“And I couldn’t have been told this?”
“I didn’t know. He only tells me what he wants me to know. Or rather what he wants you to know. So, the good news is the Syrians have been neutralized and the threat of a biological weapon has been erased. Even if no one knows it. At least, no one but you.”
“Yet conveniently there’s no proof any of this occurred.”
“Well, there will be.”
“What!?”
“Our friend is sending the sample of the virus back to you for our scientists to study and create a vaccine. Along with the dog. Your friend’s dog is fine. The other dog needs an operation.”
“‘Other dog’?”
“Luckily the dog’s not infected. The virus is in a vial sewn into the lining of the dog’s stomach. A simple operation can remove the vial, and the dog will be good to go. Which is nice because Barkley seems to like him. Your friend may wind up with two dogs.”
Lance blinked. “Run that by me again.”
93.
TEDDY FINISHED SWIMMING laps. He climbed out of his pool, dried off, and relaxed in a deck chair.
His cell phone rang. He picked it up. “Hello?”
It was Lance. “Do you know who this is?”
“How did you find me? I have a new phone with a new number.”
“I’m head of the CIA.”
“I suppose you have some resources.”
Lance exhaled. “Do you do things just to annoy me?”
“Did I send you to Paris on a hopeless mission?”
“It wasn’t hopeless. You actually did it.”
“And yet you sound annoyed.”
“Well, why you couldn’t have done it without buying a half-million-euro rhinoceros is beyond me.”
“I don’t know what you’re grousing about. I saved you 275 million dollars on the dog.”
“Did I ask you to buy an infected dog?”
“He’s not infected.”
“So why am I reading reports of how the Paris police foiled an international arms deal involving bioterrorists?”
“You wanted the glory? I thought you guys didn’t deal in that. Well, you can blame Dino. He let the prefect take credit in exchange for doing all he wanted. It seemed a fair exchange to me, but you be the judge.
“What you can take credit for is the rhinoceros. The Tanzanian government is eternally grateful to the CIA for their generous donation of a rare black rhino. That gesture bought an awful lot of goodwill.”
“A half million euros’ worth?”
“Have you seen that rhino? He’s a real heartbreaker.”
Teddy could practically hear Lance gnashing his teeth.
“You have one more expense.”
“Oh, Christ, what else did you buy?”
“Agent Workman was collateral damage. You can’t acknowledge how he actually died, so you can make anything up. He was killed in the line of duty, and should be singled out for bravery. If he has a family, they should be generously compensated.”
“How did he actually die?”
“I shot him.”
Lance sucked in his breath. “Why are you telling me this?”
“So you’ll never ask me again. Hang on a minute. I’ve got another call.”
“You’re putting the director of the CIA on hold?”
“Because I’m a nice guy. A jerk would hang up on you.”
Teddy silenced Lance’s angry protests by pressing the hold button, and picked up the other call. “Hello?”
It was Peter Barrington. “Billy. I heard you were back. Want to make a movie?”
“Hell yes,” Teddy said. “Let me put you on hold a second, Peter. I’ve got to get rid of a pest.”
Keep reading for an exciting preview of the next Stone Barrington novel, CONTRABAND
1.
Stone Barrington lay, naked and dozing, on the upper deck of Breeze, the large motor yacht he co-owned with his business partners, Mike Freeman and Charley Fox. His friends, Dino and Vivian Bacchetti drowsed on nearby deck chairs. They were anchored, late in the day, in the harbor of Fort Jefferson, the pre–Civil War installation that had been a prison for Confederate prisoners during what Southerners still liked to call the War Between the States. Seventy miles east of Key West, the anchorage was gin clear and usually occupied by a few yachts, but now all was quiet; the last boat and seaplane of the day having departed, and the lagoon was theirs.
A distant buzzing noise penetrated Stone’s semiconsciousness, then it stopped and started again. Stone opened an eye—which was pointed to the east, away from the low sun—and found a black, insect-like spot in the air, getting larger. As it approached, it grew in size until it was clearly a small, high-winged aircraft—probably a Cessna—equipped with floats. Except something was wrong.
Stone sat up on his flat deck chair and looked at the plane with both eyes. One of the floats, the one affixed under the left wing, was no longer affixed, it was dangling. And one other thing: the buzzing had stopped completely, and so had the propeller, as the pilot wisely feathered it to give himself less drag and more glide distance.
Dino sat up and looked around. “What was that noise?” he asked.
Stone pointed. “It isn’t noisy anymore.”
The airplane grew closer and lower. “What’s that thing hanging off the left wing?”
“It used to be a float,” Stone said, “like the one under the other wing, but now it’s just a hazard.”
“How can he land it like that?” Dino asked. Viv was now awake and also looking at the airplane, perhaps a quarter mile out.
“With difficulty,” Stone said. “Dino, please ask Captain Todd to launch the rubber dinghy right now.” Dino ran down the stairs to the main deck, while Stone stood up and followed the flight path, forgetting that he had been naked under his small towel.
Luckily, Viv’s gaze was on the airplane’s equipment, not his. “That looks awful,” she said.
Stone watched the airplane—probably a Cessna 206, a kind of flying station wagon—turn left, then right, and finally straight in for an apparent attempt at landing in the harbor.
Captain Todd ran up to the top deck, followed by two of his girl crew members and began clearing away the RIB, a rubber dinghy with a fiberglass hull and two outboards.