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“Have we heard from Dino and the FBI yet?” she asked.
“No, the FBI takes longer than my guys and your guys put together, but it’s a remarkable system for plucking faces out of the files. Do you think Stanley Whitestone might have committed a crime in this country?”
“I don’t doubt it for a moment,” she said, “but I’d be very surprised if the FBI or anybody else has caught him doing it.”
“Well, if he has been caught at something and his image pops up, the FBI will be all over this.”
“And if he should fall into their hands,” she said, emptying her drink, “he’ll tell them everything he knows about us and all he can make up, just to stay out of prison.”
“Perhaps I should have thought of that before asking Dino to do this.”
“No, I think it was the right thing; it might turn up something, and we might get to him before the FBI does.”
“Whatever you could say. I might still be able to stop Dino.”
“No, this isn’t going to be easy; we’re going to need every resource available. The trail is very cold.”
“As you wish.”
She looked at him closely. “Subject change,” she said. “Why are you still alone?”
Stone blinked. “Why are you?” he asked.
“My work,” she replied. “Now back to you.”
“I don’t know, really. They come and they go. I get dumped a lot.”
“Why?”
“I think they think I’m incapable of commitment.”
“Is that true?”
“No, I don’t think so, but I’m very careful about who I commit to. Don’t you think you’re blaming too much on your work?”
“I tried to explain this before: it works better if we’re both in the service. We are the only people who understand us. Say I married some barrister or stockbroker. There would be a constant schedule of work-related social events, and I would make very few of them. I work all hours, and men get lonely, just as women do. Men are not understanding when you tell them nothing about what you do. It drives them crazy.”
“I suppose I can understand that, but you’ve told me quite a lot tonight.”
Felicity laughed. “If, say, the Chinese or the North Koreans captured you and you told them everything I’ve told you, they would kill you because you told them nothing.”
“See,” Stone said, laughing. And then their dinner arrived.
11
Stone was at his desk the following morning when Herbie Fisher appeared at his office door, unannounced. The phone buzzed, and Stone picked it up. “Yes?”
“Mr. Herbert Fisher to see you,” Joan said drily.
“Thank you so much,” Stone said, and hung up. “What can I do for you, Herbie?” he asked.
Herbie came in and took a seat across the desk from Stone. “I know who’s trying to kill me,” he said.
Stone held up a hand, a stopping motion. “Herbie, think back a couple of years: someone was trying to kill you then, remember? Dattila the Hun?”
“Oh, yeah. I remember that.”
“We sued him, remember?”
