Dirt
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Dirt Dirt [154-011-4.0]By: Stuart WoodsCategory: fiction suspenseSynopsis:This slickly entertaining suspenser displays Woods at the top of hisgame with no signs of flagging .... Using all his skills here, andsubtly reminiscent of the waggish P.G. Wodehouse, Woods delivers amarvelously sophisticated, thoroughly modern old-fashioned read.HarperPaperbacksCRITICAL ACCLAIM FORSTUART WOODS ANDDIRT"This slickly entertaining suspenser displays Woods at the top of hisgame with no signs of flagging .... U...sing all his skills here, andsubtly reminiscent of the waggish P.G. Wodehouse, Woods delivers amarvelously sophisticated, thoroughly modern old-fashioned read."--Publishers Weekly"Fans of gltt pop fiction will find brisk sex, designer name-dropping,and the voyueristic tingle of dishing dirt on the rich and famous."--BooklistCHOKE ."A real page-turner [with] surprises along the way." --The BostonGlobe"The legion of fans who read with great excitement all the works ofStuart Woods will not be disappointed with his latest novel."--Richmond 'Jmes Dispatch"Stuart Woods keeps the action quick and the entertainment' valuehigh." --Sun-Sentinel (Ft. Lauderdale)IMPERFECT STRANGERS"[Woods] does show a reader a good time." --The Washington Post BookWorld"Engage[s] the reader's imagination in an unconventional way. Compel[s]us, in our mind's eye, to place [the novel's] events on the silverscreen in the shadow of a latter-day Hitchcock, and somehow itworks."--Chicago Sun TimesHEAT"High melodrama and unexpected twists make thisTeflon-coated blockbuster business as usual inWoods's practiced hands."--Publishers Weekly"A high-concept action thriller."--Kirkus Reviews"Keeps you reading."--CosmopolitanLA. TIMES"A slick, often caustically funny tale." --Los Angeles Times"Stuart Woods is a wonderful storyteller who could teach Robert Ludlumand Tom Clancy a thing or TWO." --The State (Columbia, SC.)NEW YORK DEAD"Suspenseful and surprising." --Atlanta Journal & Constitution"Hollywood slick and fastmoving." --Los Angeles Daily News"Will keep you riveted." --USA Today"At once chilling and pleasing. And the climax makes New York Dead asunnerving as a midnight stroll through Central Park." --ChicagoTribuneBOOKS BY STUART WOODSFiction Dead in the Water Dirt* Choke* Imperfect Strangers* Heat* DeadEyes* L.A. Times* Santa Fe Rules* New York Dead* Palindrome* GrassRoots White Cargo Under the Lake eep Lie Run Before the Wind ChiefsTravel A Romantic's Guide to the Country Inns of Britain and IrelandMemoir Blue Water, Green SkipperPublished by Harper PaperbacksATTENTION: ORGANIZATIONS AND CORPORATIONSMost Harper Paperbacks are available at special quantity discounts forbulk purchases for sales promotions, premiums, or fund-raising. Forinformation, please call or write: Special Markets Department,HarpetCollinsPubl/shers, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, N.Y. 10022.Telephone: (212) 207-7528. Fax: (212) 2077222.DIRTSTUARTWOODSHarper PaperbacksA Division of HarperCollinslblisbersHarper Paperbacks A Division of HarperCollinsPutlishers 10 East 53rdStreet, New York, N.Y. 100225299This book contains an excerpt from Dead in the Water by Stuart Woods.This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect thefinal content of the hardcover' editionIf you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware thatthis book is stolen property. It was reported as %nsold and destroyed'to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has receivedany payment for this stripped book."This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialoguesare products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed asreal. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, isentirely coincidental.Copyright 1996 by Stuart Woods All rights reserved. No part f thisbook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without writtenpermission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotationsembodied in critical articles and reviews. For information addressHarperCollins Publish 10 East 53rd Street, New York, N.Y. 1002245299.A hardcover edition of this book was published in 1996 by HarperCollinsPublishISBN 0-06-109423-4HarperCollins , , and Harper Paperbacks TM are trademarks ofHarperCollins Publish Inc.Cover photo by Alexa GarbarinoFirst Harper Paperbacks printing: September 1997 Printed in the UnitedStates of America Visit Harper Paperbacks on the World Wide Web athttp://www.harpercollins.com'1091 765 43 2 IThis book is for David and Lynn KaufeltACKNOWLEDGMENTSI would like to express my gratitude to every gossip columnist in thebusiness, for giving me such good material.I am also grateful to my editor, HarperCollins Vice President andAssociate Publisher Gladys Justin Carr, and her staff, for all theirhard work; and to my literary agent, Morton Janklow, his principalassociate, Anne Sibbald, and all the lgeople at Janklow and Nesbit fortheir careful attention to my career over the years.CHAPTERDinner had been wonderful--twelve around a gleaming oval table ofburied walnut in a dining room a dozen stories above the light-fleckedcarpet of Central Park, the cooking by the chef of a famous restauranta few blocks away, the wines from the host's superb cellar, and thecompany carefully chosen by a couple who could cast a wide net. AmandaDart felt quite at home among them.As they moved from the table into the library next door for coffee andbrandy, Amanda reflected that her presence there was as much a tributeto her position as to her personality, though she could certainly holdher own in any company. Of those present--a movie star and hisgorgeous companion, a captain of industry and his dowdy wife, and aformer British primeminister, her dinner partner, among them--Amanda alone possessed thepower to tell the world just who her hosts had attracted to theirtable, something the couple wanted very badly for the world to know. Itwas vulgar to drop names; Amanda Dart, queen of gossip columnists,would do the dropping for them.Lord Wight, the former prime minister, was taking a keen interest inAmanda, attention that, on another night, would have been a great dealmore interesting for her. Tonight, however, she had other plans, othercompany in mind, and the thought made for a weak feeling in hercrotch."I chose my title from the island of my birth," Lord Wight was saying.*"Oh, yes, the Isle of Wight," Amanda said, returning his serve. "Ibelieve the town of Cowes there is the capital of British yachting."Point made."The capital of European yachting," his lord ship replied."And that's where you sail your little yacht?""Actually, it's quite a large yacht," Wight replied testily. "And Idon't just sail it, I race it.""Tell me, Lord Wight," Amanda asked innocently, "just how does someoneamass enough of a fortune to buy a large yacht during a lifetime ofpublic service?""Fortunately, my dear lady," Wight said, smiling softly, "in my countrythe amassing of a fortune is not incompatible with a life in politics.OneDIRTacquires knowledgeable friends who advise one on how to invest one'smoney."Amanda winked at him. "One understands,"she said.Her hostess joined them. "Amanda, dear," she said, "you made mepromise to tell you when it was midnight, and it is. You're catching aplane?""To St. Bart's," Amanda said, moving forward in her seat inpreparation for standing."Surely there's no plane out of Kennedy at this hour," Wight said,consulting a gold watch from his waistcoat pocket. "They do have noiseregulations don't they?""Not at Teterboro," Amanda replied. "One is fortunate enough to havefriends with jets." She:, stood up, bringing Lord Wight with her."My dear," he was saying, "I do hope I can see you when I'm next in NewYork.""Of course, Lord Wight," Amanda replied, fishing in her little clutchpurse for a card. "} would be delighted to hear from you." Any nightbut tonight, she thought.She made her good-byes, collected her coat from the butler, and slippedout of the huge apartment.Downstairs, her trusty driver, Paul, and her elderly Cadillac werewaiting. Amanda slipped into the back seat, and in a moment they weremoving. "The Trent, Paul," she said."Yes, ma'am," Paul replied.It was Amanda's fiftieth birthday, though no one knew it; she was inspectacular shape, her firm body the product of a regular program witha trainer in her own little gym. Amanda allowed no other person to seeher perspire. She placed two fingers on her carotid artery and glancedat her watch. Her resting pulse was normally forty-five; tonight, itwas seventy.Amanda lived her life in very public view, and she took great care inhow she presented herself to her world. Although of a deeply sensualnature, she was known as something of an ice queen, and she was quitehappy t keep it that way. Her sexual alliances were few, butathletically maintained, with men who were always wealthy, off herbeaten track, very discreet, and usually younger than she. Tonight andfor the weekend, she would see her very favorite, a real estatedeveloper from Atlanta named Henry Bell, who made it to New York nomore than once every eight or nine months. Perfect for Amanda.Henry was a pillar of Atlanta societY, the husband of a retired operasinger and the father of two daughters whose social ambitions wererelentless. Amanda had helped them meet tout Gotham while, unbeknownstto them or anyone else, she had established a highly eroticrelationship with their father, who was a youthful forty-five. Thisweekend he was in New York, ostensibly for a board meeting, and he waswaiting for her at the Trent, a small, elegant hotel in the EastSixties. They planned to be together until early Monday morning.The car glided to a halt at the Trents discreet entrance. Amandalooked up and down the block before she got out; she had no wish to'run into anyone she knew. "No need to get the door, Paul. Pleasemeet me here after midnight on Sundaysay, two A.M.""Two o'clock Monday morning," Paul said. Satisfied that the block wasempty of pedestrians, she slid out of the car and ran across thesidewalk, slipping on a pair of dark glasses. She paused for a momentin the foyer of the hotel and glanced across the little lobby at thefront desk, where a man in a tailcoat was working. She waited until heturned away, then scooted across the lobby, unspotted, to the alcovewhere the elevator was. She pressed "P" for penthouse and ai ted whilethe car traveled upward for fifteen floors. When the door opened, shepopped her head out to check that the hallway was empty, then walkedout of the elevator and to the end of the' hall, stopping before doubledoors.Glancing around once more to be sure she was alone, she stepped out ofher shoes, then slipped off her panties. She was not wearing a braunder the little black dress. She took off her coat and unzipped herdress. Then, holding her coat, shoes, and panties in her hand, sherang the bell. Seconds later the door opened, and she steppedinside.Henry Bell stepped back to allow her to enter. He was wearing a silkdressing gown. He said nothing, but untied the belt and whipped itoff,presenting a trim physique and a throbbing erection. Amanda droppedher belongings on the floor, wiggled her shoulders, and let the littledress fall off, revealing 11 breasts and a finely crafted body. Shekicked the dress