“My management have categorically refused to reimburse you for your monetary loss. They feel no responsibility.”
“That’s sweet of them. Tell me the good news.”
“It comes in two parts: first, we caught Morgan in Hawaii.”
Stone sat up in bed. “Did he have my money with him?”
“No, he didn’t.”
Stone fell back into the bed. “Why are you torturing me?”
“I said the good news came in two parts.”
“All right, what’s part two?”
“Morgan checked in for his flight only shortly before it departed, so his luggage didn’t make it aboard the aircraft.”
Stone sat up in bed again. “The valise?”
“Heathrow security found it, waiting patiently to be put aboard the next flight. There was nearly half a million dollars in it.”
“Yeeessss!” Stone shouted, punching the air.
“It will take a little sorting out, but I imagine that, in a few days, I can transfer it to your New York bank. Do you have the account number?”
Stone gave her his brokerage account number. “Send it there,” he said, “back where it came from.”
“Well, I suppose you’ll be able to buy me dinner the next time I’m in New York.”
“Yes, I suppose I will be able to afford that. Soon, I hope.”
“You never know.”
“What about Lance Cabot? Any word on him?”
“He was too slick for us. The motorcycle turned out to be his; we picked up his pilot when he returned for the machine; Cabot had given it to him, apparently.”
“What did the pilot tell you?”
“He delivered Cabot to a farmer’s field in France, he isn’t sure where, since Cabot erased the coordinates from his GPS computer before leaving the airplane. He was met by two people, one of them answering to the description of Ali. We haven’t been able to trace him from there, so we have to assume that both he and, ah, his luggage reached their destination. We don’t know where that was.”
“Mason said he probably wouldn’t be prosecuted.”
“That’s right, but we would certainly make it difficult for him if he ever returned to Britain. I expect that he won’t; he’ll enjoy his ill-gotten gains in a more hospitable climate.” She paused. “Well, I must run.”
“May I know your name, now?”
She laughed. “All in good time. You take care of yourself.”
“Listen, when do you think . . .” But she had gone.
Stone got out of bed, and by the time he had dressed and breakfasted, his secretary was at her desk, working away.
“Good morning!” she said. “And welcome back!”
“Thank you, Joan,” he said. “Will you let my broker know to expect the return of some funds I took out of my account? In a few days, I think.”
“Of course,” she said. She handed him a stack of message slips. “Here are your phone calls, and this was in the fax machine when I came in yesterday.”