Shakeup
- Автор: Вудс Стюарт
- Серия: Stone Barrington #55
- Год: 2020
- Язык: английский
- Год: G. P. Putnam’s Sons
- ISBN: 978-0-593-18832-3
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «Shakeup». Краткое содержание книги:
As it turns out, the mastermind behind the malfeasance rocking New York City and the nation’s capital wields a heavy hand of influence. And when Stone is unable to recruit those closest to the case to his side, he is left with few leads and a handful of dead-ends. But with the help of important people in high places — and the expertise of alluring new friends — Stone is more than ready to rise to the occasion.
“Well, Director,” Dino said. “How did you come to be on this case?”
“Since one of the victims, Ms. Carlyle, was a federal employee, that makes this a federal case. The president personally asked me to take it over.”
“I’m an admirer of the president’s judgment,” Dino said.
“Thank you.”
“Welcome to the case. It will be nice having someone in charge who is not in the bag or an idiot.”
Maren laughed. “Thank you again.”
“Has Stone taken you through the case?”
“Let’s say that we have left no Stone unturned,” she replied.
Dino’s eyes narrowed. “Have you an opinion of whom we should suspect?” he asked.
“I believe that there are at least two suspects, possibly more,” Maren said. “And one abettor.”
“Do you have enough for an arrest?” he asked.
“Not until we turn one of them.”
“Who’s your candidate for turning?”
“I think Little Debby is the stupidest, so let’s start with her; I’ll go see her on my return to Washington.”
“And when will that be?”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Is Viv in town?” Stone asked.
“She is,” Dino replied.
“Maren, will you join the Bacchettis and me for dinner?”
“I’d love to. I’d like a little nap and to freshen up. May I do that here, instead of returning to my hotel?”
“Of course,” Stone said. “Let me show you upstairs. Excuse me for a moment, Dino.”
“Go right ahead.”
Stone took her up in the elevator and led her to the master suite.
“This is lovely,” she said. “I believe I owe you something.” Her hand wandered to his zipper.
“You may repay after dinner,” Stone said. “I shouldn’t keep Dino waiting. There are arrests to be made in this city.” He kissed her on the forehead and left her to it.
Dino was gazing into the fire, sipping his Scotch when Stone returned. “I booked us into Patroon, in your absence.”
“Thank you.”
“What the fuck was going on when I arrived? There was something in the air.”
“There was no fucking going on,” Stone replied firmly. “You’re not happy, are you, unless you suspect someone of something.”
“I’m usually right,” Dino said. “I must say, the quality of management at the Bureau is improving.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“How do you find these women?”
“Holly sent this one.”
“I guess she feels guilty about leaving you without sex.”
“Nonsense. I asked her to goose the FBI to get moving on this, and she went right to the top. Maren happened to be in New York on other business.”
“She sounds like she’s planning to winter here.”
“Okay with me.”
“Am I keeping you from her side, so to speak?”
“You are not. She wants a nap, and I am content with your company, for the time being. Did you call Viv?”
“I did, and she approved our dinner plans.”
They had settled into their booth at Patroon, where Maren had insisted that she be seated facing the door. “The gunfighter’s seat,” she had explained.
They had just placed their orders when Stone saw Maren’s eyes dart toward the entrance. “Opposition?” he asked quietly. He half-expected her to produce a weapon.
“My boss likes to think so,” she replied. “He thinks I want his job.”
A tall, distinguished-looking man suddenly appeared at their tableside.
“Good evening, Maren,” he said to her.
“Good evening, Director,” she replied. “May I introduce my companions?”
“Mr. Barrington and Commissioner Bacchetti and I have met, but I’m not acquainted with your other lovely guest.”
“This is Vivian Bacchetti,” Maren replied.
“I should have guessed,” he replied, shaking her hand. “You’re with Strategic Services, are you not?”
“I am,” Viv said.
“Please give my warm regards to Mike Freeman,” he said.
“Certainly.”
“If you’ll all excuse me, my dinner guest is waiting.” He half-turned, then stopped. “And, Maren,” he said. “I don’t want to see this on your expense account.”
“Ms. Gustav is my guest,” Stone said quickly.
“Good.” He walked away from their table and took a seat at a table across the room, where an attractive woman awaited.
“Who’s the female?” Viv asked Maren.
“Oh, that is Ms. Not-His-Wife,” she replied. “I’m filing that as an arrow in my quiver.”
Everybody laughed.
“And thank you for being courtly, Stone.”
“Why? You didn’t think you were paying, did you?”
“A pity,” Maren replied. “I was going to put it on my expense account.”
33
President Holly Barker had just finished her daily intelligence briefing in the Situation Room and had returned to the Oval Office, when her secretary rang.
“Yes?”
“Madam President, Mr. John Henry Shaker, the director of the FBI, is here to see you.”
“Does he have an appointment?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then ask him to wait while I receive the St. Mary’s girls’ choir,” she said. “And send them in immediately.”
A Secret Service agent opened a door from the hallway, allowing entrance to twenty teenage girls in matching white robes, followed by a porter pushing an upright piano on wheels, their director nun, and another nun.
“Good morning, Madam President,” the nun said.
“Good morning to you, sister, and to all of your girls.”
“May we begin?”
“Please do.”
The girls began singing “The Bells of St. Mary’s,” from the old Bing Crosby movie of that name, accompanied on piano by the other nun.
Holly walked over to the thick, soundproof door separating her from her secretary and opened it slightly, to let the sound flow outside to her waiting room and the waiting director, then she returned to her desk and settled in her chair for the concert, which lasted twenty minutes. At the end, Holly stood, applauded, and called out, “Encore, encore!”
The girls rendered a haunting version of “Ave Maria.” Afterward Holly went and shook each of their hands, and those of the nuns, then the room was cleared. Holly went to her desk and busied herself signing a stack of correspondence. Finally, she rang for her secretary. “You may send in the director,” she said.
John Henry Shaker, ramrod straight and Brooks Brothers suited, entered the room.
Holly did not stand or shake his hand, but waved him to a chair facing her desk.
“Good morning, Madam President,” Shaker said, seeming barely able to speak the words.
“Director. What can I do for you?” She signed another letter or two, then looked up. “Well?”
“Do I now have your full attention?” Shaker asked, icily.
“More or less,” Holly replied. “Must I ask you again?”
“First, I must object most strongly to the replacement of my FBI security detail by Secret Service agents.”
“Oh? Why?”
“As I am sure you are aware, my security detail, and those of my predecessors, have always been special agents.”
“Certainly, I’m aware.”
“Then I must demand that my special agent detail be returned to their work.”
“Demand?” Holly asked. “You come into this office making demands?”
“Ah, request, then.”
“Request denied,” she replied, fixing him with her gaze. “It had come to my attention that your bureau detail were spending most of their time delivering and picking up your dry cleaning, or sewing on your buttons, or making you sandwiches.”