out of the way and stood there, wearing only blackstockings and a black garter belt."Hello, sailor," she said, and went to him.Late Sunday evening, they sat propped up in bed, naked, next to theremains of a room service dinner on a tray. Henry dozed lightly whileAmanda watched yet another of his endless collection of eroticScandinavian videotapes. Henry he a little man in Stockholm who sentthem to the Trent whenever he was in New York. Amanda loved them.This one was particularly intriguing, she thought, glancing at Henry.Poor baby, she had given him a real workout for the whole weekend. Hedeserved his rest; still ... She reached for his penis and begankneading it gently. A small smile appeared on his sleeping face."We've just time for one more round, sweetie," she said.Henry didn't open his eyes. "If I can," he whimpered.Amanda rearranged herself slightly, then bent over and took his penisinto her mouth. Henry gave a little groan and began to respond.At that moment, the doors to the suite's bedroom burst open with abang, and the room was filled with light."Over here, Amanda!" a man's voice shouted as a flashbulb went off.Amanda sat straight up in bed, her mouth open, her eyes wide. Her lefthand still rested on Henry's penis. "What?!" she screamed. Therewere all sorts of lights, those that flashed and those that burnedsteadily."Get out!" Amanda screamed, shaking a fist at the lights.Henry sat frozen, dumbfounded."Just one more, Amanda!" the man's voice shouted.Amanda picked up a heavy clock from he bedside table and threw it atthe light as Henry suddenly came to life. He started toward theintruders, but the bedroom doors were slammed in his face. He threwhis shoulder against them," then howled in pain.Amanda did what she most wanted to do in the world: she screamed.An hour later, fully dressed but still trembling, Amanda fled thehotel, got into the back of the Cadillac, and was driven home. Shelooked over her shoulder but saw no witness to her leaving. She was incontrol again, and she had begun to assess the damage. It promised tobe considerable.CHAPTERman da walked into the office suite of her penthouse, dressed in herstandard uniform of Chanel suit, Ferragamo shoes, plain gold jewelry,and a gold Cartier Panther wristwatch and bracelet.Her staff of three, at their desks five minutes before her alwaysprecise nine o'clock arrival, leapt to their feet as one, welcoming herback and complimenting her on how tanned and rested she looked. Sheshook each of their hands, received their compliments, and sent themback to their desks, save her secretary, the trusty Martha, who hadbeen with her for her entire career as a columnist."Ready for your messages?" Martha asked, holding up a batch of yellowslips."Not yet," Amanda replied, slipping behind her little French desk. Sheloved the desk. Sister Parrish, the doyen of New York interiordesigners, had found it especially for her when she had done theapartment a few years before her death. "Before I do anything else,get me Bill Eggers at Woodman and Weld. He should already be at hisdesk."Martha returned to her desk, and a moment later the green light onAmanda's phone flashed; her party was on the line, waiting. Amanda didnot converse with other people's secretaries."Bill," she breathed into the phone. "How are you, darling?""I'm wonderful, Amanda," the lawyer replied. "How was your holiday?""Just perfect. I'm fully rested and raring to go. What was Hickock'sreaction to our latest contract proposal?""I called him on Friday, but he's putting-me off", Eggers replied. "Hesays somebody in the legal department is on vacation, but to tell youthe truth, I think he's just not giving it his full attention. Afterall, he's got another two months and three weeks before your contractexpires. He's used to negotiating with the print unions right up toand past deadlines."Amanda frowned, then forced her facial muscles to relax. Havingrecently had some lines surgically removed, she didn't want new onescropping up. "He's not going to have that luxury," she said."You want me to call him again?"Amanda thought for a moment. "No," she replied. "Meet me in the lobbyof the Galaxy Building at precisely ten minutes past one thisafternoon.""Do you already have an appointment?""No, but he'll see me.""If you say so, Amanda, but listen, I have to give you my best adviceon this before you do anything rash; that's my responsibility."Amanda sighed. "Go ahead, Bill.""Okay, you're in a good negotiating position; your readership isslightly up in the home paper, and well up in syndication. You're notoverpaid, at the moment, and what we're asking for isn't out of linewith the numbers involved. However, it's almost never good to appeareager when you're dealing with Dick Hickock; he'll have you forbreakfast, if he thinks he has any sort of edge. My advice is to wait,not even call him, just wait for his call. He knows exactly when yourcontract is up, and he won't ignore the deadline and risk losing you toanother paper. Sit tight, and you'll get most of what you want. There,I've said it; what do you want to do?""Precisely ten past one, at the Galaxy Building.""See you there."Amanda hung up and began doing something she had forced herself to putoff: She went through the New York and L.A. papers quickly, looking forany reference to the incident of the night before. As she hadsuspected, there was nothing. Every paper had closed well before thephotographs were taken at the hotel, and nobody would have been foolenough to print the story without substantiation. She breathed a heavysigh of relief; she had until early evening, when the showbiz newsprograms came on, after the evening news.Amanda got up, walked to the door, and leaned against the jamb, lookingout into the open bay where her secretary and two assistants sat. Ofthe three, only Martha had known where she had spent the past weekend,and nobody, but nobody, could torture the information out of thatwoman. While the others hadn't known, they might have somehow pickedup something around the off'ce. Still, each of them was well paid and,apparently, happy in his or her work. One, Helen, was a young woman ofthirty who had been with her for three years; the other, Barry, was agay man who had been with her for eight. There was not a naive bone inAmanda's body, but her best judgment told her that the news had beenleaked from somewhere else, most likely from her lover's end, althoughhe had denied any such thing. Most likely his wife had put a detectiveon them, but that remained to be seen."All right, Martha," Amanda said, "let's go through the messages."At nine minutes past one the elderly Cadillac glided up to the mainentrance of the GalaxyBuilding, and Amanda stepped out; Bill Eggers was waiting in the lobby.It was lunchtime, and the two were alone together in the elevator."Amanda, won't he be at lunch at this hour?"Eggers asked."Dick Hickock always has lunch at his desk onMondays," she replied. "Always.""Are you sure he'll see you?""He won't have a choice," Amanda said."Jesus," the lawyer said under his breath.They stepped out on the thirtieth floor, into a paneled and hushedhallway. The receptionist's desk was empty; a sign on the desk said,'THIS FLOOR IS CLOSED UNTIL 3:00 P.M. FORASSISTANCE, PLEASE GO TO THE MAIN RECEPTIONDESK ON THE TENTH FLOOR."Follow me," Amanda said. She strode down the hall, her footstepssilenced by the thick carpeting, through a double door marked"Chairman," across a reception room, and into the office of Richard M.Hickock, chairman of the board of Galaxy Media. Dick Hickock sat athis desk in his shirtsleeves, his necktie undone, the Wall StreetJournal open before him, eating a huge sandwich."Hello, Dick, darling!" Amanda enthused, walking behind the desk andplanting a kiss on his cheek, leaving a smear of cerise.Hickock had just taken a large bite out of his sandwich, and hestruggled to get it chewed and swallowed so that he could speak. Bythe time he had, Amanda and her lawyer were seated in a pair of chairsto his right."You know Bill Eggers, don't you?" Amanda asked.Hickock nodded and washed down food with a glass of beer."Amanda, what the hell..." he began."I do apologize for interrupting your lunch, Dick," Amanda saidcontritely, "but I hope you will understand that this just won'twait.""Amanda," Hickock said, shaking h'{s headin disbelief, "there's athirty-eight in my desk drawer, and I would have used it on anybody whowalked in here like that." He smiled benevolently. "Anybody but you.Now what can I do for you?" He nodded at the sandwich. "My MiltonBerle is waiting.""What's in a Milton Berle, Dick?" Amanda asked, apparentlyfascinated."Corned beef and chopped liver with Russian dressing on pumpernickel,and this." He held up a huge pickle. "The reference to Berle," hesaid,grinning.Amanda blushed. "Oh, Dick! You are awful!""It's true," Hickock said to Eggers. "I am awful.""It's about our contract proposal," Amanda said without further ado."Amanda, your contract has another three months to run," Hickockreplied. "What's your rush?""Oh, it's not me, darling, it' sSI Newhouse." Hickock's face instantlybecame expressionless. "SI who?" he asked disingenuously, his eyesnarrowing."Dick, it's been awful; I've spent the whole weekend fending him off.Somehow, he got my phone number, and he would not be put off.""Don't listen to a word he says," Hickock said. "Oh, I've tried not tobut he such an awful flatterer--but I must admit, When he startedthrowing numbers around...""That absolute shit," Hickock said," almost to himself."Oh, I don't want to go with SI, Dick; that's why I came to see you.He's practically forced me to have a drink with him later today--Godknows, I don't want to alienate him--and I'm planning to tell him, assweetly as I possibly can, to go away.""Right, my dear," Hickock said, smiling. "That's exactly what youshould do.""But I can, Dick darling, not with things just... hanging the way theyare with my contract.""Just say no, Amanda.""Well, I can't very well do that, if I don't know for sure that I havea deal with you, can I? I mean, my God, I don't want to leave Galaxy,but when he's dangling all that money in front of me and all thoseperks...""Perks?" Hickock asked, looking alarmed."Oh, you know how lavish SI can be when he really wants somebody.""Amanda, it's wrong of you to press me like this.""Dick, my darling, I'm not pressing; I'm the soul of patience. SI,unfortunately, is not."Hickock rummaged in his desk and came out with the contract proposalthat Eggers had sent him. He put on his reading glasses and beganleafing through it. "You really think you're worth this sort of money,Amanda?"Eggers jumped in. "Her numbers support everything in that proposal,"the lawyer id."You want five percent more of the' syndication :"Syndication income is way up," Eggers said.Hickock seemed to be collecting himself,'Amanda thought."Tell you what, Amanda, my legal guy is back from vacation next Monday;we'll get back to-you the end of next week, all right?"Amanda stood up and smoothed her skirt."Dick, my darling, I can't tell you how sad this makes me," she said,dabbing at the corner of an eye, where an actual tear had appeared. "Ihad so wanted it to work out. I want you to know that Ihave no hard feelings whatsoever." She turned and started toward thedoor, with Eggers at her