“There are two men I want surveilled,” Stone said. “The first is named Lance Cabot, and he lives at a house called Merryvale, in Farm Street. He’s American, in his mid-thirties, tall, well built, longish light brown hair, well dressed. He lives with a young woman named Erica Burroughs, and she is not to be followed, unless she’s with Cabot.”

Both men were taking notes.

“The second,” Stone continued, “is more problematical, because I don’t know his name. He’s American, too, somewhere in his mid-fifties, six-two or -three, heavy, maybe two-ten, looks like a former athlete. He has a hawkish nose, thick, salt-and-pepper hair, and bushy eyebrows.”

“And where does he live?” Cricket asked.

“That’s one of the things I want to know,” Stone said. “He’s in and out of the American Embassy, through the front door, and that’s where you’re going to have to pick him up. I want to know where he’s staying, who he sees, and where he goes. I don’t know if he lives in London or New York, but my guess is, he’s in a hotel not far from the embassy.”

“Right,” Cricket said. “Anything else?”

“I don’t know whether the weekend would be productive; why don’t you start first thing Monday morning?”

The two men nodded. “And we can reach you here, Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes, and I have a cellphone.” He gave them the number.

“We’ll report to you daily,” Cricket said.

“By the way,” he said, “I didn’t mention this to Throckmorton, but is it possible to tap Cabot’s phone and record all his conversations?”

“Not legally,” Cricket said.

“I understand that. Can you do it, or have it done?”

Both men looked wary. Finally, Jones spoke. “I know someone who can do it. But for how long?”

“Let’s start with a week,” Stone said.

“Could be pricey; I mean, there is a risk.”

“I don’t mind paying, but I want someone who can do it without risk to himself, you, or me. And I don’t want him to know who I am.”

“Understood,” Jones said. “I’ll get onto my man today.”

Cricket spoke up. “You understand, I didn’t hear any of that.”

“Understood,” Stone said. “Bobby, why don’t you take Cabot, and Ted, you can have the other man.”

Both men nodded. They shook hands all around, and the two men left.

Stone looked at his watch; he had half an hour to pack for the weekend.

9

MONICA BURROUGHS ARRIVED AT THE Connaught in an Aston Martin, and the combination of the car and the beautiful woman at the wheel impressed the doorman. Stone’s luggage was loaded, and Monica drove up Mount Street to Park Lane and accelerated into the traffic, driving faster than Stone would have under the circumstances.

“Did you sleep well?” Monica asked.

“Very well, thank you.”