Turbulence (Stone Barrington #46)(33)

“Thank you, Peter.”

“If you wish to transfer funds to another bank account, call me and make the request.” He took a box from the envelope, opened it, and handed it to her. Inside was an alligator checkbook and a stack of checks. “You may cash as many checks as you like, of course. You will notice that there is no account number on the checks; you will sign with an alias of your choosing, and you may call or text me and change the alias whenever you wish. Can you think of an alias?”

“Belle of the Ball,” Kelly replied, “for a start.”

Weiss made a note of the name and gave her his card which contained his full contact information. “I suggest you memorize all of this, if you can. If you need anything, call me at any hour of the day or night. The bank places many services at your disposal: If you wish to charter a yacht or send flowers or file a lawsuit, or wish anything else, it will be done for you. And that concludes our necessary business.”

They shook hands and Kelly and Stone left the bank. His car was waiting at the curb.

“Well,” Kelly said as they drove away, “that was a thrilling experience.”

“Speaking as a mere bystander, I thought so, too.”

Kelly took Peter Weiss’s card from her bag and stared at it for a moment, then tore it into small pieces and let it fly out the window. “The Agency teaches us memorization skills and drills us on it. I wouldn’t want to be caught with Peter’s card. You understand how confidential all this is,” she said.

“I have the reverse of your skill,” Stone said. “I can forget anything instantly.”



* * *



—

WHEN THEY ARRIVED AT Stone’s Paris house in the late afternoon, his housekeeper was sitting in the living room; Stone had texted her of their arrival. “Good day,” she said. “I was waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Hilda,” Stone said. “Have you something to tell me?”

“Yes. There was a gentleman who came here yesterday morning, after you departed, and inquired of your whereabouts.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him that I had not seen you since last spring, and that you visited the house only rarely.”

“Very good. Did he give a name?”

“He said his name was Beria. He was tall, very well dressed, very polite. His accent was, I think, Russian.”

“Thank you very much,” he said, handing her some money.

“I will go now, with your permission.”

“Of course. We may be here . . .” He looked at Kelly, and she raised two fingers. “A day or two.”

She left, and he poured them a drink.

“The name, Beria, is familiar,” Kelly said.

“He was Stalin’s head of the NKVD. The man who called may be his grandson, or merely a liar.”

“I recall a Beria who was a Russian spy, based in their United Nations mission in New York.”

“One and the same.”

“He was declared persona non grata and thrown out of the country.”

“Apparently he has not been thrown out of France. Yet.”

“Is he connected to Owaki?” Kelly asked.

“He was in New York. I think we should not suppose that he isn’t, in Paris.”

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I think Selwyn Owaki wants his check back.”

“I hope you’re wrong,” she said.

“So do I.”

“The Zurich paper had nothing this morning about a search of the Red Hill airfield,” Kelly said. “Neither did the International New York Times the day before.”

“I noticed that.”

“I think the search for the warhead must have been fruitless,” she said. “Otherwise, it would be all over the papers. Lance and Felicity share a love of good publicity.”

“Do you think we should leave Paris now?” Stone asked.

“I think not,” she replied. “It’s been days since the inquiry was made. They’ve no reason to think we would show up here so long after the incident in the London restaurant.”

“I think you have at least a fifty percent chance of being right,” Stone replied.





26



THEY DINED LESS GAUDILY that evening, at a seafood restaurant in the neighborhood and shared a bouillabaisse, a thick and garlicky fish stew, accompanied by a good Sancerre, a French white wine from the Loire valley with a flinty note to it.

“How’s your tradecraft?” Stone asked.

“There are eighteen people in the restaurant,” she replied. “Mostly couples. Two of them, a man and a woman are each dining alone. One man is armed; I caught a glimpse of the strap of a shoulder holster when he took off his topcoat. I suspect he is a policeman. The single man is paying his check now, in cash, perhaps a move to leave before we do. We’ll watch for him outside.”

Stone paid the bill, and they left.

“Don’t look,” Kelly said, “but he’s across the street, leaning on the building smoking a cigarette. Get us a cab.”

Stone lifted a finger and a cab separated itself from a rank and pulled up. Inside, Kelly said, “Turn right, then take your second left.” The driver followed her instructions on subsequent turns. “Does your mews have a rear entrance?” she asked, ordering two more turns.