heels,then stopped. "Oh, can you and Glynnis come to dinner on Friday? JUsta small dinner, we'll only be eight, but it's a good crowd."Hickock was on his feet. "Now, Amanda, come back and sit down." Amanda and Eggers returned to their chairs. "I'm sitting, Dick," shesaid. Hickock was reading the proposal again. "A Mercedes Six Hundred?What's the matter with the Five Hundred? Or, come to that, with theFour-twenty? The Six Hundred is ahundred-andthirtyseventhousand-dollar car, for Christ's sake!" "Oh,that's right, you drive one, don't you, Dick? Isn't it such awonderful car? I mean, the :' Six Hundred has the buried walnut andthe separate air conditioner for the back seat. You know howwarm-natured I am." "Amanda, be reasonable." "Dick, I despisecheapness in a man, I really do." "Oh, all right, you have a deal,"Hickock said. "We'll sign something when my legal guy gets back." Eggers instantly produced a small stack of documents. "I've prepared adeal memo," he said. "We'll work out the final language when your mangets home." Hickock read the document quickly and signed all fourcopies. Amanda signed them, and Eggers left two with the publisher. Amanda stood up. "I'm so thrilled that we're going to be together foranother four years, darling," she said. She met him halfway around thedesk, and they embraced. "And don't forget dinner, Friday, at seven." She turned to Eggers. "Can I give you a lift, Bill?" She took his armand steered him toward the door. At the threshold she turned andlooked at Hickock, who was gazing at his sandwich. "Oh, Dick, theyhave just the car I want at that Mercedes showroom on Park Avenue." She returned to the desk and laid a car don it. "The man said theycould deliver it at five; all it takes is a phone call from you.""We'll be trading your Cadillac, right?" Hickock asked."Oh, Dick, you are funny; I've already sold it." She swept out of theoffice.In the car, Bill Eggers wiped his brow. "Amanda, I don't know why youneed me at all," he said.Amanda patted his hand. "Somebody has to do the boilerplate, dear."CHAPTERichard Hickock left his office at four o'clock, stopping briefly at hissecretary's desk. "Anybody calls, tell them I'm in the buildingsomewhere for a meeting, you don't know where, and I won't be back atmy desk by the end of the day.""Yes, sir," the woman replied.Hickock took his private elevator to the basement garage, where hiswhite Mercedes S600 was waiting. "Ralph, I think I'll take a walk inthe park," he said to his chauffeur."Of course, Mr. Hickock," the chauffeur replied. "You've been walkingin the park a lot lately. Good for the heart.""Right," Hickock said, taking one of his magazines, not his favorite,from the leather pocket onthe back of the front seat. He leafed idly through it, making mentalnotes, one of them to fire the magazine's art director. He wasn'tseeing enough tits in the book these days, and the man had ignored hisrequest for more.Presently, the car stopped at an entrance to Central Park on FifthAvenue in the sixties. Hickock opened his own door. "Hover aroundhere, and pick me up in an hour and ten minutes." He knew fromexperience exactly how long this would take. The car pulled away;Hickock crossed Fifth Avenue and walked briskly to an elegantlyrestored t wnhouse apartment building, using his key to open thedon-stairs door. As it was about to close, a young man stepped intothe hallway behind him, holding what appeared to be a sack ofgroceries. '"Thanks," the young man said. "I didn't have a hand free to look formy key.""Don't mention it," Hickock said, stepping into the elevator. Theyoung man followed him into the"Nice day out there," the young man said. "Great time of the year."The elevator stopped on the fourth floor, and Hickock got out. "Seeyou," he said."You bet," the young man replied.The young man got off the elevator on the floor above and walked down aflight, peeking over the banister rail to see Hickock letting himselfinto an apartment. He noted that there was only one apartment on thefloor, so he was unlikely to be disturbed. He walked to the apartmentdoor, set his grocery bag on the floor, removed a loaf of bread, andpulled out an electronic stethoscope. He placed the receivers in hisears, switched it on, and held the listening part against the apartmentdoor.Inside, Hickock was greeted by a very beautiful young woman wearing asilk dressing gown."Oh, Dick," she breathed, taking his face in her hands. "I've been soexcited ever since you called."Hickock kissed her lightly, then untied' the gown's sash, exposing hernaked body underneath. He caressed her large breasts and felt thenipples rise. "Then you must be ready for me," he said."Oh, yes," she sighed, taking him by the hand. "Come with me." Sheled him into the bedroom, kicked the door shut, and locked it."I don't know why you always lock the door," Hickock said, tearing athis clothes."I don't know either," she said, letting the dressing gown fall fromher shoulders. "It just makes me feel more secure." She held out herarms to receive him, and they toppled onto the bed.Outside in the hall, the young man with the stethoscope heard thebedroom door lock engage. Hemoved along the hall toward the bedroom wall and placed the stethoscopethere. When he was certain that the couple were erotically engaged, hewent back to the door, removed what appeared to be a small manicure kitfrom a pocket, took out two small tools, and began to work on the frontdoor lock. In half a minute he was inside the apartment with hisgrocery bag. He removed a leather tool box from the bag and went towork.In the bedroom, Hickock lay on his back, breathing deeply as herecovered from his orgasm; Sle went into the bathroom, came back with aho face cloth and began to wipe his penis. Hickock made a littlenoise.,"i"Oh," she said, "I believe there's something stillthere."This was the part Hickock liked best; while he had been essentiallyimpotent with his wife for years, this girl could always get him goingfor a second round. "Use your mouth," he whimpered."Why, of course," the girl replied.The young man listened at the bedroom door with his stethoscope,smiling. He'd better get out, he thought; Hickock would be finished inanother few seconds. He picked up his grocery bag, let himself out ofthe apartment, and walked down the stairs to the basement, checkingcarefully on each floor that he was still alone. In the basement hefound the building's central telephone box and went to work. Half anhour later he let himself out of the building and walked off down thestreet.Hickock looked both ways on Fifth Avenue for his car. Not seeing it,he crossed the street, walked a few feet into the park, and waited. Acouple of minutes later he saw the white Mercedes turn a corner ontoFifth Avenue. He stepped out of the park, went to the curb, flaggeddown the car, and got in. "Let's go home, Ralph," he said. "Enjoyyour walk in the park, sir?" "Oh, yes," he replied. "It alwaysrefreshe me."CHAPTERman da swept into her office suite, wearing a smile that telegraphedgood news to her staff. She waved Martha into her office and pushedaside the stack of items Hcl.en and Barry had assembled for tomorrow'scolumn."It must have gone well," Martha said, taking a seat and getting herpad ready."It went extremely well, my dear," Amanda replied. "So well thatthere's a ten percent raise for you when the new contract begins.""Oh, thank you, Amanda," Martha gushed."And tell the others that there'll be another five percent in their paypackets on the day.""They'll be delighted.""Oh, tell Paul to sell the Cadillac, and he can keep ten percent ofwhat he gets for it; I don't want to see it again." She handed Marthathe car salesman's card. "Call this gentleman and tell him I'll wantthe new Mercedes delivered no later than four-thirty, and tell him toget the car phone number changed over. Call a music store and get adozen CDs delivered for the new car's stereo--you know the kind ofthing I like--at least two Bobby Shorts and some Michael Feinstein andsome chamber music. Give them to Paul so the salesman can show him howthe CD player works. Make sure the salesman gets my vanity plateschanged over, too.""Right." Martha was making notes. "I'll deal with the insurance; whatvalue do you want to put on it?" "A hundred and thirty-seven thousanddollars."Martha's eyes widened. "Hickock sprang for the Six Hundred?""Of course he did. You'd better let the garage man know about thechange; the doorman, too. Let's not have any glitches.""It shall be done," Martha said, rising. "You ready for lunch?""I'll have a salad, then send Helen and Barry in, and we'll getstartedMartha disappeared, still writing on her pad. Amanda still had thesick feeling in her stomach that had begun the night before, but herelation over the new contract and the Mercedes helped to drive it away. She felt very much better now.When the salad dish had been taken away, Helen and Barry shuffled intothe office and took seats."Anything really good?" Amanda asked, starting to leaf through thestack of items, each on a page to itself. They would need twenty-fiveto thirty for tomorrow's column."Three high-profile pregnancies that together might make a good lead,"Barry said. "They're on top.""Good; I like to start with good news," Amanda replied. She held up apage and frowned. "Ivana Trump is buying a yacht? Why would anyonecare?" She crushed the page in her long fingers and tossed it into awastebasket. Her people knew she had little time for the Trumps."I got a call," Helen said. "The Infiltrator is starting in again OnMichael Andress; this time they've got a waiter from some drive-inrestaurant in Long Beach who says they've been sleeping together forthree years.""The boy's straight as an arrow," Barry said. "I have it on goodauthority, and anyway, I can always tell. How many children does hehave to father before they leave him alone?""And his wife is one of the pregnancies on the list," Helen said."Good chance to stick it to the Infiltrator," Amanda mused, marking theitem. "Say something about the unjust pursuit of the boy; you know howit should go." She went rapidly through the stack of items, keepingsome, tossing others out. "That's it, I think," she said, tossing thegood ones onto the desk. "I'll have my lead for you in half an hour."She glanced at her watch.Helen and Barry left, and Amanda turned to her computer to compose theparagraphs that would lead the column. She had planned to enthuseabout St. Bart's and what a wonderful time she had had on her weekend,but the incident of the wee hours was still on her mind, and until shefound out what it was all about, she would hedge her bets. She hadbeen writing for ten minutes when she looked up and saw Martha standingat the door. She had turned pale, and she had a sheet of paper in herhand."Martha, what's wrong, dear?" she asked. Martha approached the deskslowly and put the paper on the desk. "This just came in on the faxmachine," she said.A death, Amanda thought, but she was wrong. She picked up the sheet ofpaper and saw a photograph of herself, taken early that morning. Thesheet was set up like the front page of a tabloid newspaper, and thelead story was:DIKTGreetings, earthlings! Look who we caught with her knickers down andher forked tongue erotically engaged in a love nest in a chic East Sidehotel. None other than gossip's high bitch, Amanda Dart, who, afterrevealing others' peccadilloes for years, has revealed remarkableappetites of her own. She checked into the elegant hostelry lastFriday night after having concocted an elaborate ruse to make the worldat large (you and I) believe that she was lolling at the St. Barr'sbeachfront compound of the Duke of Kensington. (Write this down shouldyou ever want to disappear for a couple of weeks.) Dear Amanda set upan answering machine to receive calls from those who were clever enoughto get her holiday number, then she phoned the machine daily for hermessages. When she returned her calls, she no doubt had a wave machinerunning in the background to lend verisimilitude. What a hoot!Her companion in bed was a prominent out-of towner whose wife will, nodoubt, have a few questions to ask him on his return home. Certainly,after servicing the indefatigable Amanda for a whole weekend, he'll nothave much energy left for the wronged lady in question.dust how great are dear Amanda's appetites? Enough to last until lateSunday night, when we snapped the place above. Will she ever show herneatly carved faoe in the Big Apple again? We should know tonight whenshe's promised to appear at a book party for her pal Norman Barton ofthe Times at Idortimer's, the East Side boite, where tout le monde ofGotham journalism will gather to honor dear Norm and get his scribblein their very own copy.