“What sort of flying did he do after Embry-Riddle?” Stone asked.
“Package delivery, air charter, corporate—the usual for a new pilot looking to build time.”
Dino’s phone buzzed, and he looked at it. “Well, he still doesn’t have a DUI,” he said, “but he did get into a bar fight a couple of times, so he has an arrest record, but he was never charged. Also, he’s not working for the airlines now; he’s with one of those shared aircraft ownership outfits, based at—wait for it—Teterboro.”
“Motive: Callie,” Stone said. “Means: available at any hardware store. Opportunity: on the way to or from work. He’s a good suspect.”
Callie shrugged. “If you say so.”
“The odds say so,” Dino replied.
12
Holly was at her desk when Mac knocked and entered.
“You look like a man with news,” she said.
“I am, and from the Agency. There’s good and bad: the good news is that everybody who was in the conference room that day has passed the Agency’s 701C, and without breaking a sweat.”
“And the bad news?”
“The same as the good news. We’re back to square one.”
“Mac, you remember when we had all those cameras installed last year?”
“Yep?”
“Was the big conference room one of the places they were installed?”
“Yep.”
“Then why don’t you go down to the basement to that little room where our paid wretches spend their days and nights doing the soul-destroying work of watching all those screens, and have them rewind to the day of that meeting and view the tapes from that day thoroughly.”
“What will I be looking for or at?”
“You’ll be looking at all of the people who attended that meeting, and for the least sign of furtiveness or odd behavior among them.”
Mac sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I know, I know, but it has to be you, because you’re the smartest guy in the building and the most observant. You’ll know what to look for, and you’ll know it when you see it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mac said and shuffled out.
Holly looked at her watch: well after breakfast time in Paris. She dialed the number on her personal cell phone.
* * *
—
Stone was sitting in a comfortable chair in his living room, doing the Times crossword and working on shedding his jet lag, while the others went for a bracing walk, when his iPhone rang.
“Yes?”
“Scramble.”
“Scrambled.”
“Good morning,” she said.
“And good morning to you. How’s life?”
“Tolerable.”
“Any progress on the mole?”
“Well, we’ve eliminated all the good guys as suspects,” she replied. “By the way, I hope I’m not infringing on your sex life.”
“You can’t have sex in an armchair while doing the Times crossword,” he said. “Well, you could, I guess, but it wouldn’t be much fun.”
“I’ve never known you to be unable to find a suitable location and partner for that activity,” she said, getting an affirmative grunt in response.
“How’s the campaign going?”
“What campaign? I’m stuck until we find, or kill, the fucking mole. My campaign people are going nuts over my indecision. I can tell them they have to be patient, but I can’t tell them why.”
“There are already half a dozen people on the campaign trail,” Stone said, “according to the part of my newspaper without a crossword.”
“I read the same newspaper,” she said, “and I get the same news on TV.”
“Well, the news here is unintelligible, unless it’s CNN, and they broadcast about the same twelve minutes over and over.”
“How’s the new airplane?” she asked.
“Jesus, you, too? I think everybody I know knew about it before I bought it.”
“It must be very comfortable.”
“It has a bed in the aft cabin. I’ll show it to you sometime.”
“No phone sex,” she said, “not even scrambled. Hang on.” She covered the phone for a few seconds, then came back. “Excuse me, but there’s a fire somewhere to be put out. Later.” She hung up.
It was a good thing there had been no phone sex, Stone thought, because Marie had gone grocery shopping and there was someone hammering on the front door. Stone got up and answered it.
Rick La Rose was standing at the door, and it was raining outside. Stone hadn’t noticed. “Come in, Rick,” he said. “Have you had breakfast?”
Rick was the Paris station chief for the Agency. “Yes, but I could use some coffee.”
Stone headed for the kitchen. “What would you like in it?”
“Brandy, normally, but not at this time of day. Usually.”
Stone returned with two mugs and handed one to Rick. “Come sit down.”
They sat and sipped. “How’d you know I was here?” Stone asked. “This place isn’t still wired for sound, is it?”
“I’m not prepared to comment on that,” Rick said. “But an alarm did go off last evening when the gates were opened electronically, so I thought I’d see if you had a burglar.”
“You folks have a very poor response time,” Stone said.
“Yeah, but we always get around to it, eventually.”
“‘Eventually’ isn’t a response time. It’s an excuse.”
“It’ll have to do,” Rick said. “How’s the new airplane?”
Stone sighed. “It’s just wonderful, thanks. I flew it part of the way across the Atlantic yesterday.”
“I didn’t know you were type-rated in a G-500.”
“I wasn’t, until a couple of days ago. I’ve been doing a week or two at a time in the simulator for the past eighteen months. It adds up.”
“I hear you had a little vandalism at Teterboro,” Rick said.
“My life is an open book,” Stone replied.
“Any suspects?”