Unintended Consequences - By Stuart Woods

42





Joan came into his office. “Okay, the car is on its way, there’s nothing I can do to protect it now.”

“We’ll have to leave it to the gods,” Stone said.

“What did you think of the special section on the auto show in the Sunday Times?” she asked.

“I didn’t see it,” Stone said. “It must not have been included in the Connecticut edition.”

“I thought not,” she said, handing it to him.

Stone put it aside. “I’ll read it later.”

Joan picked it up and handed it to him again. “I think you’d better read it now.”

Stone picked up the section and there, taking up the front page above the fold, was a photograph of Marcel with one of his Blaises.

“Be sure and read all of it,” she said, then went back to her office.

Stone began to read, and two paragraphs down, his jaw dropped. Marcel duBois, on a rare visit to New York, is staying at the home of his friend, attorney Stone Barrington, in Turtle Bay. There followed a long interview with Marcel recounting their meeting in Paris. Stone had an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Joan buzzed. “I’ve got Mike Freeman on one and Lance Cabot on two,” she said.

“Tell Mike I’ll call him right back.” He pushed two. “Yes, Lance?”

“I’ve just seen the city edition of yesterday’s New York Times,” Lance said drily. “Is this your idea of securing Marcel duBois’s safety?”

“I knew nothing about it, Lance. I was in Connecticut, remember? It didn’t appear in the national edition. However, I don’t see that it much matters, as Majorov and his friends already know where to find us.”

“Granted,” Lance said, “but suppose the threat lies elsewhere? Marcel has just imparted to that part of the population of New York City who can read, which I assume is most of them, exactly where to find him—at the auto show tomorrow and at your home the rest of the time. All that’s missing is a photo of Helga draped nude over the hood of his car.”

“I’m not happy about it either, but what can I do?”

“Move?”

“Thanks to you, we’re so well protected here.”

“Good luck, Stone.” Lance hung up.

Joan buzzed back. “Mike’s on line one. He insisted on waiting.”

Stone pressed the button. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mike.”

“Are you out of your f*cking mind?” Mike asked pleasantly.

“I know, I know, but I didn’t know until a moment ago. Do I have to explain?”

“It’s too late for explanations,” Mike said. “We’re meeting at four in Bill Eggers’s office to sign the contracts. Try and keep Marcel alive until then.”

“I’ll do my best,” Stone said. Mike hung up.

Marcel and Helga walked into Stone’s office, arm in arm. “I’m back from my meeting,” Marcel said.

“And I’m off shopping,” Helga chimed.

“Please have the car back by three-thirty,” Stone said. “Marcel and I have an important meeting.”

“Of course, my dear,” she replied, waving over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

“Please have a seat, Marcel,” Stone said, and Marcel took a chair across the desk.

“My cars arrived at Stewart International this morning and are on their way to the Javits Center,” Marcel said, then he squinted at Stone. “You look upset. Is something wrong?”

Stone handed him the auto show section. “Have you seen this?”

“Oh, yes, they showed it to me at the meeting this morning. Everyone was thrilled.”

“So is anyone who might like to do you harm,” Stone said, trying to keep the scold out of his voice.

Marcel’s eyebrows shot up. “Ahhhh,” he breathed. “I see your point, if a bit too late.”

“We are now imprisoned in the house,” Stone said, “until Helga comes back with the car.”

“Well, there are worse places to be imprisoned,” Marcel said. “May I borrow something from your library?”

“It is at your disposal,” Stone said. “Anything you like.”

Marcel got up. “See you for lunch?”

“Of course.”

“What time?”

“Twelve-thirty?”

“In the kitchen?”

“Yes.”

Marcel departed.

Joan came and stood in his doorway, arms crossed. “I take it I’d better have my .45 at the ready.”

“Please do.”

“Have you noticed how quiet it is in this house with the new windows?”

“Yes, I have.”

“I’m having trouble with it. I can’t even hear traffic going by in the street.”

“I know how you feel. It’s quieter than the Connecticut house, but we’ll get used to it.”

“Why do people want to harm Marcel?”

“They want his business—ah, businesses. They figure that Marcel will be easier to deal with if he’s dead.”

“And Helga? Is she in business with Marcel? Is that why these people want her dead?”

“No, Helga had a little social problem in Paris that offended certain people.”

“Dare I ask?”

“You dare not. Be careful who you let in the office door.”

Joan looked over her shoulder. “Funny you should mention that.”

“Something wrong?”

“Federal Express just pulled up.”

“I have it on good authority that they are harmless,” Stone said.

“Trouble is, they delivered an hour ago. They’ve never shown up twice on the same morning.”

Stone opened his desk drawer and rummaged around until he came up with his little Walther .380.

“I guess it’s time to unearth my .45,” Joan said.

“Don’t try firing through the window,” Stone said. “The glass is very thick and heavily armored.”

“Well, I’m not opening the door,” Joan said, starting for her desk.

Stone followed close behind.