They dined on Marie’s cooking and stayed up late talking. Later, Tessa was insistent in bed, then woke Stone up again in the middle of the night. As a result, he overslept.
He was awakened by the ringing of his cell phone on the bedside table. “Hello,” he muttered.
“Is it early there?” Charley Fox asked.
Stone glanced at the bedside clock. “No, it’s nearly noon. Did you find anything?”
“Well, as you can imagine, a lot of investors jumped in at the first opportunity, but the names you gave me didn’t appear. I tried various ways of limiting my search criteria, and I came up with one very interesting transaction. A Swiss corporation, called Acme Ltd., had apparently acquired a large block of stock from the previous owner, St. Clair, from whose estate we bought control. Acme sold all day, in chunks, then continued to sell on other markets. The total income from all those transactions was three hundred and sixty-two million dollars. I haven’t been able to find out who owns Acme, but it sounds like your friend Chekhov. Peter Grant doesn’t come into it.”
“Perhaps Chekhov gave Grant a cut for services rendered.”
“Could be. I remembered something else about Peter Grant: he knew James St. Clair, whose name came up in conversation.”
“How well?”
“He made out that they were intimates. Perhaps he bought stock from St. Clair in anticipation of an IPO.”
“I don’t think he would have the capital for that kind of transaction, but his friend Chekhov could certainly write that check.”
“Acme teamed up with the Berg Bank of Zurich to make its sales. That would help calm suspicions that Acme was doing all the dumping.”
“And Peter Grant has an account at the Berg Bank.”
“I believe the word is: Aha!”
“That could very well be the word,” Stone said. “Thanks, Charley, you done good.”
“My pleasure.” Charley hung up.
Stone called Lance and told him what Charley Fox had just told him.
“That gives me something to check with my source at Berg. Bye.” Lance hung up.
Tessa came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her, but she discarded it and jumped into bed. “I hope you like making love to clean women,” she said.
“You have sapped all my precious bodily fluids,” Stone said. “I think you need at least two other lovers to keep you occupied.”
“Is that an invitation to a foursome?” she asked hopefully.
“God help me, no. It is a plea for rest and recuperation,” Stone whimpered.
“You’re no fun at all,” she pouted.
“Wasn’t that fun last night? All two times?”
“That was last night,” she said, “this is today.”
“The demands of your body are greater than my body can meet, in the time allotted. We’ve got one more night in Paris. Can you hold it in until then?”
“I’ll try,” Tessa said, “but I’m not promising.”
“I trust the shower is free now,” Stone said, struggling out of bed. “Please don’t join me.” He locked the bathroom door behind him.
Stone shaved, showered, and dressed, then went downstairs.
Dino put down his Times. “You look . . . ah . . .”
“Haggard?” Stone offered.
“That’s the word.”
“It’s a good thing we’re leaving tomorrow,” Stone said. “If Tessa tries to get aboard the airplane, shoot her.”
“It’s as bad as that, is it?”
“It’s as good as that,” Stone said, “but too much of a good thing.”
“I’m trying to understand,” Dino said, “and failing.”
“You are an unsympathetic person,” Stone replied. “Lunch?”
“Why not?”
Stone sent Marie out for lobsters, and she put together a perfect lobster salad. They washed it down with a Chassagne-Montrachet Stone found in the fridge, after which the women excused themselves for one last assault on Paris retail.
Stone got a call at mid-afternoon. “Hello?”
“Scramble.”
“Scrambled. What’s up?” Stone asked.
“My source at the Berg Bank came up with some enlightening information: Acme is Chekhov and the balances in the account correspond to the sales in your IPO.”
“That’s not a surprise,” Stone said.
“What’s surprising is that Acme transferred twenty-five million dollars to Peter Grant’s account.”
“That’s very generous for inside information,” Stone said, “but somehow, I think Chekhov is too greedy to throw money around like that.”
“Well, he’s been throwing it around for the past two years, if Grant’s balances are correct. The question that arises is: What does Grant have to sell that is so valuable to a Russian oligarch?”
“How are you going to find the answer to that question?” Stone asked.
“Any suggestions?”
“Kidnap Peter Grant and torture the information out of him.”
“Sadly, we can’t do that anymore,” Lance said. “Any other suggestions?”
“Find out from somebody else besides me,” Stone said. “I am drained of information about Peter Grant.”
“Well,” Lance said, “you’re going to have one more shot at him. Make the most of it.” He hung up, leaving Stone staring at his phone, wondering what the hell he was talking about.
Tessa and Viv showed up at the cocktail hour and settled themselves in Stone’s living room, while he poured the gimlets.
“Oh,” Tessa said, “I almost forgot. We ran into Peter Grant at Fouquet this afternoon, when we stopped in for coffee. When I mentioned that you were all leaving for New York tomorrow morning, he asked if he could hitch a ride.”
One more shot, indeed, Stone thought. “Sure. Tell him to be at Landmark Aviation, Le Bourget, tomorrow morning at nine sharp.”
He called Captain Jim and gave him the news about their departure time and the added passenger.