Free Criminal Mischief by Stuart Woods Page B

route.”
    “Oh, shit. I’d better warn the feds.” He hung up and called Brio.
    “Now what? The airplane is at Landmark Aviation. Two SWAT teams are suiting up.”
    “Hold on. The Gulfstream has filed for Hilo. They’ll be gone before your people get there.”
    “What am I going to tell two SWAT teams?”
    “Tell them to unsuit, and better luck next time.”
    “Shit!” she said. “God, I could use a drink.”
    “When do you get off?”
    “That’s a leading question, but I finished work five minutes ago.”
    “Where are you staying?”
    “Upper East Side.”
    “Stop by my house for a drink, then.”
    “Let me get everybody to stand down, then I’ll see you about six.”
    He gave her the address.
    “Turtle Bay. I’ve always wondered about that neighborhood.”
    “All will be revealed,” Stone said. “We’ll see how you feel about dinner after your first drink.”
    “You’re pushing your luck, but I’ll see you at six.” She hung up.
    Cantor called back. “They’ve taken off,” he said. “Eight people and a dog aboard.”
    “Six of those will be two flight crews and two attendants. They’re geared up for long-haul flights, and the crew has to sleep sometime.”
    “Sounds that way.”
    “Call me on the cell when you’re sure where they’re landing.”
    “Okay.”
    Stone called Helene to see what kind of dinner she could put together on short notice.

20
    Stone’s doorbell rang at six-thirty. He pressed the intercom button. “Is that the FBI?”
    “It is. Sorry I’m late.”
    “Come straight ahead, I’ll meet you.” He pressed the button that opened the door and walked into the living room. He had just a moment to size her up, and the report was favorable. “I’m Stone Barrington.” He offered his hand.
    She took it. “I’m Brio Ness. It’s a nice hand, but why doesn’t it have a drink in it?”
    “I’ll lead you to the watering hole,” Stone said, walking her to the study.
    “Nice living room,” she said, while passing through. “Nice study,” she said, when they had arrived.
    “Thank you. We make a nice drink, too. What would you like?”
    “A single malt Scotch on the rocks. It’s been that kind of day.”
    “Laphroaig?”
    “Whatever perfect is in Gaelic.”
    He poured and handed her a thick Baccarat whiskey glass, then poured himself a Knob Creek and waved her to the sofa.
    “Ahhhh,” she said, sinking in. “Your friend Zanian is getting me down.”
    “We’re not friends. We’ve never met.”
    “What shall I call him, your meal ticket?”
    “I eat quite well without his help. Call him my quarry.”
    “Done. God, this is wonderful Scotch.”
    “I tend to agree, but I’m a drinker of bourbon, by habit.”
    “I can’t stay for dinner,” she said.
    “Of course, you can. I’ve already ordered, and it will be served shortly.”
    “Well, since you put it that way.” She emptied her glass.
    “There’s time for one more before dinner,” he said, repairing the damage.
    “I just don’t want you to think that I’m that kind of girl,” she said.
    “The kind who eats?”
    “I don’t do that on a first date.”
    “Eat? I recommend it three times daily.”
    Fred appeared at the door with a dusty bottle of wine in his hand. Stone introduced him to Brio. “Will this do for dinner, sir?”
    “What are we having?”
    “Porterhouse steak.”
    “That will do very nicely with beef. Please decant it, and a chardonnay with our first course.”
    Fred disappeared.
    “You have a butler?”
    “We call him a factotum. He’s so much more than a butler: drives, decants, shoots bad people.”
    “You get a lot of those in the house?”
    “They turn up now and then. Fred was the national pistol champion of the Royal Navy, two years running. He was a Marine.”
    “Pretty small for a Marine,” she said.
    “He beats up larger opponents all the time.”
    “I suppose that’s handy, if you’re in the wrong neighborhood.”
    “It is. I don’t have the