Stone Barrington 27 - Doing Hard Time

seeking my demise.”
    “Nothing like that, I assure you,” Genaro said. “Mr. Majorov only wishes to meet you.”
    “You may tell Mr. Majorov that I have no wish to meet him, but that if I should do so, he would not enjoy the meeting.”
    “Now, now, Billy, don’t misjudge the man.”
    “I know just about all I need to know about Mr. Majorov, and my advice to you would be to put as much distance between you and him as possible, and as quickly as you can. The relationship will not profit you or your business. Now, I will hang up before you can complete your trace, but I did want to mention that whoever is tracking me now will meet with the same end as the previous trackers, if he is not called off immediately. Good day, Pete.” He broke the connection.
    “Did you get it?” he asked his chief of security, who was standing next to his desk.
    The man hung up the other phone. “Not enough time,” he said. “All I can tell you is that the call came from somewhere in the southwestern United States.”
    Genaro was alarmed. “Could that mean Vegas?”
    “Could be.”

Mike Freeman called the new director of central intelligence, Lance Cabot, on his private office line. It was the first time that Mike had used that number.
    “Cabot.”
    “Good day, Lance, it’s Mike Freeman. Have you a moment?”
    “Yes, but not much more than that, Mike.”
    “This won’t take long. It’s my understanding that some of your people came up against a Russian named Yuri Majorov not so very long ago.”
    “That is correct, and Mr. Majorov did not survive the encounter.”
    “I have come across some very reliable information to the effect that not only did Majorov survive the encounter but that he is presently in the United States.”
    Lance was quiet for a moment. “May I ask the source of your information?”
    “I’m sorry, I can’t divulge that, but I believe it to be solid, or I wouldn’t have troubled you.”
    “Do you have a location?”
    “He is staying at the New Desert Inn hotel and casino in Las Vegas.”
    “And how long will he be there?”
    “I don’t know that, but I believe he may have been there for a couple of weeks.”
    “And what do you expect me to do about it?”
    “I have no expectations in that regard. I simply thought that you would like to know, and that if you want something done about it, you have the appropriate tools at your disposal. I won’t take any more of your time, Lance. Goodbye.”
    “Goodbye, and thank you,” Lance said.
    •   •   •
    Harry Katz sat at the bar at Shutters and went over his notes carefully. He had thought that he might have missed something, and he found it: Jimmy Sayer had said that Charmaine had gotten married. If that were so, and if she got married in Los Angeles County, there would be a record of it. He opened his laptop on the bar, went to the L.A. County website, and clicked on public records, then marriage licenses and marriages.
    He looked at licenses and found them arranged alphabetically. There were two dozen Burnetts, in the current year, but none of them a William J. or W. J. Disappointing.
    Harry ordered another drink and thought it over, then he went to the list of marriages. About the same number of Burnetts, but still not the right ones. Then Harry had a little accident: he pressed the up arrow, and it stuck and began scrolling. He poked at it a few times before it released, and he found himself looking at a list of Barnetts, one letter different. And there, at the bottom of the list, was a W. J. Barnett, of 1147 Third Street, Santa Monica. It occurred to him that simply changing one letter in a name would throw off computer searches. He wrote down the address and checked the map app on his iPhone. It was only a few blocks from where he sat. He signed for his drink and left the bar, returned his laptop to his room, and left the hotel.
    Five minutes later he stood in front of the address he sought. It was Michael’s restaurant. He went inside and approached the headwaiter.
    “May I help you, sir?”
    “I hope so. Do you have an employee here by the name of William J. Barnett? Or Burnett?”
    “I believe I know all the employees,” the man said, “and there isn’t one by that name. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
    “Perhaps you still can help. Do you have a table for one?”
    The man checked his reservations list. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t. However, if you like, you can order dinner at the