Unintended Consequences

Hurley.”
    “Who is she?”
    “I’ve no idea. She called the hotel and said we met on the airplane and invited me to dinner. I can’t even give you a description, except of her accent, which was mid-Atlantic.”
    Rick produced a smartphone and typed for thirty seconds, then put it away. “Soon,” he said.
    “How’d you get into this racket?” Stone asked.
    “I had a misspent youth,” Rick said. “I left home at sixteen and got into all sorts of trouble, did a little local time, nothing felonious. A guy came to see me, said his name was Jim. I got the impression that a detective who had busted me a couple of times had said something to him about me. He asked me if I spoke Spanish—asked me in Spanish—so I conversed with him in that language. He knew that I’d just barely gotten through high school and asked where I’d picked up the tongue. I told him on the street, and he seemed impressed.”
    “He was Agency?”
    “He must have bailed me out, because when I hit the street he was waiting for me. He bought me some clothes—even then I dressed unsuitably—and took me to dinner at a big-time steak house, where the conversation ranged over everything I had ever done—crimes, sports, hobbies, whatever—then it turned to what I was going to do with my life.”
    “How old were you at the time?”
    “Nineteen, going on forty-five.”
    “Did he make you an offer?”
    “He asked me if I’d give him a few weeks of my time, and I didn’t have anything better to do, so I said sure. I figured I owed him. He asked me if there was anything in my rented room that I couldn’t walk away from, and I thought about it and told him no.”
    “What happened then?”
    “When we left the restaurant there was a car and driver waiting for us. We were driven to JFK, and Jim gave me some cash and a ticket, said I’d be met at the other end. Next morning I found myself in Monterey, California, at a language school, learning Russian. I aced that, and after a couple of weeks they tried me with Arabic. Turns out I had a gift. I was there for fourteen months and left conversant in half a dozen languages, including Swedish and French.
    “During my time there, people came to see me, people with only first names. I filled out a lot of forms, wrote my biography, and was given three polygraph exams. On my last day, when I had no idea where I’d go next, I was offered a trainee’s position with the Agency. I flew to D.C., where somebody met me and delivered me to Fort Peary, Virginia.”
    “The Farm.”
    “That’s the place. I learned enough new skills there to make a very fine living as a burglar, a safecracker, a con man, or an assassin, and then I found myself in Africa, never mind where. I loved it. Four years of that, then two Middle Eastern postings, where my Arabic was an advantage, then I think they decided I was getting a little too wild and woolly, so they sent me here to get me civilized. One of the things they’d been after me about was clothes, so I appreciate your guidance this morning. I think I could learn a lot from you.”
    “I’m at your disposal while I’m in Paris,” Stone said. “In the daytime, anyway.”
    Rick fished his smartphone from his pocket and read an e-mail. “Your Amanda Hurley is interesting,” he said, then his eyes flicked at the mirror behind Stone. “What’s that passage to my left?”
    Stone looked at it. “Men’s room,” he said.
    “My man just went in there, and I don’t want to be here when he gets back. Thanks for a terrific lunch.” He got up and started out.
    “Hey, wait a minute,” Stone called after him. “What about Ms. Hurley?”
    “Later,” Rick said, and he was gone.

9
    S tone arrived at Lasserre at eight sharp, was taken up in an elevator to the dining room and seated at a table for two. The other chair was empty. He looked around and admired the room, as he had on his earlier visit some years before.
    It was essentially square with a sunken center, and the seating was arranged so that everyone could see everyone else. The decor was simply beautiful, and overhead was a frescoed ceiling. As he watched, it slid open to reveal a rose arbor and the night sky. That happened periodically, he recalled; it let out hot air and, in the old days, French cigarette smoke. A pianist played old tunes.
    A waiter was taking his drink order when he looked up to see the maître d’ leading in an attractive woman. Stone stood to receive her. “Good evening,