“I see. So you wish me to find these two young men and then…”

“I want a permanent solution; I don’t want to hear about them again,” Hickock said. “Ever.”

Bianchi nodded. “I don’t blame you; it is what I would do, in the circumstances.”

“I apologize for bringing up money, but I know this will be expensive.”

“You are very kind, Dickie.”

Hickock removed a thick envelope from his other overcoat pocket and handed it to Bianchi. “There’s fifty thousand in there,” he said. “I hope that will cover it.”

“I believe so,” Bianchi said, “unless there are unusual complications.”

“I’m very grateful to you, Ricky,” Hickock said.

Bianchi shrugged. “It is at times like this that one must come to one’s old friends. I am sorry that circumstances prevent us from meeting more often, when there is no business to discuss.”

“I’m sorry for that, too, old friend. Do you know that we have seen each other only a half-dozen times since Yale? I feel badly that I only come to you when I have problems.”

“Do not concern yourself,” Bianchi said. “I know your heart.”

“You are a good friend, Ricky.”

Bianchi embraced Hickock again. “I must go; there is always business to do. I will be in touch through the usual channels when this business of yours has been completed.”

“Good-bye, Ricky.”

“Good-bye, Dickie.”

The two men parted, and each walked to his own elevator.

There was a man waiting for Bianchi on the ground floor, and he handed him the magazine. On the way back to the car he imparted the information he had just learned. “Make copies of this photograph, small ones; put the word out on the street, especially in the good bars and restaurants, that we want to locate both of them. There will be a two-thousand-dollar reward for this information. When they have both – not one, but both – been found, they should die in a way that will seem to be an ordinary crime – a mugging, a robbery. There will be five thousand each for this work, but for the money to be paid, they must both be killed, you understand?”

The man nodded. “Si, padrone,” he said.

They had reached the car. Bianchi held a finger to his lips for silence, then they got in.

“Stone?”

“Yes, Amanda, what’s up?”

“I had lunch with Dick Hickock today, and we’ve decided to call off the DIRT investigation.”

“Really?” Stone asked, surprised. “Why?”

“We talked about it, and we decided it’s just not important enough to continue devoting all this effort and money to it, so will you send me a final bill?”

“Of course. There isn’t much; you’ve already paid most of it.”

“Good, just send it, then. Hope I’ll see you and Arrington soon.”

“Thanks, Amanda.”

“Bye.” She hung up.

Stone turned to Arrington. “Amanda and Hickock are calling off the investigation.”

“Good God! Why?”

“I don’t know. She said something about it not being worth the trouble, but I don’t buy that. They’ve both been very avid about it up to now.”

“This is very strange.”

“I think there’s something going on that we don’t know about,” he said.

“Are you going to stop looking for Jonathan, then?”

“Certainly not. I still have a couple of personal things to talk with Mr. Dryer about.”

“Maybe you should just let it go, Stone. The whole thing is a little too scary.”

“No, I won’t let it go,” he said.

Chapter 49

Stone got out of the cab at the Washington Square Arch and walked along the north rim of the park, enjoying the clear, cold morning and looking at the small children playing in the new-fallen snow, their mothers or nannies watching over them like mother hens. He crossed the street to a row of elegant townhouses that were occupied by senior faculty and administrators of New York University, then climbed the steps to a highly varnished front door and rang the bell.

A uniformed maid answered the door. “Yes?”

“My name is Barrington; I have an appointment with Dr. Bernard.”

“Oh, yes, he’s expecting you; please follow me.” She led him up the stairs to the second floor, to a set of double doors on the south side of the house, and knocked briefly.

“Come!” a muffled voice cried.

She opened the door. “Dr. Bernard, your visitor is here.”

“Ah, yes; show him in, please.”

The maid admitted Stone, then closed the door behind him. He was in a good-sized library, which could not contain the books that had been stuffed into it. They were everywhere, on every surface, on chairs and on the floor. A row of high windows afforded a fine view of Washington Square Park.

“Mr. Barrington,” the old man said, rising and extending his hand.

“Dr. Bernard,” Stone said, shaking his hand. “It’s been a very long time.” About twenty years.

Bernard waved him to a chair before the fireplace, opposite his own. “Just dump those books on the floor. Yes, it has been a long time, though I’ve read of you in the papers once or twice. You were injured, weren’t you?”

“Yes, sir, a bullet in the knee; occupational hazard. It’s in pretty good shape now.”

“Ah, yes, the occupation you chose. I admit, I never understood it.”

“With hindsight, perhaps it wasn’t the best choice,” Stone said. “But it’s been an interesting life.”

“I see you’ve gained wisdom with age,” Bernard said, a trace of a smile crossing his plump face.

The maid entered with a tray bearing a Thermos, some cups, and a plate of cookies.

“Some coffee?” Bernard asked.

“Thank you; black, please.” He watched as his old professor poured. He hadn’t changed much; a little heavier, maybe; he still wore very fine suits, hadn’t let himself go the way many old men do. He was freshly barbered and shaved, and when he crossed his legs, his most visible foot wore a very expensive shoe.

“You left the police department, I believe.”

“Yes; I was given the boot, really, on medical grounds, with a full salary.”

“And what have you been doing since your retirement?”

“I’m of counsel to Woodman and Weld.”

“An estimable firm. I’ve known Woodman all his life. You said ‘of counsel.’ Not a partner?”

“No. I’m rather a special case there; I work out of my home, which is not far from their offices, handling cases for their clients that don’t quite fit the Woodman and Weld profile.”

“Ah, I see; dirty laundry.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Are you happy doing this work?”

“I suppose I’d rather be arguing cases before the Supreme Court, but I’m content with my lot.”

Bernard nodded. “Contentment is devoutly to be wished, perhaps more than glory.”

“Perhaps.”

“I always saw you as a very fine trial lawyer.”

“I do some trial work, but maybe not the kind you saw me doing. As a matter of fact, I recall that you saw quite a different calling for me.”

“Ah, yes. Is that what you’ve come to see me about? A little late in life for that sort of thing, isn’t it?”

“Probably so.”

“They’re in such a mess now, after that Aldrich Ames business. Makes me regret that I steered young men their way. Still, some of them have served honorably. As for the rest, well… the Company always finds somebody to do that kind of work, much as Woodman and Weld have found you.”

That stung. “Well, what you describe as Woodman and Weld’s ‘dirty laundry’ is still honorable work,” Stone replied.

“Of course, and I know you’ve conducted yourself honorably. I apologize for what must have seemed a slur.”

“Not at all, sir.”

“So, why have you come to see me?”

Stone took the ad from Vanity Fair from his pocket and handed it to Bernard. “I want to find this man,” he said, “and there’s some indication that he may have picked up certain unsavory skills while working for some federal agency.”