$llJAlff WOODSWill dear Amanda show? I certainly will! I wouldn't miss this one fora million-buck advance on my no-holds-barred bio of the delectableDart!Amanda put down the fax and looked at Martha. As she did, every phonein the office started ringing. Barry appeared, breathless, at thedoor. "Amanda, there's apparently some sort of fax being sent to halfthe town. Do you know anything about it?" "Half the town?" Amandaasked, appalled. "Apparently. We're hearing from every columnist inthe city, and some from L.A. asking for a comment." "Tell them to readtomorrow's columtl," she said. "Martha, will you excuse me for a fewminutes? I have to rewrite tomorrow's lead." Martha vanished. Amandaturned back to her computer, stunned, and deleted what she had written.She sat, staring at the screen, wondering what to write. She had onlytwenty minutes until deadline.CHAPTERman da got into the back seat of the spanking new Mercedes S600 andsettled herself. She found the switch for the rear seatair-conditioning, and cool air flooded the rear passenger compartment.She touched the glassy surface of the buried walnut trim on her doorand squirmed on the leather seat; she asked Paul for music, and thesounds of Bobby Short's singing materialized around her. She mighthave been sitting at ringside at the Cafe Carlyle, she thought."Mortimer's, please, Paul," she said. Then she settled back into thesoft, two-toned leather and tried to compose herself.She could not remember the last time she had felt such anxiety; infact, she could not remember the last time she had been so vulnerable.Amanda had conducted her life for a very long time in suchS11JART WOODSa way that no one could have any ammunition to fire at her. She wasthe soul of discretion, especially where her own personal life wasconcerned, if not that of others. Outwardly, she was always charming,concerned, sweet, or grateful, whichever the circumstances called for.Inwardly, she was well aware that the scandal sheet's reference to heras a "high bitch" was entirely justified. Half the satisfaction ofbeing a bitch was to be sure that no one could ever prove it of her.Tonight, though, there were allegations in the air. She had, over thepast ten years, been slyly critical of any prominent woman with awell-known sex life. Now she herself would be subjected to a greatdeal of unwanted scrutiny and, probably, a very messy divorce.She had decided to press on with her column's lead about her time inSt. Bart's; all she could do now was brazen it through. After all,though the sheet had been entirely factual, proving the allegationswould be quite another thing. With computer-generated photographicediting available to almost anyone who desired it, she could claimdoctored pictures, in the hope that whoever was doing this would notwant to reveal himself in order to provide further evidence. If itcame up in court--well, she'd cross that abyss when she came to it."Lovely car, Miss Dart," Paul said. He rarely spoke unless spoken to,but Amanda received the compliment gratefully. It added another whitto the confidence that would be needed to face the crowd atMortimer's."Thank you, Paul," she replied. "I hope you will enjoy driving it."The car slid to a halt in front of the restaurant,and after a moment, Paul had opened the door for her. She stepped out,smoothed her skirt, took a deep breath, and plunged into the EastSide's most fashionable hangout. She had timed her entrance for amoment when half the guests would have already come; that way she couldeasily spot those already there, then watch the others arrive.As the door closed behind her there was an audible pause in theconversation as> people glanced her way, then a resumption as they pre:' tended not to see her. In a trice she had located: the Walter Cronkites, the Mike Wallaces, the AbeRosenthals, and the Richard Clurmans, all friends of Norman Barton's,who was rumored to be in line for the executive editorship of the Timeswhenthe present occupant of that office retired. She headed toward thehonoree, giving a happy wave and a smile to acquaintances along theway.Norman was standing in the back room, sur rounded by friends andadmirers, autographing copies of his book. After only a brief pause,Amanda strode forward, and the others gave way like yachts before theQueen Mary. "Norman!How exciting this must be for you!" Someone from the publishing househanded her a book. "Ican't wait to read every page!""Amanda!" Barton cried, touching his cheek to each of hers. "I'm sopleased you got back in time!""Oh, I got back early this morning," she replied."I didn't know the airlines arrived from the islands at that hour,"someone said.Amanda turned her gaze on a short, plump woman who collected gossipitems for a news syndicate. "One doesn't always fly the airlines,dear," she replied sweetly. "Sometimes one's friends provide.""Oh, a private jet," the woman cried. "You landed at Teterboro?"Obviously looking for something she could check."No," Amanda replied dismissively, then reached forward, took Barton'selbow, and deftly plucked him out of the group as a cow pony cuts asteer from the herd, and, by her proximity to the honoree, placedherself at the center of the party.They chatted enthusiastically for a moment, and then, as Amanda hadplanned, people began to approach, greeting them both, complimentingAmanda on her tan, asking about her holiday."Did you try that new little restaurant?" a rival columnist askedcattily."Oh, my dear, no," Amanda sighed. "All I did was work. I got up everymorning, played the tennis ball machine for half an hour, worked forthree hours, had lunch at the pool, then worked another three hours.The staff cooked every bite I ate.""And what work kept you so occupied?" the woman asked."Why, I finished my book, darling," Amanda sang back. "It goes to mypublisher's tomorrow!"The woman blinked. "Congratulations," she said, then disappeared.Amanda worked the crowd for an hour, then, at the moment when the tideseemed to turn toward dinner, she made her good-byes and headed towardthe door, nearly colliding with Bill Eggers."Oh, Bill," Amanda said, "you are just the man I want to see. Comewith me, you're taking me to dinner." She hustled him to her car."Good thing I didn't have plans," Egers said."I'd have kidnapped you anyway," Amanda said, sliding her arm throughhis. "Paul, we're going to Elaine's.""Yes, ma'am," Paul replied."I see you got the car," Eggers said, looking around admiringly. '""Of course I did, darling," Amanda giggled."I don't think Dick Hickock knew what hit him.""Of course not, darling." She made small talk all the way to Elaine's,while simultaneously formulating her next move.CHAPTERman da swept into Elaine's, automatically' casting an eye about for whowas there and where they were seated. Elaine herself was way in theback of the restaurant, seated at a customer's table. She lifted aneyebrow and Jack, the headwaiter, seated Amanda and her lawyer at afavored table up front. Amanda was just as happy not to have beengreeted by Elaine, who she found hard to read, never quite sure whethershe was being insulted. She came to the restaurant only for her work;before they were seated she had three items for tomorrow's column.Bill Eggers ordered a double Jack Daniel's on the rocks, and Amandaordered a large bottle of San Pellegrino mineral water. She alwayskept her wits about her, relaxing enough to drink alcohol only when shewas among trusted friends in her home or theirs. They chatted idly asthey selected from the menu and ate two courses. Only when they hadboth declined dessert and received their coffee did Amanda choose tobegin."Bill, you must know about this scandal sheet that was circulated to alot of fax machines this afternoon.""I believe I caught a whiff of it.""Well put; it was all so much dung.""Certainly was, Amanda. I mean, I would have known if you weren't inSaint Bart's.""Of course, darling." She paused for effect. "I want to hire aprivate detective; I'd like you to recommend one."The lawyer's nose wrinkled. "Is it that important to know who sent thefax?"Amanda gazed across the room. "It might become that important; if so,I intend to be ready.""Amanda, let me give you my lecture, the short version, on privatedetectives."All right, Bill; I'm listening.""I suppose I've dealt with a couple of dozen of them in one way oranother over the past twenty-five years, and I haven't found one yetwho could be trusted to keep a confidence." He held up a hand beforeshe could reply. "I'm not saying there are not ethical private eyesout there; it's just that I've never run across one. They tend to befailed cops whose ethics were too ripe for the police force--and that'svery ripe indeed. They dress badly, smell awful, and drink in themorning; they charge you by the day, then spend half the day at thetrack; they charge you for information, then make you pay them not toreveal it to others." "This is the short version?""All right, I've said it, and having said it, I have a much betteridea.""I can't wait to hear it.""Does the name Stone Barrington ring a bell?" Amanda wrinkled her browbefore she caught herself. "That police detective who was involved inthe investigation of the Sasha Nijinsky disappearance four or fiveyears ago?""Your memory always astonishes me." '"It's not that good; tell me about him. The long version, past andpresent.""Born somewhere in New England to a mill-owning family who went bustduring the thirties; father dropped out of Harvard to become acarpenter and a political leftist in Greenwich Village, thus becomingthe black sheep; mother wasMatilda Stone...""The painter?""Right. Stone went to law school, but during his senior year he hungout with some cops and became besotted with their profession. When hegraduated, he didn't take the bar; instead, he went to the policeacademy. He had made it as far as detective second grade over fourteenyears--no better than