“Apparently.”
“What was the other way we could do this?”
“I had in mind a more result-oriented arrangement,” Felicity said.
“What sort of result, and what sort of arrangement?”
“The result would be complete success, and the arrangement would be a payment of one hundred thousand dollars upon achieving it-to include all your expenses and any subcontractors you may require.”
“And what is the assignment?”
“The location and disposition of a weasel,” Felicity said.
“Have you tried the pet shops?”
“A weasel in the person of a disloyal former employee.”
“More information, please. What do you mean by ‘disposition’?”
“I mean putting him into my hands or those I may designate. You don’t have to kill him. I’m afraid that is all I can tell you until you have signed this,” she replied, removing a document from her briefcase.
Stone looked at the title. “The Official Secrets Act?”
“You read well.”
“Doesn’t this apply only to British subjects?”
“It applies to anyone who signs it,” she replied.
“Pounds,” Stone said. “Not dollars.”
Felicity uncapped a large fountain pen and handed it to Stone.
“I assume this is filled with blood,” Stone said.
“Yes, but not yours. Pounds, it is.”
Stone signed the document. “All right, tell me about it.”
Felicity’s osso buco arrived. “In the morning,” Felicity said, attacking the veal shank.
3
Felicity put
down her fork, having demolished her osso buco and most of the bottle of Chianti. “That was superb,” she said. “Now let’s go to your house.”
“Delighted,” Stone replied. He had forgotten how blunt she could be.
“Would you be delighted to have me as your guest for an indeterminate period?” she asked. “I’m not speaking of years or even months, perhaps a week or two.”
“Absolutely delighted,” Stone said.
“Then let’s be off,” Felicity said.
As it turned out, “off” didn’t mean in a cab but in a large, somewhat elderly Rolls-Royce.
“Nice ride,” Stone said when they were settled into the leather rear compartment and on the way downtown to his home in Turtle Bay.