“I’m afraid—” Bellini began.
“That is the carrot,” Stone said. “Now the stick. If you are unwise enough to reject this offer and produce the files forthwith, you will be arrested and charged with hiring one Joe Cross and a companion to murder your former employer, Ms. Harmon.”
“But—”
“I should tell you that, before Mr. Cross expired, he told two police officers and an emergency medical technician that you had hired him to commit murder. Those two police officers are waiting downstairs in a car to arrest you.”
“But I don’t—”
“However,” Stone said, “if you accept this arrangement and produce the files, I am authorized to tell you that the testimony of the witnesses will be withheld, and you will not be prosecuted for murder by hire. Time to decide, Mr. Bellini. Do you accept?”
“But,” Bellini said—and this time he was not interrupted—“I’ve already sold everything.”
32
Stone’s first impulse was to grab the weapon on the coffee table and strike Bellini on the head with it, but he restrained himself. “All right, Mr. Bellini,” he said, “let’s see if we can extricate you from your fatal error. Did I mention that Maine still has the death penalty?” Stone had no idea whether this was true, but he was becoming desperate.
“No,” Bellini replied, “you did not.”
“Once you are in custody, which action will take about three minutes, all will be lost. Do you understand?”
“But what can I do?” Bellini whined. “The designs are gone.”
“To whom did you sell them?” Stone asked.
“To a man named Owaki.”
Stone tried not to let his jaw drop. “Selwyn Owaki?” Stone had read about this man; he was reputed to be the largest seller of illegal arms in the world.
“That is correct.”
“How long ago?”
Bellini looked at his wristwatch. “About twenty minutes before you arrived.”
“For how much?”
“Twenty million dollars.”
“And how did you receive these funds?”
“They were wired to an offshore bank account.”
“Did you deal with Owaki personally?”
“No.”
“With whom did you deal?”
“A man named Beria, a Russian.”
“Mr. Bellini, Lavrentiy Beria is dead. He was shot by the NKVD many years ago.”
“Not Stalin’s Beria, this one is Stanislav, a distant cousin, I believe.”
“In what form did you give him the files?”
“I transferred them to a laptop computer he brought with him.”
“But the original files are still on your computer?”
“No, he insisted I erase them while he watched.”
“Mr. Bellini, you must be very careful to tell me the truth now. Your freedom and, eventually, your life are at stake. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“You still have all the files in your possession, do you not?”
“Well . . .”
“What medium are they on? Disks? Thumb drives?”
“A one-hundred-gigabyte thumb drive.”
“Where is it?”
Bellini reached into a trouser pocket, produced a fat black thumb drive, and set it on the coffee table.
“Where is your computer?” Stone asked, pocketing it.
“In my study,” Bellini replied, getting up. “This way.”
Stone followed him into an adjoining room, where a laptop computer sat on a desk. Stone sat down and inserted the thumb drive into a slot and displayed its contents. He opened several files at random and found drawings and schematics of electronics. He removed the drive, put it back into his pocket, then did a search of the computer for the files, without success.
“I told you,” Bellini said, “he made me erase all the files from my computer.”
“Here is what you are going to do,” Stone said. “You are going to call Stanislav Beria and get him back here with his computer. Give him a plausible technical reason. Last chance to save yourself, Mr. Bellini.”
Bellini produced an iPhone and did a search for a number.
“Wait,” Stone said. “Send me the contact before you call him.” He produced his own phone and gave Bellini the number.
Bellini texted him the contact.
“Now, call him, and get him back here.”
Bellini called a number. “Stanislav? This is Gino Bellini. Have you opened the files yet? Thank God. Do not open them on any account or they will be automatically destroyed, and you have the only copy. Bring your computer back here and I will remove the danger and make the files accessible without destroying them. I know, and I’m sorry about that. It was a simple oversight that I can fix in ten minutes. Thank you.” He hung up. “Beria is on his way back here. We will be lucky if he doesn’t kill us both.”
Stone went back into the living room, took the pistol from the coffee table, checked the magazine and the breach, and tucked it into his waistband, then he had a good look around the room and decided that behind the curtains was the best spot to hide.
“He said he was five minutes away,” Bellini said.
“Can you cause the files to be destroyed if he opens them?”
“Yes,” Bellini said. “I can even make it possible for him to open them once, but not a second time without destroying them.”
“Then that is what you will do. Ask him to open the files to be sure they are safe.”
“All right.”
Stone picked up the check on the coffee table and tucked it back into the envelope in his pocket.
“Am I not to be paid?” Bellini asked.
“You have already been paid by Beria,” Stone said.
“He will kill me,” Bellini replied.
“I’ll be behind the curtain with your gun. I’ll see that it doesn’t happen.”
The phone rang, and Bellini picked it up. “Please send him up,” he said, then hung up. “He’s on the way up,” he said to Stone.
“Is he alone?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t ask.”
“Is there a service elevator in this apartment?”
“Yes, in the kitchen. It opens onto a small lobby downstairs that opens onto the side street.”
Stone nodded. “Play this straight,” he said, “or you are finished.”
“I will follow your instructions to the letter,” Bellini said. The doorbell rang, and Stone went and stood behind the curtain.
He heard the door open, and more footsteps on the marble floor than he had expected. What sounded like Bellini and another man came into the living room.
“You were very foolish to do this, Gino,” a man said.
“It was entirely unintentional, Stan, believe me. Give me your computer and I’ll fix everything.”
“In your study,” Beria said. “I want to see your computer first.”
Stone hadn’t counted on this. He realized that he could see the study door from his position, and that meant that they would be able to see him from the study.
Bellini, Beria, and another, much larger man walked across the living room and entered the study. Beria sat down at Bellini’s computer and began typing. “The files are not here,” he said.
“I told you that,” Bellini replied.
“Now, you fix my computer so that I can open the files safely,” Beria said.
Stone could see Bellini as he sat down, opened Beria’s laptop, and began typing. After a couple of minutes of this, Bellini said, “There, it’s fixed. You can open the files now. Try it, if you like.”
Beria sat down and opened some files. “It works,” he said. Now you sit down at your computer.”
Bellini did so.
“Now we will transfer the twenty million I sent you back into my account. Don’t worry, when I have had this checked out, I will rewire it.”
At this moment, Stone heard the front door open and the click of high heels on marble. “Gino?” a woman’s voice called.
“I’m in the study,” Gino called back. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
The woman walked across the living room and into the study. Stone realized that, when they finished doing what they were doing, everyone would come back into the living room, and they would see him. Everyone in the study was standing behind Gino, watching what he did on his computer. “Now is the time,” Stone said to himself. He slipped out of his shoes, held them in one hand, and the pistol in the other, then started walking quickly and soundlessly across the living room.