Stone Barrington: The Short Forever Part 20

"Lance Cabot?"

"I've had enough of this," Stone said. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"I've just told you what we want, for the present. Lance Cabot?"

"If you are acting in some sort of official capacity, tell me now; otherwise, you can go f.u.c.k yourself."

"Lance Cabot?"

Stone said nothing.

"If you would prefer it, Mr. Barrington," the smooth voice said, "I can arrange for the two gentlemen who brought you here to come and persuade you to answer."

Stone said nothing. The voice was very English, but the speaker was not. There was an underlying accent.

"Just once more; Lance Cabot?"

"He is the companion of Erica Burroughs; I've seen him when I've seen her."

"How does Mr. Cabot earn his living?"

"He styles himself a business consultant; I have no idea what that means."

"Did you know him before arriving in London?"

"No."

"Ali Hussein?"

"Pardon?"

"Ali Hussein?"

"Never heard of him."

"Sheherezad Al-Salaam, also known as Sheila."

"Nor her."

"Sarah Buckminster?"

"Yes."

"Go on."

"I knew her when she lived in New York; we renewed our acquaintance after I arrived in London. Don't you read the papers?"

"Monica Burroughs?"

"The sister of Erica. Art dealer. Spent part of one weekend in her company."

"John Bartholomew?"

"No."

"John Bartholomew?"

"I don't know anyone by that name."

"Mr. Barrington, don't try my patience."

Stone said nothing. The man made a small movement with one hand, and Stone heard a buzzer ring in another room. A moment later, the door opened and the two thugs entered.

"John Bartholomew?" the smooth voice asked.

"Yes."

"Tell us."

"Mr. Bartholomew visited me in New York and asked me to come to London to persuade his niece to return with me to the United States."

"What is the name of his niece?"

"Erica Burroughs."

"And why did he want her returned to America?"

"He said he was concerned that her boyfriend might involve her in illegal activities."

"What sort of activities?"

"Drug smuggling."

Stone heard a low laugh. "What is the real name of John Bartholomew?"

Stone tried to sound puzzled. "Real name? I know him only by that name."

"Are you still in his employ?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I discovered that Miss Burroughs is not his niece, and that he seemed to have other motives for hiring me."

"What motives?"

"He seemed to have some animus for Mr. Cabot."

"For what reason?"

"He did not confide that to me. When I discovered he was lying to me, I resigned from his employ."

"Have you seen him since that time?"

"No."

There was a sc.r.a.ping noise from the table in front of him, and Stone realized that the contents of his pockets were on the table. A hand picked up the satellite telephone and held it in the light for Stone to see.

"What is this?"

"It's a telephone."

"What kind of telephone?"

"A cellphone, like any other." Stone heard beeps as a number was tapped into the phone. A moment later, a phone rang in another room. The phone was returned to the table.

"Describe John Bartholomew."

"Six feet three or four, heavyset, dark hair going gray, sixtyish."

"Nationality?"

"American, as far as I know."

"Why do you carry a false pa.s.sport?" A hand held it in the light.

"If it's false, then they're handing out false doc.u.ments at the pa.s.sport office in the London emba.s.sy of the United States of America. If you'll check the date of issue, you'll see I got it last week."

There was some whispering among the three men, then the smooth voice spoke again. If you have left Mr. Bartholomew's employ, why do you remain in Britain?"

"Tourism."

"Mr. Barrington, you are trying my patience again."

"A woman, as well."

"What woman?"

"Sarah Buckminster. Don't you read the papers?"

"You are interested in her?"

"Yes."

"In what way?"

"Miss Buckminster and I lived together in New York. We have renewed our acquaintance."

"Ah."

"Yes, ah."

"Miss Buckminster has recently become very rich."

"Ah, you do read the papers."

"Are you interested in her money?"

"What do you think?"

"Ah."

"If you say so."

"Mr. Barrington, I can't say that I like your att.i.tude."

"I can't say that I like being abducted on a public street, imprisoned, and interrogated by a group of people who have read too many bad novels."

"Mr. Barrington, this is your final opportunity to tell us what we want to know."

"Have I denied you anything so far? I have no idea what you want to know."

"According to your papers, you were once a policeman."

"That's correct."

"Surely you conducted interrogations."

"Many times."

"Didn't you always find out what you wanted to know?"

"No, I didn't; unlike you, I was constrained by the law."

"We are constrained by nothing."

"No kidding."

The man made a motion with his hand; one of the two thugs stepped forward, swept Stone's belongings into a paper bag, and stepped back.

"Get rid of him," the smooth voice said.

Stone did not like the sound of that. Before he could move, the two men were on him, one at each arm, dragging him back down the series of hallways, outside, and into the car. Once again, he was facedown on the floor of the limousine, with a foot on his neck.

The car drove away, turning this way and that. Stone lay still, knowing that he had no chance until the car stopped and they took him out. Then he would give them the fight of their lives.

Twenty minutes later, the car came to a halt; Stone was picked up and bodily tossed into the gutter. As he started to rise, the paper bag with his belongings. .h.i.t him in the back of the head. By the time he got to his feet, the car had turned a corner and was gone. People looked at him oddly as he dusted himself off and returned his belongings to his pockets. He looked around. The Hayward shop was across the street; he was back where he had been abducted.