“Well, Ab Kramer is a big deal in the stock market, filthy rich, too. He’s in The Wall Street Journal pretty often, does the odd appearance on CNBC, too. I’ve heard a rumor he might be the next secretary of the Treasury, if the Democrats hang on to the White House.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the business news stuff about him; I didn’t know he had political connections, though.”

“Big fund-raiser for the Democrats, the bastard,” Crow said.

“I take it you’re a Republican, Charlie.”

“You bet your sweet ass; that’s where the money is, boy. You give, you get; that’s my policy.”

“What about Harry Collins, you seen him?”

“Funny, I saw him at the track not long ago, and at the hundred-dollar window, too.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“Nah.”

“Just like you didn’t speak to me at P. J. Clarke’s the other day.”

“Well, I just happened to be there for a drink; given our previous arrangement, I didn’t know if you’d want to talk.”

“Well, like you say, it’s been a long time. You ever see Ab?”

“Funny you should mention that; he kibitzed on a deal another guy at his firm did for us. He’s an investment banker, you know.”

“How about the Colonel, you ever hear anything about him?”

“Ab says he’s in the antiques business up in Connecticut. Ab has a place up there and said he ran into him.”

“Antiques? The Colonel? That doesn’t sound like him.”

“Well, you and him did okay in the gold coin business, remember? That’s antiques, sort of.”

“You still pissed off about not being in on that, Charlie?”

“Of course not,” Crow said, clapping Cantor on the forearm. “I’ve done real good; why should I care? Say, how did you spend your cut?”

“I bought a car and some clothes, bought a little apartment and put the rest in the stock market and left it there.”

“Good for you, Bobby! I guess you’re a rich man now, huh?”

“I’ve done okay. At least I don’t have to live on my pension.”

They had coffee, and the waiter brought the check. Crow paid it with a black American Express card.

“Well, Bob,” Crow said, “do I have your permission to arrange a class reunion?”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“I don’t know, maybe some good steaks and a few bottles of fine wine. You up for that?”

“Sure. I guess so.”

“They’ve got some private rooms here; maybe we’ll do that.”

“Fine by me.”

They got up and walked to the front door; there was a silver Rolls-Royce, the new one built by BMW, waiting at the curb, a uniformed chauffeur braced with the door open.

“Drop you someplace, Bob?”

“Nah, it’s a nice day; I think I’ll walk for a while.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Crow said, shaking his hand.

“Might be nice to see the old crowd at that,” Cantor said, waving good-bye and turning up Fifty-second Street, toward Fifth Avenue, while Crow’s Rolls glided toward Sixth.

Cantor had no doubt that Charlie wasn’t going to arrange a class reunion. “I wonder what that guy is up to,” he said aloud to himself. He looked back toward Sixth Avenue and saw the Rolls turn the corner, so he crossed the street and went into a parking garage. He checked the recorder in his van and found that it had worked perfectly.

27

Stone waited until after lunch to call Carla.

“Hello?” She didn’t sound sleepy.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been awake for all of ten minutes.”

“Well, you worked late.”

“So I did. Why did you sneak out without waking me?”

“Because you worked late. Anyway, I kissed you before I left, but you didn’t notice.”

“Liar. I would have noticed.”

“Before we go on with this, when are you going to break your news to Harlan?”

“I’m having a drink with him early this evening, before I go on. Don’t worry, he’ll take it like a man.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’ll look shocked and hurt, then he’ll go out and get laid.”

“Oh. In that case, do you ever get an evening off from your gig?”

“Three of them. I only work four days a week.”

“Want to drive up to Connecticut on Sunday and stay for a night or two?”

“As long as we don’t leave before three o’clock.”

“Three it is. I’ll call you when I’m five minutes from the hotel. I’ll be in an evil-looking black Mercedes, at the Seventy-sixth Street entrance.”

“What clothes shall I bring?”

“Tweeds.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Country clothes, then.”

“If you say so.”

“You were a wonderful surprise last night,” he said.

“So were you.”

“Are you taking me to Connecticut so Harlan won’t find out?”

“I think it might be politic to avoid being seen together in the city for a little while, don’t you?”

“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” she admitted.

“I wouldn’t want him to get mad and take it out on the law firm; he’s an important client. Let him down easy, will you? Let your Swedish side handle it, not your Italian side. The stiletto wouldn’t look nice, protruding from between his shoulder blades. Figuratively speaking.”

“You’re a card.”

“It was your line.”

“See you Sunday at three.” She hung up.

Joan buzzed him.

“Yes?”

“Lance Cabot on line two.”

Stone picked up the phone. “Hello, Lance.”

“It’s Holly,” she said. “Hang on, I’ll get him for you.”

“Did you enjoy your stay in Connecticut?”

“Not so much, after you left.”

“A man’s gotta work.”

“A woman, too. Hang on for Lance.” She put him on hold.

He was on hold for an annoyingly long time before Lance spoke. “Stone?”

“Yes, Lance.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I plead national security.”

“You must be a Republican.”

“I don’t do politics; it’s bad policy in my line of work.”

“I agree.”

“I want to thank you for looking in on Barton. I’m much relieved to know that he’s doing better.”

“Better, except he still can’t remember the assault.”

“That’s understandable. I once took a cricket bat to the head and didn’t remember twelve hours. Still don’t.”

“I didn’t know cricket was a contact sport.”

“The incident did not take place on a cricket pitch,” Lance said,

“and the batter was a woman.”

Stone chuckled in spite of himself. Lance didn’t have much of a sense of humor, usually. “Lance, what do you know about Abner Kramer?”

“Financial bigwig, Democratic Party contributor; rumors about a cabinet post, if Will Lee gets reelected.”

“I can read that in the Times. I’d expect more from a highly placed member of the intelligence community.”

“It’s all I need to know about him.”

“You might need to know more.”

“Why?”

“He and Barton had a brief exchange about the mahogany secretary when we saw him in a restaurant in Connecticut.”

“Oh yes, I hear you were breaking and entering up there.”

“Kramer wants to buy the secretary from Barton. Did Holly tell you about the empty space in his study? Just the right size for the secretary.”

“But it was an empty space, not a piece of furniture.”

“It crossed my mind that, if Barton wouldn’t sell it, Kramer might want it anyway. You know that he and Barton did some business when they were in the Marines.”

“I heard. I’ll put out a couple of feelers on Kramer.”

“I’d especially like to know if he’s had any shady dealings the past few years.”

“I expect the president might like to know that, too.”

“That’s up to you.”

“Anything else you need?”

“Well, there’s a character named Charlie Crow, who was part of the Marine unit, too, and another named Harry Collins; everybody else is dead.”

“You left out your friend, Cantor.”

“I know enough about him.”

“Okay, I’ll put Holly on it.”

“Thanks. I think that could be helpful. Barton liked Holly a lot.”

“My brother was always fond of the ladies, and Holly corresponds to a type I used to see him with.”