average--when Sasha Nijinsky disappeared. He waspractically on the scene when she vanished and thus caught theinvestigation. His theories didn't square with the department's--hehad never really been one of the boys--so at the first opportunity theyretired him for medical reasons. He had taken a bullet in the knee onan earlier investigation.""Was he crippled?""Not really; they were just looking for an eXCUSe.""What has he done since?""For a while he spent his time restoring a Turtle Bay townhouse left tohim by a great-aunt, until he ran out of money. Then he crammed, forhe bar examination and passed it well up on the lit, top ten percent.I'd known him in law school; I took him to lunch and offered him a dealwith us." ' "He joined Woodman and Weld?""Not exactly. He became of counsel to us, set up his own office athome, and began handling our client-related criminal cases and theoccasional investigation.""Client-related criminal cases? I don't understand; you don'trepresent criminals, do you?""Typically, a valued client's son involved in a date rape--that sort ofthing.""I see. And what sort of investigations?" "Again,client-related--divorce, adultery, runaway daughter, theft of companyfunds, industrial espionage--whatever comes up.""Is he good?""He combines a good policeman's curiosity andtenacity with a good lawyer's discretion and restraint. And he'ssocially acceptable." "Then why don't I know him?" "He lives a quietlife, dates a lady judge; he's, better known in courtroom circles thanin society." "Wasn't there a lot of publicity about him over theNijinsky case?" "A great deal, but he went to ground very quickly, andthe press forgot about him, not having any reason to remember." "Hesounds good." "Why don't you go and see him? I'll be glad to make anappointment." "Bill, people usually come to see me." "It wouldperhaps be more discreet for you to go to him." "Make the appointment;I'll go for tea tomorrow at four." "Tea?" "Bill, if he can't mount adecent tea, why would I want to know him?" Amanda looked up to see atelevision actor come into the restaurant with a woman who was not hiswife. She made a mental note for the column.CHAPTER7'hr young man stood behind the stone wall that separated Central Parkfrom Fifth Avenue and watched the front door of the apartment buildingfrom across the street through a pair of pocket binoculars. It wasjust before 2:00 A.M." and a couple were being deposited at the curbby a hired limousine.The night doorman got the car door, then rushed ahead to open thebuilding door for them. The young man watched him see the couple ontothe elevator, then return to the lobby. The doorman picked up aclipboard, made some sort of mark, probably next to the couple's name,then tossed the clipboard onto a desk, tipped his uniform hat back onhis head, stretched and yawned, then sat down at the desk and restedhis head on his arms. He had obviously checked in the last people forthe night--all present or accounted for--and now there would be no oneto disturb his sleep until the early birds went for their jogs. Theyoung man waited for another twenty minutes, checking the doormanfrequently through the binoculars; finally, the man was clearly deeplyasleep. The young man set a paper bag on top of the wall, placed hishands on the wall, and vaulted lightly over it. He picked up the paperbag and crossed Fifth Avenue. Traffic was very light at this hour. Hechecked his watch: just past 2:30 A.M. He approached the door of thebuilding without stealth, as if he were about to enter, then stoppedand again checked the doorman, who was still sleeping soundly. Helooked at the lobby loor: marble. Then he stepped into the shadowsbeside the door of the building, shucked off his sneakers, pulled out apair of soft leather-soled bedroom slippers, put them on, then put thesneakers into the bag. He couldn't afford squeaking noises from rubbersoles on the marble floor. He checked the doorman again, then walkedsilently across the lobby to the elevator, which he already knew wasvery quiet, and pressed the button for the fourteenth floor. The youngman already knew a lot about the building and the apartment he wasabout to enter. He stepped out of the elevator car and into a privatevestibule. Only one apartment to a floor in this building. The doortook nearly two minutes--a very good lock--and when he heard the boltslide back he stopped, put away his lock picks took a stopwatch fromhis pocket, and pressed the start button. He had forty-five seconds,and he didn't want to use more than thirty, if he could help it.He opened the door, closed it behind him, and sprinted down a hall,across a large living room, and into the study. He knew that theoccupants were away and that the maid's room was all the way at therear of the apartment, behind the kitchen. In the study, he opened acloset door, switched on the light, found the burglar alarm centralcontrol box, and fixed the stopwatch to it with a magnet glued to itsback. Twelve Second'one.He opened the control box and began the process of disconnecting firstthe telephone line Io the box, then the wire to the siren. This wasnecessary because he didn't know the disarming code sequence. Helooked at the watch; thirty-two seconds had passed. Not bad. Thealarm would go. off in thirteen seconds, and Since he had done all hecould, he would just have to wait and see what happened. At forty-fiveseconds there was an audible click and the sound of tone dialing fromthe central computer unit. No siren, and, since the telephone line hadbeen disconnected, no phone call to the central security station of thealarm company. There was the possibility, though, that thedisconnecting of the phone line had sent Some sort of code to centralsecurity, so he would not dally.The safe was conveniently located in the same closet as the alarmcontrol box; he had examined it briefly on his previous visit. It wassturdy and electronically operated, requiring a four-digit code and akey to open the door. The key was absent, but the lock would not be aproblem. He retrieved a small screwdriver from his tool kit andremoved the battery access panel from the front of the safe, then tooka palm top computer from a jacket pocket. A wire attached to tinyalligator clips ran from the computer, and he attached the clips to thesafe's battery terminals. He had written a simple program for thecomputer that would start at the lowest possible four-digit number,then go to the highest possible four-digit number and balgk and forthuntil the safe clicked open. The process would be shortened by thefact that most of these electronic safe keypads would not allow therepetition of a number in the code, so there would be fewer codes totry. He had test-run the program, and he knew that it required nineminutes and eighteen seconds to try all the possible codes. He tappedthe instructions into the small keyboard, and the program began to run.He set the computer on top of the alarm control panel and settled in towait. Four minutes and nine seconds into the program, he heard a clickfrom the safe, and the program stopped.Quickly, in case there was a time limit, he picked the safe'sconventional lock, and the door swung open. Inside were two delightfulsurprises. The first was three thick stacks of one-hundred-dollarbills, with a rubber band around each, and another stack of fifties.The bills looked well used, and a cursory inspection revealed that theserial numbers were not consecutive. He estimated that they totaledapproximately thirty-five thousand dollars, but this was no time tostart counting; he stuffed them into one of his jacket's large pockets.The other surprise in the safe was a small, nickel-plated automaticpistol, with, of all things, a silencer! He stuffed that into apocket, then opened a jewelry box, which was full of a lot of junk thatdidn't interest him, except for a Cartier watch with a gold bracelet.That he kept; he loved watches. 'He had just closed the safe door and was putting away his equipmentwhen from a distance he heard a noise like the front door opening,followed by voices. No time to reconnect the alarm system; he closedthe cabinet door, switched off the light, and left the closet, closingthe door behind him. While he was doing all this he wondered if he hadsomehow caused this to happen. His heart was racing; he loved it. Thevoices came closer, and he dove into the kneehole of the desk, pullinghis knees up to squeeze in."We got a disconnect signal," a voice said. The lights came on in thestudy. "If somebody cuts the phone line or disconnects it, we get asignal. Usually means a burglar has visited.""Do you really need a gun?" another voice asked, sounding nervous.There might be somebody in the apartment right now," the other voicereplied. "If there is, I'm going to be ready." The voices weremuffled slightly, and the young man thought they were probably in thecloset by now. "See right here?" the first voice asked. "The phoneline was disconnected." Time to go, the young man thought. He peeredaround the corner of the desk and saw the backs of the two men. "He'sprobably had a shot at the safe," the first voice said. "Electronicjob." The young man crawled quickly, silently toward the door of thestudy; in doing so, he had to fhove past the closet. As he made thedoor, the first voice spoke again. "You stay here," the voice said,and there was the sound of the action of an automatic pistol beingworked. "I'm going to have a look around. You might use the phone onthe desk over there to call nine-one-one and tell them there's been abreak-in." "Right," the other man replied. The young man sprintednearly soundlessly through the living room, his soft slippers makingonly tiny noises on the carpeting. He made it down the hall to thefront door, opened it, and stepped into the hallway. The elevator andthe front door seemed like a bad idea; if there was already a cop caron the blOCk when the 911 call went in, he might meet them going outthe door.The elevator door stood open. He stepped inside,pushed in the EMERGENCY button to activate the car, pressed the buttonfor the ground floor, and stepped out of the car just as the doorsclosed. The elevator started down, and he made for the stairs.Holding his paper bag of tools, he bounded down flight after flight,past the lobby floor to the basement There had to be a back door
