Lucid Intervals (2010)

package here tomorrow?”
    “That part is easy; Federal Express delivers five days a week.”
    “He told you he was going to help confirm his identity?”
    “I’ve told you exactly what he said. After all, as he pointed out, he owns one of the largest private security companies in the world; he has access to all sorts of information.”
    “He knows too much,” Felicity said. “If he knows about my running his prints, then there’s a leak in my service.”
    “From what little I know about him,” Stone said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he has one or more of your people on his payroll and maybe some CIA employees, too, as well as the FBI and the NYPD. He knew about Dolce’s attack on you, and the department is the most likely source of that information.”
    “Good God! Next, he’ll have sat shots of us in bed together.”
    “I doubt that; Dick’s house was built to be very, very secure. He does, however, have a sat shot of his airplane sitting on the tarmac at the airport here.”
    She made a small moaning noise.
    “That’s my fault; I could have as easily flown my own airplane, but I wanted to fly the jet.” He managed a rueful grin. “I wanted to impress you with my newly acquired skills.”
    She laughed. “Well, you certainly did that with your landing. Frankly, I thought you were mad.”
    “No, as part of my training I practiced short-field landings, so I was pretty confident we wouldn’t end up in the trees.”
    “I think you’re the most confident man I know,” she said, taking his hand across the table.
    “I don’t always feel that way,” he admitted. “Only when I know what I’m doing, which is only some of the time.”
    “If you were British, I’d be trying to recruit you, just as Hackett is.”
    “You mean, I’d have to be British to be recruited as a spy? You have a very narrow view of the work of espionage, don’t you?”
    “Oh, we have an American or two on the payroll, but they’re not on the inside, just as you couldn’t be.”
    “It has occurred to me that, if the American government knew what I’m doing for you now, I might be arrested for spying for a foreign government.”
    “Should I conceal your payment for this job?” she asked. “I can, easily.”
    “Please don’t. I don’t think it’s treason for me to do an investigative task for you, but if you concealed the source of the payment and someone stumbled on that, well . . .”
    “It wouldn’t look good, I suppose.”
    “I’ll be sure to declare the income on my tax return, too, and list the source as the Foreign Office.”
    “That should put a stop to any inquiry,” she laughed.
     
     
     
    THEY DINED ON filet of venison and drank a bottle of a very good Australian Shiraz, then went home and fell asleep in each other’s arms. Stone dreamed that Jim Hackett was downstairs, waiting for them to wake up.

40
    T hey both must have been exhausted, because they slept until nearly noon, showered together, then had a late breakfast that Seth’s wife, Mary, prepared. They had no sooner finished than Felicity headed for Dick Stone’s little office and sat down at the computers while Stone tagged along.
    Felicity typed in a few keystrokes and was connected with a security program that demanded her staff number and palm print. She turned toward Stone, who was standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry. I have work to do.” She reached over and closed the door in his face.
    Chastened, Stone went into the living room, sat on the sofa and picked up The New York Times , which had come over on the ferry earlier. The doorbell rang, and Stone got up to answer it. There was a FedEx truck parked in the driveway and a young woman in a FedEx uniform at the door holding a box emblazoned with the company’s logo. “Ms. Felicity Devonshire?” she asked. “I need a signature.”
    “I’ll sign for it,” Stone said.
    She allowed him to do so and then left.
    Stone took the box into the living room and examined it. The sender’s address was a Mount Street, London, number. Stone knew Mount Street, because it was where his tailor’s shop was located, and the Connaught Hotel was just down the street. Should he open it? He thought not; it was addressed to someone else.
    He read the Times for an hour and was about to start on the cross-word when Felicity emerged from Dick’s office.
    “Everything all right?” Stone asked.
    “Pretty much,” she replied. “Is that the package from Hackett?”
    “I assume so;