“I believe you are in possession of a computer device given to you by Gino Bellini.”
“Is that the same Bellini who was murdered in an apartment in the building where we met?”
“It is, and I have reason to believe that you were in the apartment when the murder occurred.”
“I was in an apartment upstairs,” Stone replied, “and in the elevator, of course.”
“Mr. Barrington, if you stick to that story things are going to become very uncomfortable for you very fast.”
“That sounds very much like a threat, Mr. Beria.”
“It most certainly is. Mr. Ivanov here is very accomplished at carrying out my threats.”
Ivanov gave Stone a small smile.
Stone produced the .45. “How would Mr. Ivanov perform this duty with a bullet in his head?”
Beria looked very irritated. “Mr. Barrington, I possess the means to end your life before this day is out. I suggest you listen to my proposal before I take that step.”
“Oh, you have a proposal? I thought you only made threats.”
“I think a more businesslike conversation would be in both our interests.”
“Does Mr. Ivanov speak English?”
“He does, and very well.”
“Good. Mr. Ivanov, please remove the firearm from your person with your left hand and place it on the coffee table in front of you.”
Ivanov looked at Beria and got a small nod. He placed the pistol on the coffee table. Stone reached over and swept it onto the floor.
“Now you, Mr. Beria.”
Beria opened his jacket to show that he was unarmed.
“All right, now proceed with your proposal, and take your time.” He thought he would like it if Beria were still talking when the Strategic Services men came into the house.
“As I said earlier,” Beria stated, “I wish to retrieve the computer device given to you by Mr. Bellini.”
“I’m afraid you’re not off to a very good start,” Stone said, “because I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Come now, Mr. Barrington,” Beria said, “you are being obtuse.”
Stone shrugged. “Please explain, and slowly, so that my dull wits may grasp your thought.”
“The device, probably a thumb drive, contains software that I purchased from Mr. Bellini for twenty million dollars.”
“And you paid that sum before receiving the software? You’re not a very good businessman, Mr. Beria.”
Beria was beginning to become agitated. “Mr. Barrington, my associate in this matter is a Mr. Selwyn Owaki. Is that name familiar to you?”
“I believe it is,” Stone replied, “and you have my sympathy.”
“Your sympathy?”
“For finding it necessary to associate yourself with such a thoroughly disreputable person.”
“You are very fortunate that Mr. Owaki is not present,” Beria said.
“I agree. I certainly would not seek the company of such a man.”
“Mr. Barrington, you are wasting my time.”
“You come into my office without an appointment and make silly threats, and I am wasting your time? You are confused, Mr. Beria.”
Beria was now turning red. “Now, you listen to me,” he began.
“No, you listen to me,” Stone said. “I have the grounds to shoot you both right now, with no legal consequences.”
“There would be consequences beyond your imagination,” Beria said.
“All right, I’ll play your inane game for a moment. Why do you think I possess this software?”
“Because you are associated with one Meg Harmon.”
“Are you referring to the Harmon who is the rightful owner of the software of which you speak?”
“I am.”
“Well, since she is the rightful owner and you are only a thief, we have nothing further to talk about,” Stone said. “Except you can tell Mr. Owaki that if he wishes to speak to me not to send buffoons with messages. I’m in the Manhattan phone directory, if it still exists.”
Stone’s door suddenly opened, and four men filed into the room, each holding a handgun before him.
“Ah, gentlemen, welcome,” Stone said. “There is a handgun on the floor over there. Please unload it, give it to the uglier of these two gentlemen, and then escort them both to the street. I expect they have a large black Mercedes waiting for them.”
The four armed men followed Stone’s instructions explicitly.
“You will be hearing from me, Mr. Barrington!” Beria shouted, as he was frog-marched from the room.
46
Joan came into Stone’s office as he was inserting the little .45 back into its nest under his arm. “What the hell was that all about?” she asked. “You should excuse the expression.”
“Should those two return,” Stone said, “you have my permission to shoot them.” Joan kept a .45 of her own in her desk drawer.
“It would be my pleasure,” she replied. “I hate rudeness in a man.”
“Should you decide to do so, shoot first and think about it later,” Stone said. “And I wouldn’t be shocked if we received another such visit from a man named Owaki.”
“Selwyn Owaki?” Joan asked, as if he were someone she had met at a bar.
“How is it that you know that name?” Stone asked.
“I read the New York Post,” she said. “On occasion.”
“And from your deep research, what is your impression of Mr. Owaki?”
“That he has an enormous amount of money, none of it honestly earned, that he is personally responsible for roughly half of everyone on the planet who dies of a gunshot wound, that he eats innocent babies for breakfast.” She thought about it. “Have I left out anything?”
“A great deal,” Stone replied. “For instance, you failed to mention that he uses the Russians’ UN mission as sort of a branch office, which is the rock from under which our two recent visitors crawled, and that he derives a great deal of personal pleasure from the deaths of those whom he considers to be his enemies, which is pretty much everybody.”
“Why hasn’t someone killed him?”
“Because he makes that work almost impossibly difficult. He dwells in an aerie of a building he owns, not all that far from here, that no one can enter without a full body scan and considerable goosing of the private areas.”
“Doesn’t anybody know how to kill with their hands anymore?” she asked.
“Apparently not.”
“I don’t know what the world is coming to,” she said sadly. “In my day select people—secret agents, hired guns, Girl Scouts who expected to sell their cookies without getting raped—were taught to kill with a single thumb.”
“Were you a Girl Scout?” Stone asked.
“Of course. How do you think I know this stuff?”
“Go bolt the front door and guard it with your life,” Stone said, “and tell Fred to be on his guard.” He picked up the phone and called Dino.
“Now what?” Dino asked, sounding exasperated.
“Well, for a start, the Russian gorilla Ivanov has definitely not left the country.”
“And you know this how?”
“He just left my office in the company of Stanislav Beria and four of Mike Freeman’s finest.”
“Why was he in your office?”
“He was supposed to intimidate me into giving Beria what he wants.”
“Which is what?”
“A computer thumb drive containing all of Meg Harmon’s greatest hits.”
“The car without a driver?”
“Indeed.”
“And why does he think you have this thing?”
“Because I got it from Gino Bellini, shortly before he was dispatched by these same two gentlemen.”
“I would get rid of it, if I were you.”
“I have already returned it to its mother.”
“Then I would get her out of town.”
“I tried that once, remember?”
“I remember very well that your leaving town kept that awful thing from happening on my turf.”
“That’s your only concern, isn’t it? Moving it off your turf?”
“You guessed it, pal.”
“You’re not concerned about my personal safety?”
“That’s what Strategic Services is for. It’s not my job to provide you with a personal police force, though you often seem to think it is.”
“I’m hurt.”
“Well, I hope you’re ambulatory, so you can get your ass moving. You do remember who Beria works for, don’t you?”
“If I had forgotten, Beria and Ivanov were anxious to remind me.”
“Why didn’t you have Joan shoot them?”