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Dirt Dirt [154-011-4.0]By: Stuart WoodsCategory: fiction suspenseSynopsis:This slickly entertaining suspenser displays Woods at the top of hisgame with no signs of flagging .... Using all his skills here, andsubtly reminiscent of the waggish P.G. Wodehouse, Woods delivers amarvelously sophisticated, thoroughly modern old-fashioned read.HarperPaperbacksCRITICAL ACCLAIM FORSTUART WOODS ANDDIRT"This slickly entertaining suspenser displays Woods at the top of hisgame with no signs of flagging .... U...sing all his skills here, andsubtly reminiscent of the waggish P.G. Wodehouse, Woods delivers amarvelously sophisticated, thoroughly modern old-fashioned read."--Publishers Weekly"Fans of gltt pop fiction will find brisk sex, designer name-dropping,and the voyueristic tingle of dishing dirt on the rich and famous."--BooklistCHOKE ."A real page-turner [with] surprises along the way." --The BostonGlobe"The legion of fans who read with great excitement all the works ofStuart Woods will not be disappointed with his latest novel."--Richmond 'Jmes Dispatch"Stuart Woods keeps the action quick and the entertainment' valuehigh." --Sun-Sentinel (Ft. Lauderdale)IMPERFECT STRANGERS"[Woods] does show a reader a good time." --The Washington Post BookWorld"Engage[s] the reader's imagination in an unconventional way. Compel[s]us, in our mind's eye, to place [the novel's] events on the silverscreen in the shadow of a latter-day Hitchcock, and somehow itworks."--Chicago Sun TimesHEAT"High melodrama and unexpected twists make thisTeflon-coated blockbuster business as usual inWoods's practiced hands."--Publishers Weekly"A high-concept action thriller."--Kirkus Reviews"Keeps you reading."--CosmopolitanLA. TIMES"A slick, often caustically funny tale." --Los Angeles Times"Stuart Woods is a wonderful storyteller who could teach Robert Ludlumand Tom Clancy a thing or TWO." --The State (Columbia, SC.)NEW YORK DEAD"Suspenseful and surprising." --Atlanta Journal & Constitution"Hollywood slick and fastmoving." --Los Angeles Daily News"Will keep you riveted." --USA Today"At once chilling and pleasing. And the climax makes New York Dead asunnerving as a midnight stroll through Central Park." --ChicagoTribuneBOOKS BY STUART WOODSFiction Dead in the Water Dirt* Choke* Imperfect Strangers* Heat* DeadEyes* L.A. Times* Santa Fe Rules* New York Dead* Palindrome* GrassRoots White Cargo Under the Lake eep Lie Run Before the Wind ChiefsTravel A Romantic's Guide to the Country Inns of Britain and IrelandMemoir Blue Water, Green SkipperPublished by Harper PaperbacksATTENTION: ORGANIZATIONS AND CORPORATIONSMost Harper Paperbacks are available at special quantity discounts forbulk purchases for sales promotions, premiums, or fund-raising. Forinformation, please call or write: Special Markets Department,HarpetCollinsPubl/shers, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, N.Y. 10022.Telephone: (212) 207-7528. Fax: (212) 2077222.DIRTSTUARTWOODSHarper PaperbacksA Division of HarperCollinslblisbersHarper Paperbacks A Division of HarperCollinsPutlishers 10 East 53rdStreet, New York, N.Y. 100225299This book contains an excerpt from Dead in the Water by Stuart Woods.This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect thefinal content of the hardcover' editionIf you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware thatthis book is stolen property. It was reported as %nsold and destroyed'to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has receivedany payment for this stripped book."This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialoguesare products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed asreal. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, isentirely coincidental.Copyright 1996 by Stuart Woods All rights reserved. No part f thisbook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without writtenpermission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotationsembodied in critical articles and reviews. For information addressHarperCollins Publish 10 East 53rd Street, New York, N.Y. 1002245299.A hardcover edition of this book was published in 1996 by HarperCollinsPublishISBN 0-06-109423-4HarperCollins , , and Harper Paperbacks TM are trademarks ofHarperCollins Publish Inc.Cover photo by Alexa GarbarinoFirst Harper Paperbacks printing: September 1997 Printed in the UnitedStates of America Visit Harper Paperbacks on the World Wide Web athttp://www.harpercollins.com'1091 765 43 2 IThis book is for David and Lynn KaufeltACKNOWLEDGMENTSI would like to express my gratitude to every gossip columnist in thebusiness, for giving me such good material.I am also grateful to my editor, HarperCollins Vice President andAssociate Publisher Gladys Justin Carr, and her staff, for all theirhard work; and to my literary agent, Morton Janklow, his principalassociate, Anne Sibbald, and all the lgeople at Janklow and Nesbit fortheir careful attention to my career over the years.CHAPTERDinner had been wonderful--twelve around a gleaming oval table ofburied walnut in a dining room a dozen stories above the light-fleckedcarpet of Central Park, the cooking by the chef of a famous restauranta few blocks away, the wines from the host's superb cellar, and thecompany carefully chosen by a couple who could cast a wide net. AmandaDart felt quite at home among them.As they moved from the table into the library next door for coffee andbrandy, Amanda reflected that her presence there was as much a tributeto her position as to her personality, though she could certainly holdher own in any company. Of those present--a movie star and hisgorgeous companion, a captain of industry and his dowdy wife, and aformer British primeminister, her dinner partner, among them--Amanda alone possessed thepower to tell the world just who her hosts had attracted to theirtable, something the couple wanted very badly for the world to know. Itwas vulgar to drop names; Amanda Dart, queen of gossip columnists,would do the dropping for them.Lord Wight, the former prime minister, was taking a keen interest inAmanda, attention that, on another night, would have been a great dealmore interesting for her. Tonight, however, she had other plans, othercompany in mind, and the thought made for a weak feeling in hercrotch."I chose my title from the island of my birth," Lord Wight was saying.*"Oh, yes, the Isle of Wight," Amanda said, returning his serve. "Ibelieve the town of Cowes there is the capital of British yachting."Point made."The capital of European yachting," his lord ship replied."And that's where you sail your little yacht?""Actually, it's quite a large yacht," Wight replied testily. "And Idon't just sail it, I race it.""Tell me, Lord Wight," Amanda asked innocently, "just how does someoneamass enough of a fortune to buy a large yacht during a lifetime ofpublic service?""Fortunately, my dear lady," Wight said, smiling softly, "in my countrythe amassing of a fortune is not incompatible with a life in politics.OneDIRTacquires knowledgeable friends who advise one on how to invest one'smoney."Amanda winked at him. "One understands,"she said.Her hostess joined them. "Amanda, dear," she said, "you made mepromise to tell you when it was midnight, and it is. You're catching aplane?""To St. Bart's," Amanda said, moving forward in her seat inpreparation for standing."Surely there's no plane out of Kennedy at this hour," Wight said,consulting a gold watch from his waistcoat pocket. "They do have noiseregulations don't they?""Not at Teterboro," Amanda replied. "One is fortunate enough to havefriends with jets." She:, stood up, bringing Lord Wight with her."My dear," he was saying, "I do hope I can see you when I'm next in NewYork.""Of course, Lord Wight," Amanda replied, fishing in her little clutchpurse for a card. "} would be delighted to hear from you." Any nightbut tonight, she thought.She made her good-byes, collected her coat from the butler, and slippedout of the huge apartment.Downstairs, her trusty driver, Paul, and her elderly Cadillac werewaiting. Amanda slipped into the back seat, and in a moment they weremoving. "The Trent, Paul," she said."Yes, ma'am," Paul replied.It was Amanda's fiftieth birthday, though no one knew it; she was inspectacular shape, her firm body the product of a regular program witha trainer in her own little gym. Amanda allowed no other person to seeher perspire. She placed two fingers on her carotid artery and glancedat her watch. Her resting pulse was normally forty-five; tonight, itwas seventy.Amanda lived her life in very public view, and she took great care inhow she presented herself to her world. Although of a deeply sensualnature, she was known as something of an ice queen, and she was quitehappy t keep it that way. Her sexual alliances were few, butathletically maintained, with men who were always wealthy, off herbeaten track, very discreet, and usually younger than she. Tonight andfor the weekend, she would see her very favorite, a real estatedeveloper from Atlanta named Henry Bell, who made it to New York nomore than once every eight or nine months. Perfect for Amanda.Henry was a pillar of Atlanta societY, the husband of a retired operasinger and the father of two daughters whose social ambitions wererelentless. Amanda had helped them meet tout Gotham while, unbeknownstto them or anyone else, she had established a highly eroticrelationship with their father, who was a youthful forty-five. Thisweekend he was in New York, ostensibly for a board meeting, and he waswaiting for her at the Trent, a small, elegant hotel in the EastSixties. They planned to be together until early Monday morning.The car glided to a halt at the Trents discreet entrance. Amandalooked up and down the block before she got out; she had no wish to'run into anyone she knew. "No need to get the door, Paul. Pleasemeet me here after midnight on Sundaysay, two A.M.""Two o'clock Monday morning," Paul said. Satisfied that the block wasempty of pedestrians, she slid out of the car and ran across thesidewalk, slipping on a pair of dark glasses. She paused for a momentin the foyer of the hotel and glanced across the little lobby at thefront desk, where a man in a tailcoat was working. She waited until heturned away, then scooted across the lobby, unspotted, to the alcovewhere the elevator was. She pressed "P" for penthouse and ai ted whilethe car traveled upward for fifteen floors. When the door opened, shepopped her head out to check that the hallway was empty, then walkedout of the elevator and to the end of the' hall, stopping before doubledoors.Glancing around once more to be sure she was alone, she stepped out ofher shoes, then slipped off her panties. She was not wearing a braunder the little black dress. She took off her coat and unzipped herdress. Then, holding her coat, shoes, and panties in her hand, sherang the bell. Seconds later the door opened, and she steppedinside.Henry Bell stepped back to allow her to enter. He was wearing a silkdressing gown. He said nothing, but untied the belt and whipped itoff,presenting a trim physique and a throbbing erection. Amanda droppedher belongings on the floor, wiggled her shoulders, and let the littledress fall off, revealing 11 breasts and a finely crafted body. Shekicked the dress out of the way and stood there, wearing only blackstockings and a black garter belt."Hello, sailor," she said, and went to him.Late Sunday evening, they sat propped up in bed, naked, next to theremains of a room service dinner on a tray. Henry dozed lightly whileAmanda watched yet another of his endless collection of eroticScandinavian videotapes. Henry he a little man in Stockholm who sentthem to the Trent whenever he was in New York. Amanda loved them.This one was particularly intriguing, she thought, glancing at Henry.Poor baby, she had given him a real workout for the whole weekend. Hedeserved his rest; still ... She reached for his penis and begankneading it gently. A small smile appeared on his sleeping face."We've just time for one more round, sweetie," she said.Henry didn't open his eyes. "If I can," he whimpered.Amanda rearranged herself slightly, then bent over and took his penisinto her mouth. Henry gave a little groan and began to respond.At that moment, the doors to the