“I will be happy to accept a new assignment,” Stone said, “just as soon as I’ve been paid for the previous one.”
“Your fee was predicated on success,” she pointed out, “and we have not confirmed who, if anyone, is buried in that churchyard on Mount Desert Island.”
“I’ve given you photographs of the body, a death certificate and his fingerprints. What more could anyone ask? If the prints aren’t Whitestone’s, then we can talk,” Stone said. “You can open the grave and examine the corpse if you like, after having obtained the proper permissions, of course. But…” He leaned forward for effect. “… if the fingerprints fit, you must remit. Agreed?”
“Spare me the Johnny Cochranisms, please,” she said.
“Spare me a hundred thousand quid,” he replied.
“Give me your bill,” she said, “made out to the Foreign Office. If the prints are Whitestone’s, I’ll countersign it and submit it. You should have your check in a few weeks.”
“Weeks?” Stone asked. “I have incurred considerable out-of-pocket expenses, mainly surveillance, both electronic and manned.”
“I’ll need the tapes for our files,” she said.
“You may have them tomorrow,” he replied, “and I would be grateful if you would see that payment is expedited.” He took his checkbook from his pocket, tore out a check, voided it and handed it to Felicity. “You may wire-transfer the funds, in dollars, to this account, using the current exchange rate.”
She added his check to her briefcase. “I’m starved,” she said, and they ordered dinner.
“Hackett knew I was working for you,” Stone said, when the waiter had left.
She looked at him askance. “You told him?”
“No, Lord Wight told him of meeting us together, and he figured it out. When he asked me, I did not confirm it.”
“I don’t like someone like James Hackett knowing about this.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have taken me to that dinner party,” Stone replied. “By the way, did you ever figure out who the VIP was who deserved to be served the Krug?”
“I expect it must have been Wight,” she said. “No one else there was of much importance.”
“Bill Eggers tells me that Wight’s reputation is better here than at home.”
“At home, his past is no more than a smudge on his copybook,” she said. “He’s been back in business for a while, now.”
“Well, now we know that he was in touch with Whitestone right up until his death.”
“Yes. He lied about that, didn’t he? Said he thought Whitestone was in Cairo, when he had actually recommended him for a job with Hackett, and under an assumed name, too.”
“Is there a crime in there somewhere?” Stone asked.
“No, it’s not criminal to conceal the identity of a former member of the service, and we can’t prove that he did anything criminal in conjunction with Whitestone.”
“Hackett was curious about why the Foreign Office is still interested in Whitestone. I’m curious, too. Did the inquiry originate with them or with you?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Stone smiled a little. “Well, Hackett offered to hire me to find out.”
She looked at him, shocked.
“I declined, of course,” he said quickly.
“I should certainly hope so,” she said. Then, looking thoughtful, she added, “I wonder why Hackett wonders why the F.O. is still interested in Whitestone.”
“Maybe Whitestone isn’t dead,” Stone said. “Maybe the photos were faked. Hackett said he wanted to hire Whitestone-though he said he didn’t know who he was at the time-to represent his company in the Middle East. Maybe Whitestone is, at this moment, representing his company in the Middle East.”
“I want to know more,” Felicity said.