“What details did he give you about the device?”
“The device is something that requires exotic metallurgy and special machine tools to make. It’s made to extremely tight tolerances. Sounds as though it’s small enough to carry around.”
“What else did he tell you about this man?”
“He has worked in the same facility for nearly thirty years and is about to retire. Apparently, he’s frittered away his savings on the ponies, and he wants to sell the device to make his retirement comfortable.”
“Ponies?” Mason asked, baffled. “Polo?”
“Horse racing,” Carpenter said to him sharply.
“This gives us nothing to go on,” Mason said. “There are factories and laboratories all over the country doing classified work. How are we going to find this man?”
“Lance said that the facility was very secret, and that it’s south and west of the restaurant, in Wiltshire,” Stone replied.
“Oh, Christ,” Carpenter said, turning pale.
“Eastover?” Mason asked.
“Shut up!” Carpenter said sharply.
Stone had the distinct impression that, for some reason, Carpenter was now in charge. Perhaps she had been from the beginning.
“What’s Eastover?” Stone asked.
“You don’t need to know,” Carpenter replied. She turned to Mason. “Listen to me very carefully: I want you to call someone in our tech department and have him call someone eminent in the related sciences that we know well. Have that person call the director at Eastover and tell him that someone is coming to see him for some advice on a technical matter. I don’t want the director to have any idea what’s going on, until you get there.”
“I understand.”
“When you arrive and are alone with the director, ask him who fits this description: long-time employee, highly classified work, a builder of devices rather than a designer, close to retirement. If he can’t come up with answers based on his own knowledge, have him call in his director of security to go through the personnel files, until you’ve identified the man. This must be done softly, softly, in such a way that does not create any alarm or gossip in the labs.” She turned to Stone. “When is the buy supposed to take place?”
“Within forty-eight hours of the time I transfer my funds to a Swiss account, which Cabot has already opened.”
Carpenter turned back to Mason. “We have forty-eight hours, probably less, to place our suspect under the most stringent surveillance—electronic, sonic, anything we can scrape up, but I don’t want any bodies anywhere near him or his residence, because if Cabot is as smart as he appears to be, that might alert him. Now, get on the phone.”
Mason whipped out a cellphone and walked into the dining room, pressing buttons.
Carpenter turned back to Stone. “When did you say you would transfer the funds?”
“Before the day was out.”
“Have you done it?”
“No.”
“Then you’d better get moving, hadn’t you?”
Stone went into the kitchen and used the phone there to call his broker in New York.
“Richardson.”
“Hank, it’s Stone Barrington.”
“Hi, Stone, what’s up? Got some more money for me?”
“No, I’m taking some out.”
“How come?”
“I can’t explain right now. How much have I got in my money market account?”
“Hang.” Stone could hear computer keys clicking. “Three hundred and ten thousand, give or take. The way the market is going, I’m getting ready to start investing it.”
Stone took out the document from the Swiss bank. “Got a pencil?”
“Yep.”
“I want you to transfer two hundred and fifty thousand to the following account number at the Charter Bank in Zurich.” He read the account number twice. “Got that?”
“I’ve got it. Listen, Stone, I can do as well for you as the Swiss, you know, probably better.”
“This is a short-term thing, Hank; I’ll have the money back in my account with you in a couple of days.”
“Is this ransom money, Stone? Has somebody been kidnapped?”
“No, nothing like that. Just do it, Hank.”
“I’m going to need written confirmation; can you fax me something?”
“In five minutes; go stand by the fax machine.” Stone hung up, then went upstairs to his room and opened his briefcase. He took out a sheet of his letterhead, wrote a letter of instructions, then took it down to James Cutler’s study and faxed it to Richardson. Then he went back into the drawing room.
Carpenter was on her cellphone, and she waved him to a seat. She ended the conversation, snapped the phone shut, and turned to Stone. “Did you get it done?”
“The money will be in Zurich within the hour.”
“Good. What are you supposed to do when it’s there?”
“Lance is to phone me on my cellphone tomorrow morning and tell me where to transfer it. I’m not going to do that, of course.”
“Why not?” she asked, alarmed.
“Are you kidding? It’s a quarter of a million dollars that I worked very hard for. You think I’m going to flush it down some cockamamy security operation I don’t really give a damn about?”
She looked miffed. “I quite understand; I’ll do something about getting hold of some funds tomorrow. Obviously, if we don’t transfer the money, Cabot isn’t going to go through with the buy.”
“He said that everything will have to be done at precise times from then on.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get the money. And we’ll put someone on his house, to keep track of him.”