Unintended Consequences - By Stuart Woods

26





Stone was jarred out of a deep sleep by his cell phone making noises. He looked at his watch: half past five. Some nap! He got out of bed and found the phone. “Hello?”

“It’s Holly.”

“Hi, there.”

“I hear you have one of our phones now, so we can talk.”

“Is Lance director yet?”

“He is. Kate is hanging around for a few days more to help with the transition. They’ve held lots of joint meetings with key personnel to pass the baton.”

“How’s everybody taking it?”

“Lance’s rivals are sulking, everybody else seems cheerful enough. Of course, the people at Langley have a lot of affection for Kate, and they hate to see her go. She’s trying to rub some of her mojo off onto Lance, but it may not take. You making any progress with your memory?”

“None at all. Lance sent a satphone to Eggers up in the North Woods, and Bill called and filled in a lot of the blanks. I thought that might jar something loose, but it hasn’t. What are you up to?”

“I’m back in New York and working my ass off. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay, go.”

“First of all, I lied to you. Nobody pressed me to move out of your house, it was my decision. I’m sorry, I should have been straight with you.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve just had the promotion of a lifetime. I’m hanging on by my fingernails, and it’s not going to get any better in the foreseeable future. As a result of the change in our charter, we’re expanding the New York station, and it will be a model for other stations around the country. I can’t take the time to think about anything else but that. If I can bring this off, I might be in line for Lance’s old job next time it opens up, and that’s a dream for me. The guy who Lance appointed is a couple of years from retirement, and everybody knows he’s just keeping the chair warm. Lance has told me he would like for me to have it someday, but not now. I’m going to need more weight in my résumé before that might be possible.”

“So, no time for me, then?”

“No time for anybody,” Holly said with finality. “I love ya, Stone, but I love my work more, and I can’t keep you both happy.”

Stone sighed. “I can’t say that I like it, but I understand it, so all I can do is wish you well and stay out of the way.”

“Thanks for that, baby.”

He sensed that their conversation was over. “Take care of yourself, and good luck in the job, for all our sakes.”

“Thanks. Bye-bye.” She hung up.

Stone lay back on the bed and realized that there was now a big hole in his life where there hadn’t been one before. He closed his eyes and tried to let go.

• • •

Dinner was back in Montmartre, at an outdoor table next to the park. It was simple: roast chicken, potatoes, and haricots verts, with a bottle of Beaujolais.

“Feeling better?” Helga asked when he was done.

“Much,” he said. “One more three-star dinner and I would have exploded.”

“You seem a little preoccupied this evening. Anything wrong?”

“I said goodbye to a friend this afternoon,” he said.

“How good a friend?”

“A very good one.”

“So you were dumped?”

Stone laughed. “I was dumped. The competition was too tough.”

“I can’t imagine you losing that kind of competition,” she said.

“I wasn’t competing with another man, just with her job, which is overwhelming her at the moment and probably will for a long time to come.”

“Good,” Helga said. “More time for me.”

“All you want,” he replied. “Let’s take a walk.”

They walked to the top of the hill, then down the side street where Stone and Rick had followed Majorov that afternoon.

“Are we going anyplace special?” Helga asked.

“How about to a gallery opening?”

“That sounds like fun.”

He found the Ulyanov Gallery. It was brightly lit, and there was a crowd inside, some of them spilling out onto the sidewalk, holding plastic cups of wine.

“Russian paintings?” Helga asked. “Are they good?”

“Sometimes. I have a couple in New York.” They got some wine and began to look at the pictures. Stone stole glances around the room, looking for Majorov, and he was relieved to find him not there. Someone else was, though.

“Look at the tall man in the back,” Stone said to Helga. “Wasn’t he talking to you at Marcel’s party? The one where we met? I think he’s Italian.”

Helga looked at the man. “Oh, yes. He’s . . . let me see, Aldo something or other. He’s not Italian, though, he just pretends to be.”

“What is he?”

“Albanian. He’s said to be a nephew of Hoxha, the longtime dictator, now deposed and dead.”

“Then why is Aldo running around loose?”

“The rumor is he had some important post with the intelligence service or the police, if there was any difference. They say he got out of the country with a lot of cash before the regime came tumbling down—euros, not whatever used to be cash in Albania. Now he flits around Paris in expensive clothes with no visible means of support, so he must have stashed the cash.”

Stone stopped in front of a painting of a castle by a river. “Nice,” he said.

“Are you going to buy it?”

“No, I don’t think I want this gallery to have my name and address.”

“I’ll buy it for you. I don’t care if they have mine.”

“I don’t want them to have yours, either.”

“Excuse me,” a voice behind them said. They turned to find the mysterious Aldo standing behind them. “I believe we met at Marcel duBois’s house recently. I’m Aldo Saachi.”

“Of course,” Stone said, offering his hand but not his name.

“Yes,” Helga said, and shook it, too.

“What brings you two to this opening?” Aldo asked.

“We had dinner in the neighborhood and went for a walk,” Stone replied. “We saw the poster and thought we’d have a look.”

“Seen anything you like?” Aldo asked.

“No, we haven’t,” Stone said, “and if you’ll excuse us, we were just about to leave.”

“Can I offer you a drink somewhere nearby?” Aldo asked, gazing at Helga’s cleavage.

“Perhaps another time,” Stone said. “Good night.” He took Helga’s elbow and steered her toward the door.

Outside, Stone hailed a taxi.

“Why did you want to leave?” Helga asked.

“I think maybe it was a mistake to go there,” Stone said. “I thought we’d gotten away with it, then Aldo showed up.”

“He’s inoffensive,” she replied.

“He’s dangerous,” Stone said. “On the advice of a friend, I’m going to be suspicious of him.”