Unintended Consequences

sidewalk, holding plastic cups of wine.
    “Russian paintings?” Helga asked. “Are they good?”
    “Sometimes. I have a couple in New York.” They got some wine and began to look at the pictures. Stone stole glances around the room, looking for Majorov, and he was relieved to find him not there. Someone else was, though.
    “Look at the tall man in the back,” Stone said to Helga. “Wasn’t he talking to you at Marcel’s party? The one where we met? I think he’s Italian.”
    Helga looked at the man. “Oh, yes. He’s . . . let me see, Aldo something or other. He’s not Italian, though, he just pretends to be.”
    “What is he?”
    “Albanian. He’s said to be a nephew of Hoxha, the longtime dictator, now deposed and dead.”
    “Then why is Aldo running around loose?”
    “The rumor is he had some important post with the intelligence service or the police, if there was any difference. They say he got out of the country with a lot of cash before the regime came tumbling down—euros, not whatever used to be cash in Albania. Now he flits around Paris in expensive clothes with no visible means of support, so he must have stashed the cash.”
    Stone stopped in front of a painting of a castle by a river. “Nice,” he said.
    “Are you going to buy it?”
    “No, I don’t think I want this gallery to have my name and address.”
    “I’ll buy it for you. I don’t care if they have mine.”
    “I don’t want them to have yours, either.”
    “Excuse me,” a voice behind them said. They turned to find the mysterious Aldo standing behind them. “I believe we met at Marcel duBois’s house recently. I’m Aldo Saachi.”
    “Of course,” Stone said, offering his hand but not his name.
    “Yes,” Helga said, and shook it, too.
    “What brings you two to this opening?” Aldo asked.
    “We had dinner in the neighborhood and went for a walk,” Stone replied. “We saw the poster and thought we’d have a look.”
    “Seen anything you like?” Aldo asked.
    “No, we haven’t,” Stone said, “and if you’ll excuse us, we were just about to leave.”
    “Can I offer you a drink somewhere nearby?” Aldo asked, gazing at Helga’s cleavage.
    “Perhaps another time,” Stone said. “Good night.” He took Helga’s elbow and steered her toward the door.
    Outside, Stone hailed a taxi.
    “Why did you want to leave?” Helga asked.
    “I think maybe it was a mistake to go there,” Stone said. “I thought we’d gotten away with it, then Aldo showed up.”
    “He’s inoffensive,” she replied.
    “He’s dangerous,” Stone said. “On the advice of a friend, I’m going to be suspicious of him.”

27
    T he following morning Stone sat at the breakfast table in Helga’s suite and glanced through the Paris papers. Marcel’s Blaise had been chosen best in show, and there were multiple photos of him in and out of the car. He was quoted in the
International Herald Tribune
as saying, “On to New York!”
    “It looks as though Marcel has a major success on his hands,” Helga said, reading over Stone’s shoulder while massaging his neck.
    “I’m sure it’s not his first,” Stone said, “but it must be very satisfying for him.”
    Helga’s phone rang, and she picked it up. “Yes? Good morning.” She listened for a moment. “That’s very kind of you. Please hold for a moment.” She turned toward Stone. “It’s the ambassador’s secretary at the Russian Embassy. They are giving an impromptu party for Marcel this evening, and we are on a list that he gave them to invite. Do you want to go?”
    Stone shrugged. “If you do.”
    She turned back to the phone. “Yes, I’d love to, and you may check Mr. Barrington off your list. He’d like to come, too.” She hung up. “Well, that’s very interesting.”
    “How so?”
    “Why would the Russian ambassador give a party for Marcel?”
    “Perhaps he does some business in Russia,” Stone said.
    •   •   •
    S tone spent his day calling Joan and dictating letters, then working out a framework for a deal with Marcel. Late in the afternoon Rick LaRose called.
    “What are you doing?” he asked.
    “Pretending to work,” Stone replied.
    “Want to go to a party tonight?”
    “I can’t. Helga and I are going to the Russian Embassy.”
    Rick laughed. “So am I.”
    “You want to be seen by the opposition?”
    “I’m accompanying the ambassador as the commercial attaché. Marcel has very large business interests in Russia, so