“Monsieur Stone, I am in the shower for twenty minutes. You said you would scrub my back.”
“Yes, Monique, but you see we have a guest. Monique, Felix. Felix, Monique.”
“Monsieur,” she said to Teddy, “please do not think I do not like you, but you are keeping me from having a clean back.”
Teddy grinned. “I did not realize you had a previous engagement, Stone. Don’t worry, Monique, I won’t be long.”
Monique turned and padded out of the room.
“You were talking about dinner. What did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking of the Hotel l’Arrington.”
“Really? Coals to Newcastle in my case, but I’m happy to show it off.”
“I was hoping your co-owner could join us.”
“Marcel? I’m sure he’d love to, if there’s nothing he can’t get out of. Let me give him a call. Is there a particular reason you want to meet him?”
“I was hoping to get some information about the hotel.”
Stone’s eyebrows raised.
“I know you’re the co-owner,” Teddy said, “but he’s always here and has more intimate knowledge of the day-to-day. I was hoping to get some information about the convention next week, but there’s no reason to tell Marcel that. It may be nothing, and I don’t want to alarm him.”
“Now you’re alarming me. What’s happing at l’Arrington next week?”
“Animals.”
43.
GLENVILLE PAID OFF the cab and hurried down the street after the three men who were his quarry. The taxi he’d been following had driven up to the front door of l’Arrington, and he’d been forced to stop half a block away. As he drew near, he saw the three men he knew to be Stone Barrington, Dino Bacchetti, and the one he was really concerned with, Billy Barnett—or whatever name he was using—go back into the very hotel where he’d picked them up to begin with. Slowing, so as not to overtake them, he smiled at the bellboys and the valet parkers for whom he offered no business, and pushed his way into the lobby.
Inside, a fuss was being made. Stone Barrington, recognized as the co-owner, was immediately descended upon by the concierge and the head clerk, eager to cater to his every whim. As if Stone were not enough of a celebrity himself, he was known to be dining with Marcel DuBois, which pushed his importance off the chart. The maître d’ was summoned from the restaurant to personally escort them into the dining room.
Glenville watched all this with misgivings. Aziz would want a quiet location to make another run at Barnett, some out-of-the-way place. At the owner’s table in the main dining room—being catered to by waiters, wine stewards, and possibly the chef himself, would never do. Aziz would be displeased, and would probably find a way to blame him.
Glenville peeked into the dining room. Marcel DuBois was not there yet, but the other three men were being led to what was clearly his table. It commanded a view of the whole dining room, and was even slightly raised from the rest of the room.
Glenville sent Aziz a text: L’Arrington Hotel. Dining.
Aziz texted back: Check windows.
Glenville frowned. He didn’t want to ask for a clarification, but “Check windows”?
Glenville went out and walked around to the side of the hotel where he figured the restaurant was. He had no problem finding it. The windows were all lit up in the gathering dark. While he watched, waiters scurried around the head table, pouring water and waiting to take drink orders. The maître d’ was talking rapidly to the three men, no doubt apologizing for the absence of Monsieur DuBois, and imploring them to sit down. The men were demurring, probably not wanting to be seated before their host.
Through the brightly lit windows, Glenville could see it all in vivid detail. With a rush, he suddenly realized exactly what Aziz meant.
It was perfect.
44.
MARCEL WAS AN effusive, good-natured, congenial Frenchman. Of course, as co-owner of one of the finest hotels in Paris, he had reason to be happy. At the moment, however, he was unhappy to find himself in the hotel’s private dining room.
“My friends, it is so good to see you. But we should be occupying a place of honor at my head table, where we can see and be seen and enjoy the atmosphere. The private dining room is perfect for lovers, but we are not lovers. We are men of the world. We should be dining in sight of the women of the world.”
“That’s my fault, Marcel,” Teddy said. “There are people I do not want to see.”
“They could be kept away from our table. Trust me, my men are good.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that. I had a couple of unfortunate incidents lately. It appears there are men who mean to do me harm.”
“Have you gone to the police?”
“I don’t want to involve the police.”
“They can be discreet. Monsieur Bacchetti could intercede.”
“I know he could, and I’m sure the French police could handle the situation. But, as I say, it’s complicated. Protecting me won’t serve any purpose.”
“It will keep you alive.”
“I suppose there’s that,” Teddy said.
“You joke in the face of death?”
“No, but I take precautions. This room is a precaution. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s perfect for my purpose.”
Marcel put up his hands. “Please. I want to help if I can. What is the situation?”
“I’ll tell you as much as I can without violating classified material, which I have not been given clearance to divulge. I’m here undercover, investigating a foreign threat. Some of the enemy have penetrated my cover and are trying to kill me. A sniper firing through a window into a brightly lit dining room would have an easy time of it. I apologize for requesting a private room.”
Marcel considered that. “Under the circumstances, I have decided not to be offended.”
* * *
• • •
AZIZ SHOWED UP carrying a rectangular metal case. It could have held a very expensive pool cue, but Glenville didn’t think so. The hitman had brought his sniper rifle.
And Glenville had to disappoint him.
Glenville tapped out, Changed rooms, on his phone and held it up.
Aziz looked at him as if he were a moron, and tapped out on his own phone, I can hear.
“Of course,” Glenville said. “I’m sorry. They were taken to the head table, but they went to the private dining room, instead, away from any windows.”