“Thank you for coming up,” he said briskly. “Sorry to be so cloak-and-dagger, but from what our mutual friend, Sam, told me, you’ve picked up a rather elaborate tail.” His accent was terribly upper-class.
“It seems so.”
“My name is Mason.” He didn’t offer to shake hands. Instead, he went to the bar, poured himself a Scotch, no ice, then sat down opposite Stone. “Sounds as though you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in something.”
“How much did our friend tell you?”
“Why don’t you tell me the whole thing from the very start?”
“Why don’t you tell me what you already know? It would save me repeating myself.”
Mason smiled tightly. “You’re a cautious chap, aren’t you?”
Stone shrugged.
“Apparently, you think somebody wants to sell something he shouldn’t be selling to someone who shouldn’t be buying it. That sum it up?”
“Pretty much.”
“And you’ve fallen out with Stan Hedger, whom you don’t trust anymore, right?”
“Pretty much.”
“But you came to London at his request.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve attracted the attention of the police. How, may I ask?”
“You may have read in the papers about two gentlemen found dead in the trunk of a car in Hyde Park?”
“I heard of it less than an hour after they were discovered. Are you connected to that incident in some way?”
“One of them was wearing my raincoat.”
Mason burst out laughing. “Goodness, that would put the coppers onto you, wouldn’t it. Who’s the man in charge, if you know his name?”
“Detective Inspector Evelyn Throckmorton.”
“Oh, yes, he’s all right.”
“I was already acquainted with him.”
“How?”
“I used to be a police detective in New York; a friend of mine on the force introduced me to him.”
“Nice to have an introduction in a strange city, isn’t it? Well, I think you should forget about the detective inspector and put your trust in me, from here on in,” Mason said. “Sam thought so, too.”
“All right.”
Carpenter got up, went to a briefcase on a table, took out a small tape recorder, set it on the coffee table, and switched it on; then she sat back and prepared to listen.
Mason made a motion that Stone should continue.
Stone looked at the recorder, then at Carpenter, then Mason. He shook his head slowly.
Mason leaned forward and switched off the recorder. “My, my, you are cautious, aren’t you?”
Stone nodded. “I wouldn’t like to hear this conversation played back to me in a courtroom someday.”
“Entirely understandable,” Mason said. “You’re a lawyer, Sam tells me.”
“Right.”
“Well, let me put your mind at rest, Mr. Barrington; Carpenter and I are not the police; the organization we work for conducts its business without reference to the police, unless we need them for some small chore or other. Tell me, just between us. Do you believe that you may have committed a crime while in Britain?”
“I didn’t shoot those two men, if that’s what you mean.”
“Anything else? Drug smuggling? Rape? Incest? Cross the street without looking both ways?”
“No, nothing.”
“You didn’t boot poor James Cutler off that yacht, did you?”
“No.”
“That’s what I heard; heard you did your damnedest to save the poor chap.”
“I got wet.”
Mason leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and his voice changed, lowered, became friendlier. “Relax, Stone,” he said. “We’re here to help. Start at the beginning, now.”
Stone took a deep breath and, once more, started at the beginning.
Chapter 45
WHEN STONE HAD FINISHED TELLING them everything, Mason just stared at him for a long moment. “Extraordinary,” he drawled.
Stone looked at Carpenter; she nodded.
“Rather,” she said.
He wasn’t sure whether this meant they didn’t believe him. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“Well, let me tell you a few things: First, David Beth Alachmy is the new Mossad station chief in London; old Stan was right about that; second, the two chaps in the car were Beth Alachmy’s men; third, the abduction and interrogation of you by Beth Alachmy and his thugs was way, way out of bounds, and I will see that he is suitably punished for it.”
“Thank you, but I don’t really care about that,” Stone replied. “I just want to get this thing over with and get back to New York.”
“Our sentiments exactly,” Mason said. “I hope we can have you out of here in just a few days.”
“Thank you.”
“We’re aware of Lance Cabot and his little consulting business, but this is the first we’ve heard of Ali and Sheila; we’ll be looking into them.”
“Fine.”
“Oh, I assume you do actually have the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars that Cabot wants for his project?”
“Well, yes, in a brokerage account in New York.”
“I think the very first thing you’ll want to do is have that transferred to the offshore account, as Cabot requested.”