“As a matter of fact, we have, to a street address in Tallinn, in Estonia. If you want it raided, you’re going to have to go upstairs for permission. That’s it. We’ll leave it to you to report our report.”
She picked up the phone, took it off speaker mode, and asked him a few more questions. Then she said, “Bye-bye.”
They both hung up.
“I was afraid of something like this,” she said.
“Something like what?”
“The kid’s computer was caught up in a search for computers with weak spots in their defenses. It was kidnapped by someone in Estonia and used as a relay to search other computers. And it found yours.”
“Jesus.”
“Well, yes. Now we’ll trace back from the Estonian computer. It’s my guess that the chain probably originates in Russia, from an intelligence agency like the GRU. Of course, it could originate in South Africa or Australia or anywhere else on earth, but the bot had certain characteristics that make us think it’s of Russian origin.”
“Sounds like I’m going to have to go a long way to punch this guy in the nose.”
“Possibly. It could be someone who just wants us to think the source is Russian. Who knows?”
“So we’re not going to find out who did this or why?”
“Not unless someone higher up perceives this as a threat to the computers you’ve been communicating with at the Agency,” she said. “Like Lance Cabot’s computer. Don’t worry, they’ll be keeping an eye on it, and they’ll let you know if that happens.”
“You must be hungry,” Stone said.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I’m hungry.”
“You’re a good judge of character. Where shall we go? I’m not exactly dressed up.”
“How about right here?” Stone asked. “What would you like?”
“What’s on the menu?”
“Whatever you want. My cook, Helene, is very good at her native Greek cooking.”
“Okay, I’ll have something Greek.”
Stone pressed a button, and Fred Flicker appeared in the doorway. “Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, Fred. This is Ms. Hardwick. Would you tell Helene we’d like something Greek for dinner, and in the meantime, some canapés, so we won’t faint?”
“Of course, sir. And the wine?”
“You choose it.”
Fred dematerialized.
“As easy as that, huh?”
“Fred is a wonder; so is Helene. They’ve been on holiday, so they should be refreshed.”
* * *
—
They started with a Pâté Diana, duck’s liver with lots of butter, then went on to dolmades—stuffed grape leaves—and other delicacies, with a bottle of Greek wine chosen by Fred.
“That was better than going out,” Rocky said.
They moved back to the sofa for coffee and cognac, and Stone threw another log on the fire.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so comfortable,” Rocky said.
“Flattery.”
She laughed. “Entirely in earnest.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “When do you make your move?”
“Move?”
“That move,” she said.
“Oh, that one. How about next time we meet?”
“Sounds good. I’ll remember not to overeat.”
Later, Stone walked her down to the garage, and Fred drove her home.
“Next time,” she called from the open window.
6
Stone Barrington sat at his desk on Friday morning, reading a contract on his computer. Joan buzzed him.
“What?”
“We have to get out,” Joan said. “Right now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Getting out.”
“At whose suggestion?”
“Rocky Hardwick, and it isn’t a suggestion.”
“What does she mean by ‘get out’?”
“Of the office. She said to go into the garage and take your laptop with you. Me, too.”
“Are you taking this seriously?” Stone asked.
“Pretty much. I’m in the garage. Join me? You’ve got less than a minute.” She hung up.
Stone looked at his wristwatch; nearly twelve. Suddenly, it came to him. He grabbed his coat, his briefcase, and his laptop, and ran for it. He had just closed the garage door when there was a dull thud from the direction of his office. He looked around for Joan; she was cowering with Bob behind the Bentley.
“Did you hear that?” she said.
“Of course I heard it. Felt it, too.”
His cell phone rang. “Yes?”
“Did you get out in time?” It was Rocky.
“Yes. What happened?”
“Well, I was going over the report about your computer from my colleague at the lab, who noticed the computer smelled a little of motor oil. They only mentioned it because it seemed odd. But I knew that to be a scent consistent with C-4.”
“Is it safe to go back in there?” he asked.
“I think you’d better let our bomb people go in first.”
“You have bomb people?”
“Of course.”
“Well, send ’em over.”
“You stay in the garage until they give you the all clear.”
They both hung up.
* * *
—
Stone and Joan sat in the Bentley, listening to jazz on the radio, until someone hammered on the garage door.
Stone rolled down the window. “Come in!” he yelled.
The door opened and a man in a jumpsuit, carrying a toolbox, walked in. “All clear,” he said, beckoning them.
As Stone walked into his office Rocky was entering through the street door. “Everybody okay?”
“Everybody but my office,” Stone said, looking around.
“It’s not so bad,” Joan said. “Mostly broken glass and, of course, broken computer.”