suite's bedroom burst open with abang, and the room was filled with light."Over here, Amanda!" a man's voice shouted as a flashbulb went off.Amanda sat straight up in bed, her mouth open, her eyes wide. Her lefthand still rested on Henry's penis. "What?!" she screamed. Therewere all sorts of lights, those that flashed and those that burnedsteadily."Get out!" Amanda screamed, shaking a fist at the lights.Henry sat frozen, dumbfounded."Just one more, Amanda!" the man's voice shouted.Amanda picked up a heavy clock from he bedside table and threw it atthe light as Henry suddenly came to life. He started toward theintruders, but the bedroom doors were slammed in his face. He threwhis shoulder against them," then howled in pain.Amanda did what she most wanted to do in the world: she screamed.An hour later, fully dressed but still trembling, Amanda fled thehotel, got into the back of the Cadillac, and was driven home. Shelooked over her shoulder but saw no witness to her leaving. She was incontrol again, and she had begun to assess the damage. It promised tobe considerable.CHAPTERman da walked into the office suite of her penthouse, dressed in herstandard uniform of Chanel suit, Ferragamo shoes, plain gold jewelry,and a gold Cartier Panther wristwatch and bracelet.Her staff of three, at their desks five minutes before her alwaysprecise nine o'clock arrival, leapt to their feet as one, welcoming herback and complimenting her on how tanned and rested she looked. Sheshook each of their hands, received their compliments, and sent themback to their desks, save her secretary, the trusty Martha, who hadbeen with her for her entire career as a columnist."Ready for your messages?" Martha asked, holding up a batch of yellowslips."Not yet," Amanda replied, slipping behind her little French desk. Sheloved the desk. Sister Parrish, the doyen of New York interiordesigners, had found it especially for her when she had done theapartment a few years before her death. "Before I do anything else,get me Bill Eggers at Woodman and Weld. He should already be at hisdesk."Martha returned to her desk, and a moment later the green light onAmanda's phone flashed; her party was on the line, waiting. Amanda didnot converse with other people's secretaries."Bill," she breathed into the phone. "How are you, darling?""I'm wonderful, Amanda," the lawyer replied. "How was your holiday?""Just perfect. I'm fully rested and raring to go. What was Hickock'sreaction to our latest contract proposal?""I called him on Friday, but he's putting-me off", Eggers replied. "Hesays somebody in the legal department is on vacation, but to tell youthe truth, I think he's just not giving it his full attention. Afterall, he's got another two months and three weeks before your contractexpires. He's used to negotiating with the print unions right up toand past deadlines."Amanda frowned, then forced her facial muscles to relax. Havingrecently had some lines surgically removed, she didn't want new onescropping up. "He's not going to have that luxury," she said."You want me to call him again?"Amanda thought for a moment. "No," she replied. "Meet me in the lobbyof the Galaxy Building at precisely ten minutes past one thisafternoon.""Do you already have an appointment?""No, but he'll see me.""If you say so, Amanda, but listen, I have to give you my best adviceon this before you do anything rash; that's my responsibility."Amanda sighed. "Go ahead, Bill.""Okay, you're in a good negotiating position; your readership isslightly up in the home paper, and well up in syndication. You're notoverpaid, at the moment, and what we're asking for isn't out of linewith the numbers involved. However, it's almost never good to appeareager when you're dealing with Dick Hickock; he'll have you forbreakfast, if he thinks he has any sort of edge. My advice is to wait,not even call him, just wait for his call. He knows exactly when yourcontract is up, and he won't ignore the deadline and risk losing you toanother paper. Sit tight, and you'll get most of what you want. There,I've said it; what do you want to do?""Precisely ten past one, at the Galaxy Building.""See you there."Amanda hung up and began doing something she had forced herself to putoff: She went through the New York and L.A. papers quickly, looking forany reference to the incident of the night before. As she hadsuspected, there was nothing. Every paper had closed well before thephotographs were taken at the hotel, and nobody would have been foolenough to print the story without substantiation. She breathed a heavysigh of relief; she had until early evening, when the showbiz newsprograms came on, after the evening news.Amanda got up, walked to the door, and leaned against the jamb, lookingout into the open bay where her secretary and two assistants sat. Ofthe three, only Martha had known where she had spent the past weekend,and nobody, but nobody, could torture the information out of thatwoman. While the others hadn't known, they might have somehow pickedup something around the off'ce. Still, each of them was well paid and,apparently, happy in his or her work. One, Helen, was a young woman ofthirty who had been with her for three years; the other, Barry, was agay man who had been with her for eight. There was not a naive bone inAmanda's body, but her best judgment told her that the news had beenleaked from somewhere else, most likely from her lover's end, althoughhe had denied any such thing. Most likely his wife had put a detectiveon them, but that remained to be seen."All right, Martha," Amanda said, "let's go through the messages."At nine minutes past one the elderly Cadillac glided up to the mainentrance of the GalaxyBuilding, and Amanda stepped out; Bill Eggers was waiting in the lobby.It was lunchtime, and the two were alone together in the elevator."Amanda, won't he be at lunch at this hour?"Eggers asked."Dick Hickock always has lunch at his desk onMondays," she replied. "Always.""Are you sure he'll see you?""He won't have a choice," Amanda said."Jesus," the lawyer said under his breath.They stepped out on the thirtieth floor, into a paneled and hushedhallway. The receptionist's desk was empty; a sign on the desk said,'THIS FLOOR IS CLOSED UNTIL 3:00 P.M. FORASSISTANCE, PLEASE GO TO THE MAIN RECEPTIONDESK ON THE TENTH FLOOR."Follow me," Amanda said. She strode down the hall, her footstepssilenced by the thick carpeting, through a double door marked"Chairman," across a reception room, and into the office of Richard M.Hickock, chairman of the board of Galaxy Media. Dick Hickock sat athis desk in his shirtsleeves, his necktie undone, the Wall StreetJournal open before him, eating a huge sandwich."Hello, Dick, darling!" Amanda enthused, walking behind the desk andplanting a kiss on his cheek, leaving a smear of cerise.Hickock had just taken a large bite out of his sandwich, and hestruggled to get it chewed and swallowed so that he could speak. Bythe time he had, Amanda and her lawyer were seated in a pair of chairsto his right."You know Bill Eggers, don't you?" Amanda asked.Hickock nodded and washed down food with a glass of beer."Amanda, what the hell..." he began."I do apologize for interrupting your lunch, Dick," Amanda saidcontritely, "but I hope you will understand that this just won'twait.""Amanda," Hickock said, shaking h'{s headin disbelief, "there's athirty-eight in my desk drawer, and I would have used it on anybody whowalked in here like that." He smiled benevolently. "Anybody but you.Now what can I do for you?" He nodded at the sandwich. "My MiltonBerle is waiting.""What's in a Milton Berle, Dick?" Amanda asked, apparentlyfascinated."Corned beef and chopped liver with Russian dressing on pumpernickel,and this." He held up a huge pickle. "The reference to Berle," hesaid,grinning.Amanda blushed. "Oh, Dick! You are awful!""It's true," Hickock said to Eggers. "I am awful.""It's about our contract proposal," Amanda said without further ado."Amanda, your contract has another three months to run," Hickockreplied. "What's your rush?""Oh, it's not me, darling, it' sSI Newhouse." Hickock's face instantlybecame expressionless. "SI who?" he asked disingenuously, his eyesnarrowing."Dick, it's been awful; I've spent the whole weekend fending him off.Somehow, he got my phone number, and he would not be put off.""Don't listen to a word he says," Hickock said. "Oh, I've tried not tobut he such an awful flatterer--but I must admit, When he startedthrowing numbers around...""That absolute shit," Hickock said," almost to himself."Oh, I don't want to go with SI, Dick; that's why I came to see you.He's practically forced me to have a drink with him later today--Godknows, I don't want to alienate him--and I'm planning to tell him, assweetly as I possibly can, to go away.""Right, my dear," Hickock said, smiling. "That's exactly what youshould do.""But I can, Dick darling, not with things just... hanging the way theyare with my contract.""Just say no, Amanda.""Well, I can't very well do that, if I don't know for sure that I havea deal with you, can I? I mean, my God, I don't want to leave Galaxy,but when he's dangling all that money in front of me and all thoseperks...""Perks?" Hickock asked, looking alarmed."Oh, you know how lavish SI can be when he really wants somebody.""Amanda, it's wrong of you to press me like this.""Dick, my darling, I'm not pressing; I'm the soul of patience. SI,unfortunately, is not."Hickock rummaged in his desk and came out with the contract proposalthat Eggers had sent him. He put on his reading glasses and beganleafing through it. "You really think you're worth this sort of money,Amanda?"Eggers jumped in. "Her numbers support everything in that proposal,"the lawyer id."You want five percent more of the' syndication :"Syndication income is way up," Eggers said.Hickock seemed to be collecting himself,'Amanda thought."Tell you what, Amanda, my legal guy is back from vacation next Monday;we'll get back to-you the end of next week, all right?"Amanda stood up and smoothed her skirt."Dick, my darling, I can't tell you how sad this makes me," she said,dabbing at the corner of an eye, where an actual tear had appeared. "Ihad so wanted it to work out. I want you to know that Ihave no hard feelings whatsoever." She turned and started toward thedoor, with Eggers at her heels,then stopped. "Oh, can you and Glynnis come to dinner on Friday? JUsta small dinner, we'll only be eight, but it's a good crowd."Hickock was on his feet. "Now, Amanda, come back and sit down." Amanda and Eggers returned to their chairs. "I'm sitting, Dick," shesaid. Hickock was reading the proposal again. "A Mercedes Six Hundred?What's the matter with the Five Hundred? Or, come to that, with theFour-twenty? The Six Hundred is ahundred-andthirtyseventhousand-dollar car, for Christ's sake!" "Oh,that's right, you drive one, don't you, Dick? Isn't it such awonderful car? I mean, the :' Six Hundred has the buried walnut andthe separate air conditioner for the back seat. You know howwarm-natured I am." "Amanda, be reasonable." "Dick, I despisecheapness in a man, I really do." "Oh, all right, you have a deal,"Hickock said. "We'll sign something when my legal guy gets back." Eggers instantly produced a small stack of documents. "I've prepared adeal memo," he said. "We'll work out the final