

                        “This time let’s make it permanent; I can’t have anything more to do with you.”

                        “I’m afraid you’re going to be stuck with a continuing hotel bill.”

                        “Why is that? As far as I’m concerned, you can get on the next airplane out of here.”

                        “Not at the moment; the police have taken my passport. When I went to the airport yesterday to, ah, see off a friend, they dragged me out and sent me back to the Connaught.”

                        “Well, as far as I’m concerned, pal, you’re on your own.”

                        “You can discuss it with the accounting department at Woodman and Weld,” Stone said. “And while you’re at it, remember that I’ve been on double my hourly rate for a while.”

                        “Not anymore; as I said, you’re fired.” Hedger hung up.

                        Dino came into the room, dressed. “Who was that?”

                        “Hedger; when he heard the police were interested in me, he fired me.”

                        “Well, I hope you don’t still feel any loyalty to him.”

                        “He’s not my client anymore.”

                        “So fuck him and the horse he rode in on.”

                        “Yep.”

                        “Let’s call Throckmorton and tell him who beat up Bobby Jones.”

                        “He already knows Hedger was behind it; Ted Cricket would have told him; he just can’t prove that Hedger sicced the hoods onto Jones.”

                        “Oh. Well, what are you going to do today?”

                        “I don’t know; what were you going to do?”

                        “I was going to follow you around at a safe distance, to see if anybody else was following you.”

                        “Good idea; I guess I’d better go somewhere.”

                        “Got any ideas?”

                        “Why don’t I take Lance Cabot to lunch?”

                        “Someplace good, I hope.”

                        Stone picked up the phone and called Lance’s number.

                        Erica answered. “Oh, hello, Stone,” she said brightly. “How are you?”