“Yes, thanks.”
“There’s good news and bad news; which do you want first?”
Stone groaned. “The bad news.”
“My management have categorically refused to reimburse you for your monetary loss. They feel no responsibility.”
“That’s sweet of them. Tell me the good news.”
“It comes in two parts: first, we caught Morgan in Hawaii.”
Stone sat up in bed. “Did he have my money with him?”
“No, he didn’t.”
Stone fell back into the bed. “Why are you torturing me?”
“I said the good news came in two parts.”
“All right, what’s part two?”
“Morgan checked in for his flight only shortly before it departed, so his luggage didn’t make it aboard the aircraft.”
Stone sat up in bed again. “The valise?”
“Heathrow security found it, waiting patiently to be put aboard the next flight. There was nearly half a million dollars in it.”
“Yeeessss!” Stone shouted, punching the air.
“It will take a little sorting out, but I imagine that, in a few days, I can transfer it to your New York bank. Do you have the account number?”
Stone gave her his brokerage account number. “Send it there,” he said, “back where it came from.”
“Well, I suppose you’ll be able to buy me dinner the next time I’m in New York.”
“Yes, I suppose I will be able to afford that. Soon, I hope.”
“You never know.”
“What about Lance Cabot? Any word on him?”
“He was too slick for us. The motorcycle turned out to be his; we picked up his pilot when he returned for the machine; Cabot had given it to him, apparently.”
“What did the pilot tell you?”
“He delivered Cabot to a farmer’s field in France, he isn’t sure where, since Cabot erased the coordinates from his GPS computer before leaving the airplane. He was met by two people, one of them answering to the description of Ali. We haven’t been able to trace him from there, so we have to assume that both he and, ah, his luggage reached their destination. We don’t know where that was.”
“Mason said he probably wouldn’t be prosecuted.”
“That’s right, but we would certainly make it difficult for him if he ever returned to Britain. I expect that he won’t; he’ll enjoy his ill-gotten gains in a more hospitable climate.” She paused. “Well, I must run.”
“May I know your name, now?”
She laughed. “All in good time. You take care of yourself.”
“Listen, when do you think . . .” But she had gone.
Stone got out of bed, and by the time he had dressed and breakfasted, his secretary was at her desk, working away.
“Good morning!” she said. “And welcome back!”
“Thank you, Joan,” he said. “Will you let my broker know to expect the return of some funds I took out of my account? In a few days, I think.”
“Of course,” she said. She handed him a stack of message slips. “Here are your phone calls, and this was in the fax machine when I came in yesterday.”
Stone looked at the paper. It was from his Swiss banker.
“Good God!” Stone said.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing; Lance kept his word.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.” Stone stood and thought about the ramifications of receiving this money. Should he return it? If so, to whom?
“You look puzzled,” Joan said.
Stone nodded. “I think you’d better get my accountant on the phone.”
“That doesn’t really mean what it says, does it?” she asked, nodding at the document in his hand.
“I’m afraid it does.”
She picked up the phone. “I’ll get your accountant,” she said.
“You know,” Stone said to her, “it’s amazing what can happen in a short forever.”
She stopped dialing. “What?”
“Never mind,” Stone said. He was trying to figure out how he was going to explain all this to his accountant.
He’d had worse problems.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to express my thanks to my editor, David Highfill, for making this the first manuscript in my career where an editor asked for no revisions whatever. It takes a highly discerning editor to know when something doesn’t need fixing.
I am very grateful to my publisher, the remarkable Phyllis Grann, now gone on to other things, for her interest in my career and for her efforts to do the best for each of my titles that she published. I wish her well in whatever she undertakes.
My agents, Morton Janklow and Anne Sibbald, and all the people at Janklow & Nesbit, continue to manage my career with care and thoughtfulness, and always produce excellent results. I am very appreciative of all their efforts.
I thank Maldwin and Gilly Drummond for lending me the site of their wonderful house, if not the house itself, to use for the Wight home.
And I am always grateful to my wife, Chris, for her acute observations when reading my manuscripts and for her affection.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I am happy to hear from readers, but you should know that if you write to me in care of my publisher, three to six months will pass before I receive your letter, and when it finally arrives it will be one among many, and I will not be able to reply.
However, if you have access to the Internet, you may visit my website at www.stuartwoods.com, where there is a button for sending me e-mail. So far, I have been able to reply to all of my e-mail, and I will continue to try to do so.
If you send me an e-mail and do not receive a reply, it is because you are among an alarming number of people who have entered their e-mail address incorrectly in their mail software. I have many of my replies returned as undeliverable.
Remember: e-mail, reply; snail mail, no reply.
When you e-mail, please do not send attachments, as I
