“I’ve never said this to anyone before,” Stone replied, “but I am under the constraint of the British Official Secrets Act and am, therefore, unable to respond to your question.”

“You’re shitting me,” Eggers said.

“I shit you not,” Stone replied. “You will recall that my client, at that time, was an arm of Her Majesty’s Government. They made me sign the Act.”

More specifically, Stone’s client had been a lovely redhead, who also happened to be the head of MI6, the foreign arm of British Intelligence.

“And,” Eggers said, “I perceive that your work for them resulted in the resignation and arrest of the British foreign secretary and the home secretary.”

“I cannot either confirm or deny your perception,” Stone said, “but just between the three of us, I would be very much surprised if those two gentlemen ever came to trial.”

“I suppose, if that happened, too much embarrassing information would come to light,” Eggers said.

“That is what I suppose, too,” Stone replied, “though no one has said as much to me. The government managed to keep it out of the British newspapers by employing the Official Secrets Act.”

“It made the New York Times,” Eggers said.

“All copies of which were banned for sale that day in the UK,” Stone said. “I don’t think that sort of thing has happened since the abdication of Edward the Eighth.”

“I’m glad your name was kept out of it,” Eggers said. “The firm would not have liked that sort of publicity. Our London office has too many clients who might have been embarrassed by your participation.”

“I’m glad, too,” Stone said. “Believe me.”

Dinner arrived, and the bottle of Pétrus, which Eggers tasted with some ceremony. “We’ll drink it,” he said to the waiter, and they did.

TWO

Stone took the elevator down from the third-floor bedroom of his Turtle Bay town house and walked into his ground-floor offices. He had inherited the house from a great-aunt and had done much of the restoration work himself. He walked down to the office of his secretary, Joan Robertson, and handed her his bonus check. “Get this into the account, please, and send the IRS the taxes.”

Joan nodded, then looked at the check. “WOW! What is this for?”

“It’s my year-end bonus,” Stone said.

“They’ve never given you a year-end bonus before,” Joan pointed out.

“I brought them the Strategic Services account,” he said. “Eggers liked that. By the way, write yourself a check for ten thousand; I think you’re entitled to a year-end bonus, too.”

“Yes, sir!” Joan said, turning to her computer.

“I’m going to a memorial service for Jim Hackett in a little while, so I may not be here when you get back. I’ll call you later.”

“Got it,” Joan said.

Stone walked back to his office and began reading correspondence.