“I also have the documentation for an account in the Cayman Islands. You sign both sets of documents—Swiss and Cayman—and I’ll fax them to the respective banks, along with a code word. You can then transfer from the Swiss Bank to the Cayman one with one phone call. Once it’s in the Cayman bank, you can draw on the account anywhere in the world—cash can be transferred to you, you can write checks, and you can have a credit card which is paid directly from the Cayman account. Thus, no transaction ever goes through an American bank, and you come to the attention of no one.”

“I like it,” Stone said. “Give me the documents.”

Lance produced a thick envelope from an inside pocket and showed Stone where to sign. “Write your code word—any combination of letters and numbers, up to twelve characters.”

“I don’t like the idea of your having the account numbers and the password,” Stone said.

“It’s the only way I can transfer your share of the funds to your account. Once I’ve done that, you can change the account number and the password.” Lance tore off a copy of each account application and handed them to Stone.

Stone put the papers into his pocket. “Where do I transfer my funds?”

“To your account in Zurich, which will be open in an hour; I’ll let you know where and when to send them from there.”

Stone stuck out his hand. “I’ll speak with my broker as soon as I get back to my hotel; I’ll have to fax him, too. The funds will be in Zurich before the day is over.” He glanced at his watch; he had three hours to get it done.

He and Lance parted at the restaurant door.

“I’ll call you on your cellphone tomorrow morning, with further instructions,” Lance said. “Make sure it’s turned on; from here on in, everything has to be done in a precise manner.”

“Good,” Stone said. Driving back to London, he wondered if he would have gone for this deal if he’d been on his own. Certainly not, he decided. Too risky.

49

STONE DROVE BACK TO LONDON AND Chester Street; as soon as he was in the house, he called Mason’s cellphone. No answer; he left a message. As an afterthought, he called Carpenter’s number.

“Yes?” She sounded harried.

“It’s Stone Barrington. Did you get it?”

“Hold on,” she said, and covered the phone, so that he could hear only muffled voices. She uncovered it in time for Stone to hear her say, “Find out why, and do it now.” There was real authority in the voice. She came back to Stone. “Are you in Chester Street now?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Stone was going to ask what the hell was going on, but she had already hung up.