“Of course.”
Stone ordered a Sancerre, and they chatted a bit until the first course came.
“Now,” said Throckmorton, digging into his shrimp, “what can I do for you while you’re here?”
“I’ve been sent over here by a client to look into the activities of an American living in London, and I need the help of an investigator—no, two. I thought you might know of someone reliable.”
“I know a lorryload of retired coppers,” Throckmorton said. “I daresay I could find you a couple of good men. What will you pay?”
“You tell me.”
Throckmorton mentioned an hourly rate, and Stone agreed.
“Anything illegal about this?” Throckmorton asked.
“Not unless surveillance is illegal in Britain.”
“Certainly not.” Throckmorton chuckled.
“I don’t want anyone hit over the head or anything like that. I just want to find out what’s going on and report back to my client.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” He polished off his shrimp and whipped out an address book. “Let me go make a phone call,” he said. “I’ll be back before the sole arrives.”
Stone sat back and sipped his wine. As Throckmorton left, Sir Antony Shields entered the Grill with another man, and they were seated across the room. The man certainly eats well, Stone thought to himself.
Throckmorton returned as the waiter was boning the soles. “There’ll be two men here in an hour,” he said. “They’ll be waiting in the lounge when we’re done here. Their names are Ted Cricket and Bobby Jones, like the golfer. They both worked for me at one time or another; they’re smart, persistent, and discreet. You’ll get what you want from them.”
“Thank, you,” Stone said. The sole was excellent. “I believe that’s your Home Secretary over there.” He nodded at the table across the room.
“Yes, saw him when I came back to the table. I’ve shaken his hand, but I don’t really know the bugger, he’s too new. Came in with the Labour lot, the second man to hold the office. I’m told he’s reasonably bright; he made a name for himself as a barrister, prosecuting as often as defending. That’s how we do it over here, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Likes to see his name in the papers, always has, I’m told, as long as it’s favorable. He’s gotten a good press so far.”
They had dessert and coffee, and Stone signed the bill. They left the Grill and walked out into the main hall of the hotel.
Throckmorton stopped and shook Stone’s hand. “Splendid lunch,” he said, “many thanks. The two chaps you want are around the corner, there,” he said, nodding toward the sitting room. “I don’t want to be seen introducing you.” He walked through the revolving doors and left the hotel.
Stone walked into the sitting room, and it was immediately obvious whom he was meeting. Cops were cops. They were dressed in anonymous suits, and both wore thick-soled, black shoes. Stone went over and introduced himself.
Ted Cricket was the taller, more muscular man, and Bobby Jones was short, thin, and wiry. They were both near sixty, Stone reckoned, but they looked fit.
“How can we help you, Mr. Barrington?”
“There are two men I want surveilled,” Stone said. “The first is named Lance Cabot, and he lives at a house called Merryvale, in
Both men were taking notes.
“The second,” Stone continued, “is more problematical, because I don’t know his name. He’s American, too, somewhere in his mid-fifties, six-two or -three, heavy, maybe two-ten, looks like a former athlete. He has a hawkish nose, thick, salt-and-pepper hair, and bushy eyebrows.”
“And where does he live?” Cricket asked.
“That’s one of the things I want to know,” Stone said. “He’s in and out of the American Embassy, through the front door, and that’s where you’re going to have to pick him up. I want to know where he’s staying, who he sees, and where he goes. I don’t know if he lives in London or New York, but my guess is, he’s in a hotel not far from the embassy.”
“Right,” Cricket said. “Anything else?”
“I don’t know whether the weekend would be productive; why don’t you start first thing Monday morning?”
The two men nodded. “And we can reach you here, Mr. Barrington?”
“Yes, and I have a cellphone.” He gave them the number.
“We’ll report to you daily,” Cricket said.
“By the way,” he said, “I didn’t mention this to Throckmorton, but is it possible to tap Cabot’s phone and record all his conversations?”
“Not legally,” Cricket said.
“I understand that. Can you do it, or have it done?”
Both men looked wary. Finally, Jones spoke. “I know someone who can do it. But for how long?”
“Let’s start with a week,” Stone said.
“Could be pricey; I mean, there is a risk.”
“I don’t mind paying, but I want someone who can do it without risk to himself, you, or me. And I don’t want him to know who I am.”
“Understood,” Jones said. “I’ll get onto my man today.”
Cricket spoke up. “You understand, I didn’t hear any of that.”
“Understood,” Stone said. “Bobby, why don’t you take Cabot, and Ted, you can have the other man.”
Both men nodded. They shook hands all around, and the two men left.
Stone looked at his watch; he had half an hour to pack for the weekend.
Chapter 9
MONICA BURROUGHS ARRIVED AT THE Connaught in an Aston Martin, and the combination of the car and the beautiful woman at the wheel impressed the doorman. Stone’s luggage was loaded, and Monica drove up
“Did you sleep well?” Monica asked.
“Very well, thank you.”
“I’m sorry to hear it; I thought you’d have lain awake, thinking of me.”
“I dreamed of you.”
“Something erotic, I hope.”
“Of course.”
She cut across two lanes of traffic and turned into Hyde Park. Shortly, they were in the
