“Too exotic for me,” Stone replied. He dialed Pablo’s cell number.

“Yes?” Pablo said warily.

“It’s Stone.”

“I’m surprised my phone works.”

“Me too. Two men have been spotted watching my house, and a trusted source tells me they’re Mossad. You know anything about that?”

“I’ve done business with Israel many times, and on a few occasions with Mossad.”

“Have you annoyed them lately?”

“I make it a point not to annoy my customers,” Pablo replied.

“Well, they’re not looking for me,” Stone said. “I’ve never had anything to do with either Israel or the Mossad. It’s gotta be you.”

“I’ll make a couple of calls tonight and see what I can come up with,” Pablo said.

“Just in case somebody’s listening,” Stone said, “would you mention that you’re not at my house?”

Pablo laughed. “Of course.” He hung up.

So did Stone. “I’ve got some steaks in the fridge,” he said to Willa, “and I make a mean risotto. Dinner here okay?”

“More than okay,” she said, kissing him.

They were having dinner in the kitchen when the phone rang. Stone got up and answered it. “Hello?”

“Mr. Stone Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Aaron Beck. I am with the Israeli UN Mission.”

“Yes?”

“I wish to apologize for the presence of our people near your house this afternoon. I realize they must have caused you some anxiety.”

“I think my friends may have caused your men some anxiety.”

“I wonder if I might invite you to lunch tomorrow to discuss this situation.”

“How good a lunch are we talking about?” Stone asked.

“Would the Four Seasons Grill suffice?”

“It would suffice very nicely,” Stone replied. “What time?”

“One o’clock?”

“See you there, Mr. Beck.” Stone hung up.

“Now what?” Willa asked.

“Now the Mossad wants to have lunch at the Four Seasons,” Stone replied.

“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

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.