“One thinks of the Israelis as being very economical,” Willa observed.

“Don’t worry; I’m not picking up the check,” Stone said.

FIFTY-THREE

Stone sent Willa off to work the following morning, then went down to his office.

Joan buzzed him. “Herbert Fisher on line one.”

Stone sighed. “Tell him I’m busy, to call me late this afternoon.”

“Right,” Joan said.

Stone worked through the morning, then walked up to the Sea-gram Building and entered the Four Seasons. At the top of the stairway he stopped and looked around. A man at the bar to his right got up and came toward him.

“Mr. Barrington?”

“Mr. Beck?”

They shook hands, and the maître d’ seated them between the tables of Henry Kissinger and the literary agent and attorney Morton Janklow.

“Good table,” Stone observed. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Only when the expense account allows,” Beck replied. “The table is usually occupied by our ambassador, who is away.”

“I’m surprised that the expense accounts of the Mossad extend to the Four Seasons,” Stone said.

Beck froze for half a second, then managed a small smile. “I must relate your observation to the Mossad, the next time I encounter them.”

“Come on, Mr. Beck,” Stone said, “I know who you are. This conversation will probably go better if we don’t try to bullshit each other.”

A captain came with the menus, and Stone ordered the Dover sole, his favorite fish. Beck ordered a large salad. Stone thought the sole must have used up most of the expense account for the day. Stone ordered a glass of Chardonnay; Beck stuck with the mineral water already on the table.

“I will not challenge your assumption,” Beck said after the waiter had taken their order and left them alone.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Beck?” Stone asked.

“Please call me Aaron, and may I call you Stone?”

“Of course.”

“Israelis are an informal people,” Beck said.

“If you say so,” Stone replied. “I don’t suppose I’ve met more than two or three Israelis in my life.”

“You’ve led a sheltered life,” Beck said, smiling.

“Perhaps so. What can I do for you, Aaron?”

“I won’t beat around the bush,” Beck said. “I would like to arrange a meeting with Mr. Pablo Estancia.”

“Who?”

“I thought you wished not to bullshit each other,” Beck replied.

“And why do you believe I can arrange such a meeting, Aaron?”

“You arranged it for my friend Lance Cabot and his people,” Beck said.

“Just how good a friend are you to Mr. Cabot?” Stone asked.

“We have a cordial working relationship.”

“Then perhaps you should speak to Lance about arranging such a meeting.”

“Stone, I have reason to believe that you are not ethically obligated to seek Lance’s permission to arrange a meeting with Pablo.”

“Oh, are you and Mr. Estancia on a first-name basis, too?” Stone asked.

“We have had occasion to meet once or twice in the past.”