Lucid Intervals (Stone Barrington 18)

“That can’t be your cell phone, can it?” he asked.

She sat up in bed. “Oh, yes,” she replied. “They control that ring from the other end.” She scrambled out of bed and ran naked across the room to where she had left her purse. “It’s the sound of a red telephone ringing,” she said, digging through her bag. “Yes, Minister?” she said, finally.

Stone could hear the tinny blare of a man shouting from across the Atlantic.

“Yes, Minister,” Felicity said. “Yes, Minister.” There was a long pause and more blaring. Then Felicity said emphatically, “No, Minister. Most certainly not on the available evidence.” She held the phone away from her ear as the shouting resumed.

Stone could nearly understand the shouted words. He was almost certain he heard the word termination, but he could not be sure in what context.

“Then I suggest you do exactly that, Minister,” Felicity said. “I have one or two other suggestions for you that I may offer at a later date, but you may have my resignation within the hour if that is your wish.” She held the phone away again, in anticipation of more loud noises.

This time Stone thought he heard a more placating sound.

“Perhaps we should talk later in the day, Minister,” she said, “when we have both had time to consider our positions. Good-bye, Minister.” She snapped the phone shut and threw it at her pillow, which was next to Stone.

Stone picked up the phone and placed it on the bedside table next to him. “Come here,” he said, raising an arm. She got back into bed and snuggled close to him.

“I knew he would go off the deep end,” she said.

“Which minister was that?” Stone asked. “Foreign or home?”

“It’s better you don’t know,” she replied.

“From what little I just heard, I would suspect that your position is stronger than you may have thought.”

“Yes,” she replied, “he did climb down off his high horse just a bit toward the end, didn’t he?”

“I also suspect he has realized that, if he can’t get you to do what he wants you to, he has little chance of getting your replacement to do it, either.”

“I hope that is true,” she said, “but if he digs down deep enough in the dung heap, he’ll find somebody who will cheerfully accomplish that particular mission.”

“Dare I ask what that mission is?” Stone asked.

“You dare not,” she said.

“Because then you’d have to kill me?”

“Ha!” she said. “Finally you’ve found a situation that fits that cliché.”

“You did the right thing,” Stone said. “If he sacks you, then you can spend more time with me.”

“Yes, and more time with my horses and dogs, too.”

“The dogs, maybe, depending on how many you have. I don’t think I can house the horses.”

“Then you would just have to come and see me, wouldn’t you? I’ll introduce you to the English country life.”

“Would I enjoy it, do you think?”

“You’d be bored rigid, I do think.” She explored his crotch with a hand. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

STONE WALKED OVER to Jim Hackett’s offices in something of a quandary. He had two clients whose interests were antithetical to each other’s, and he was being forced to choose sides. He did not want to choose sides.

Hackett received him with his usual good cheer. “Coffee?” he asked, waving at a silver Thermos on the table before the sofa.

“Thank you, yes,” Stone replied.

“You look tired,” Hackett said. “First time I’ve seen you look tired.”