The Short Forever (Stone Barrington 8)

“Come to the kitchen; I’ll make you some eggs.”

Carpenter followed him into the kitchen, where Dino was making coffee. Stone scrambled some eggs, English-style, and fried some superb smoked Irish back bacon. They were just finishing when nine o’clock came.

Stone looked at his watch. “Any minute,” he said.

“My funds are ready to go,” Carpenter said. “The minute you have the wiring instructions.”

By ten o’clock, Stone had still not heard from Lance.

“Call him,” Carpenter said.

Stone dialed the Farm Street house; Erica answered.

“Hi,” Stone said, “may I speak with Lance?”

“He’s not here,” she said, and she sounded upset.

“W

hat’s wrong?” Stone asked.

“He left in the middle of the night; I didn’t wake up until Monica called a few minutes ago.”

“You sound a little groggy.”

“I know; I can’t seem to wake up.”

“Did Lance leave a note?”

“No, nothing; and all his clothes are gone. I mean, everything, and all his luggage, too.”

“I’ll call you back,” Stone said, and hung up. He turned to Carpenter. “Sounds like Lance drugged Erica last night, then packed up and decamped. Does this change anything?”

“No,” she said. “It makes sense that he’d not tell her where he’s going, and he wouldn’t want to return to the house after the buy.”

“But why would he go two days before the buy?”

“This leads me to think that the exchange will be tonight, rather than tomorrow. It can’t happen any earlier than that, because his man at Eastover will be working all day; if he didn’t show up for work, our people would be all over him.”

“Then why hasn’t Lance called with the wiring instructions?” Stone asked. “He can’t make the buy without the funds, and he made the very good point last night that the cash would have to be transported to England. This doesn’t make any sense.”

Carpenter got out her cellphone and went into the study. She came back a few minutes later. “Both our suspects at Eastover are at work, as usual,” she said. “We’ll be notified if they leave the installation for any reason, and there are people there to keep track of them if they do.”

Stone was suddenly struck with an odd feeling. “Excuse me a minute, will you?” He went upstairs and retrieved his copy of the Swiss bank documents. There was an account manager’s name at the top of the first page, and a telephone number. Stone dialed the number.

An operator answered, repeating only the number.

“May I speak with Dr. Peter von Enzberg?” Stone asked.

“Who is calling, please?” the operator asked in stiff English.

“My name is Stone Barrington.”

“One moment.” There was a brief pause, followed by several clicks.

“This is Peter von Enzberg,” a deep voice said, sounding very English. “Is that Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes, Doctor. I opened an account yesterday and transferred some funds from New York.”