3
Stone did not want to make this call. Every time he asked Lance Cabot for something, there were repercussions. Lance always wanted something in return, and it was usually more than he had given Stone, or more than Stone wanted to give him. He dialed the number.
“Good morning, Stone,” Lance said in his silken baritone and New England accent.
“Good morning, Lance,” Stone replied.
“What may the Central Intelligence Agency do for you this fine day?”
“I have a problem, one that involves the Agency, you specifically.”
“I don’t much like the sound of that,” Lance said.
“Neither do I, but there it is.”
“There what is?”
“There is an attempt at extortion, concerning the computer systems in my home and office.”
“Let me guess. Someone claims to have made a movie of you masturbating to a porno movie.”
“Not that one. No grounds.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so.”
“What then?”
“Someone has frozen my computers and threatens to destroy and expose their contents unless I pay him one and a half million dollars in Bitcoin.”
“I don’t see the problem,” Lance said. “You surely have that many dollars to spare. Our investigation of your background shows that you do. Pay the extra two cents.”
This was from an old Yiddish joke dating to the days of vaudeville, but Stone didn’t bite. “If it were only two cents, I still wouldn’t pay it.”
“Oh, Stone, you choose the oddest times to become a man of principle. Why do I care what happens to your computers?”
“Because there are many communications and documents from you lodged on their hard drives,” Stone said. “The man purports to have read all my important information, and one assumes this would include all those little love letters of yours and the details of a number of Agency operations, some of which may still be running.”
Lance took a moment of silence for that to soak in. “We are not going to give your extortionist one and a half million dollars in Bitcoin,” he said.
“As I’ve said, neither am I. So where does that leave us?”
“Where do you think it leaves us?” Lance snapped.
“It leaves you worse off than me.”
This stopped Lance for a full ten seconds. “Are you threatening me, Stone?”
“No, an extortionist is threatening you—and, of course, me, as well.”
“What do you propose I should do about this situation?”
“Well,” Stone said. “Best case: you have your people track down the extortionist, destroy all his equipment, put his name on every conceivable watch list, which would keep him from finding this sort of work again. And, come to think of it, maybe slap him around a bit, just enough to give him a glimpse of his own blood.”
“You’ve been watching too many Bruce Willis films,” Lance said.
“No, I’ve been reading your ops reports. Now, have you a counterproposal for action?”
“‘Action this day,’” Lance muttered.
“Fine with me. I’ve got until noon Friday.”
“I was quoting Winston Churchill,” Lance said, “not making a suggestion. Churchill used to attach notes with those words to his orders. For a while everybody jumped, but after a little longer, people got used to them and ignored them.”
“Is that happening to you, Lance? Are your people beginning to ignore you?”
“Not until after their resignations have been accepted.”
“Let’s go back to the beginning of this pinball game,” Stone said. “I am not going to pay the extortionist a million and a half dollars in Bitcoin nor in quarters, dimes, nor pennies. Your turn.”
Lance sighed. “All right, I’ll send somebody around to your office.”
“Thank you. Please stress to your man that he is being sent to restore my computers to their previous health, not to bowdlerize them and leave them in a smoking heap on my office floor.”
“I’ll try to remember,” Lance said, then hung up.
Stone hung up, too, feeling let down. Somehow he had expected more of a cavalry charge than just a home visit. He looked at his watch; it was still running, and the time was eleven o’clock.
There was a knock at his door, and Holly walked in, wearing a tailored suit and looking all business. “Good morning again,” she said.
“Good morning. Are you off somewhere?”
“I am speaking at a luncheon given by the Foreign Policy Association, to which I have, mercifully, not invited you.”
“How can I thank you enough?” he replied.
“I’ll think of something,” she replied. “We have one more night together before I flee.”
“I’ve learned to take what I can get. What would you like for dinner?”
“Let’s order in Chinese from that fabulous place you know. We can dine naked.”
“Then the food hardly matters,” he replied.
She gave him a wet kiss and left, headed for the garage.
* * *
—
Ten minutes later, Joan buzzed him. “Rocky, from Lance, to see you.”
“Send him in.”
Joan laughed and hung up. A moment later a young woman wearing slacks and a cashmere sweater entered his office. Stone particularly appreciated cashmere sweaters that were not marred by bras. “I’m Rocky Hardwick,” she said. “Where’s your computer?”
“I’m Stone Barrington,” he replied, and pointed at his desk. “And that’s my computer.”
She set down a briefcase and a leather satchel. “Pardon me, as I change,” she said, producing a pair of coveralls from the satchel and pulling them on over her clothes. “Get out of my way.”
“I wasn’t aware that computers are greasy,” Stone said, rising from his desk and moving to a leather chair.
“You never know,” Rocky said. She produced a fat laptop computer, unplugged a circuit board from Stone’s computer, and used a cable to attach it to her laptop. “Now, let’s have a look at your hard drive.” She typed nonstop for about half a minute, then sat back and watched her screen.