language when your mangets home." Hickock read the document quickly and signed all fourcopies. Amanda signed them, and Eggers left two with the publisher. Amanda stood up. "I'm so thrilled that we're going to be together foranother four years, darling," she said. She met him halfway around thedesk, and they embraced. "And don't forget dinner, Friday, at seven." She turned to Eggers. "Can I give you a lift, Bill?" She took his armand steered him toward the door. At the threshold she turned andlooked at Hickock, who was gazing at his sandwich. "Oh, Dick, theyhave just the car I want at that Mercedes showroom on Park Avenue." She returned to the desk and laid a car don it. "The man said theycould deliver it at five; all it takes is a phone call from you.""We'll be trading your Cadillac, right?" Hickock asked."Oh, Dick, you are funny; I've already sold it." She swept out of theoffice.In the car, Bill Eggers wiped his brow. "Amanda, I don't know why youneed me at all," he said.Amanda patted his hand. "Somebody has to do the boilerplate, dear."CHAPTERichard Hickock left his office at four o'clock, stopping briefly at hissecretary's desk. "Anybody calls, tell them I'm in the buildingsomewhere for a meeting, you don't know where, and I won't be back atmy desk by the end of the day.""Yes, sir," the woman replied.Hickock took his private elevator to the basement garage, where hiswhite Mercedes S600 was waiting. "Ralph, I think I'll take a walk inthe park," he said to his chauffeur."Of course, Mr. Hickock," the chauffeur replied. "You've been walkingin the park a lot lately. Good for the heart.""Right," Hickock said, taking one of his magazines, not his favorite,from the leather pocket onthe back of the front seat. He leafed idly through it, making mentalnotes, one of them to fire the magazine's art director. He wasn'tseeing enough tits in the book these days, and the man had ignored hisrequest for more.Presently, the car stopped at an entrance to Central Park on FifthAvenue in the sixties. Hickock opened his own door. "Hover aroundhere, and pick me up in an hour and ten minutes." He knew fromexperience exactly how long this would take. The car pulled away;Hickock crossed Fifth Avenue and walked briskly to an elegantlyrestored t wnhouse apartment building, using his key to open thedon-stairs door. As it was about to close, a young man stepped intothe hallway behind him, holding what appeared to be a sack ofgroceries. '"Thanks," the young man said. "I didn't have a hand free to look formy key.""Don't mention it," Hickock said, stepping into the elevator. Theyoung man followed him into the"Nice day out there," the young man said. "Great time of the year."The elevator stopped on the fourth floor, and Hickock got out. "Seeyou," he said."You bet," the young man replied.The young man got off the elevator on the floor above and walked down aflight, peeking over the banister rail to see Hickock letting himselfinto an apartment. He noted that there was only one apartment on thefloor, so he was unlikely to be disturbed. He walked to the apartmentdoor, set his grocery bag on the floor, removed a loaf of bread, andpulled out an electronic stethoscope. He placed the receivers in hisears, switched it on, and held the listening part against the apartmentdoor.Inside, Hickock was greeted by a very beautiful young woman wearing asilk dressing gown."Oh, Dick," she breathed, taking his face in her hands. "I've been soexcited ever since you called."Hickock kissed her lightly, then untied' the gown's sash, exposing hernaked body underneath. He caressed her large breasts and felt thenipples rise. "Then you must be ready for me," he said."Oh, yes," she sighed, taking him by the hand. "Come with me." Sheled him into the bedroom, kicked the door shut, and locked it."I don't know why you always lock the door," Hickock said, tearing athis clothes."I don't know either," she said, letting the dressing gown fall fromher shoulders. "It just makes me feel more secure." She held out herarms to receive him, and they toppled onto the bed.Outside in the hall, the young man with the stethoscope heard thebedroom door lock engage. Hemoved along the hall toward the bedroom wall and placed the stethoscopethere. When he was certain that the couple were erotically engaged, hewent back to the door, removed what appeared to be a small manicure kitfrom a pocket, took out two small tools, and began to work on the frontdoor lock. In half a minute he was inside the apartment with hisgrocery bag. He removed a leather tool box from the bag and went towork.In the bedroom, Hickock lay on his back, breathing deeply as herecovered from his orgasm; Sle went into the bathroom, came back with aho face cloth and began to wipe his penis. Hickock made a littlenoise.,"i"Oh," she said, "I believe there's something stillthere."This was the part Hickock liked best; while he had been essentiallyimpotent with his wife for years, this girl could always get him goingfor a second round. "Use your mouth," he whimpered."Why, of course," the girl replied.The young man listened at the bedroom door with his stethoscope,smiling. He'd better get out, he thought; Hickock would be finished inanother few seconds. He picked up his grocery bag, let himself out ofthe apartment, and walked down the stairs to the basement, checkingcarefully on each floor that he was still alone. In the basement hefound the building's central telephone box and went to work. Half anhour later he let himself out of the building and walked off down thestreet.Hickock looked both ways on Fifth Avenue for his car. Not seeing it,he crossed the street, walked a few feet into the park, and waited. Acouple of minutes later he saw the white Mercedes turn a corner ontoFifth Avenue. He stepped out of the park, went to the curb, flaggeddown the car, and got in. "Let's go home, Ralph," he said. "Enjoyyour walk in the park, sir?" "Oh, yes," he replied. "It alwaysrefreshe me."CHAPTERman da swept into her office suite, wearing a smile that telegraphedgood news to her staff. She waved Martha into her office and pushedaside the stack of items Hcl.en and Barry had assembled for tomorrow'scolumn."It must have gone well," Martha said, taking a seat and getting herpad ready."It went extremely well, my dear," Amanda replied. "So well thatthere's a ten percent raise for you when the new contract begins.""Oh, thank you, Amanda," Martha gushed."And tell the others that there'll be another five percent in their paypackets on the day.""They'll be delighted.""Oh, tell Paul to sell the Cadillac, and he can keep ten percent ofwhat he gets for it; I don't want to see it again." She handed Marthathe car salesman's card. "Call this gentleman and tell him I'll wantthe new Mercedes delivered no later than four-thirty, and tell him toget the car phone number changed over. Call a music store and get adozen CDs delivered for the new car's stereo--you know the kind ofthing I like--at least two Bobby Shorts and some Michael Feinstein andsome chamber music. Give them to Paul so the salesman can show him howthe CD player works. Make sure the salesman gets my vanity plateschanged over, too.""Right." Martha was making notes. "I'll deal with the insurance; whatvalue do you want to put on it?" "A hundred and thirty-seven thousanddollars."Martha's eyes widened. "Hickock sprang for the Six Hundred?""Of course he did. You'd better let the garage man know about thechange; the doorman, too. Let's not have any glitches.""It shall be done," Martha said, rising. "You ready for lunch?""I'll have a salad, then send Helen and Barry in, and we'll getstartedMartha disappeared, still writing on her pad. Amanda still had thesick feeling in her stomach that had begun the night before, but herelation over the new contract and the Mercedes helped to drive it away. She felt very much better now.When the salad dish had been taken away, Helen and Barry shuffled intothe office and took seats."Anything really good?" Amanda asked, starting to leaf through thestack of items, each on a page to itself. They would need twenty-fiveto thirty for tomorrow's column."Three high-profile pregnancies that together might make a good lead,"Barry said. "They're on top.""Good; I like to start with good news," Amanda replied. She held up apage and frowned. "Ivana Trump is buying a yacht? Why would anyonecare?" She crushed the page in her long fingers and tossed it into awastebasket. Her people knew she had little time for the Trumps."I got a call," Helen said. "The Infiltrator is starting in again OnMichael Andress; this time they've got a waiter from some drive-inrestaurant in Long Beach who says they've been sleeping together forthree years.""The boy's straight as an arrow," Barry said. "I have it on goodauthority, and anyway, I can always tell. How many children does hehave to father before they leave him alone?""And his wife is one of the pregnancies on the list," Helen said."Good chance to stick it to the Infiltrator," Amanda mused, marking theitem. "Say something about the unjust pursuit of the boy; you know howit should go." She went rapidly through the stack of items, keepingsome, tossing others out. "That's it, I think," she said, tossing thegood ones onto the desk. "I'll have my lead for you in half an hour."She glanced at her watch.Helen and Barry left, and Amanda turned to her computer to compose theparagraphs that would lead the column. She had planned to enthuseabout St. Bart's and what a wonderful time she had had on her weekend,but the incident of the wee hours was still on her mind, and until shefound out what it was all about, she would hedge her bets. She hadbeen writing for ten minutes when she looked up and saw Martha standingat the door. She had turned pale, and she had a sheet of paper in herhand."Martha, what's wrong, dear?" she asked. Martha approached the deskslowly and put the paper on the desk. "This just came in on the faxmachine," she said.A death, Amanda thought, but she was wrong. She picked up the sheet ofpaper and saw a photograph of herself, taken early that morning. Thesheet was set up like the front page of a tabloid newspaper, and thelead story was:DIKTGreetings, earthlings! Look who we caught with her knickers down andher forked tongue erotically engaged in a love nest in a chic East Sidehotel. None other than gossip's high bitch, Amanda Dart, who, afterrevealing others' peccadilloes for years, has revealed remarkableappetites of her own. She checked into the elegant hostelry lastFriday night after having concocted an elaborate ruse to make the worldat large (you and I) believe that she was lolling at the St. Barr'sbeachfront compound of the Duke of Kensington. (Write this down shouldyou ever want to disappear for a couple of weeks.) Dear Amanda set upan answering machine to receive calls from those who were clever enoughto get her holiday number, then she phoned the machine daily for hermessages. When she returned her calls, she no doubt had a wave machinerunning in the background to lend verisimilitude. What a hoot!Her companion in bed was a prominent out-of towner whose wife will, nodoubt, have a few questions to ask him on his return home. Certainly,after servicing the indefatigable Amanda for a whole weekend, he'll nothave much energy left for the wronged lady in question.dust how great are dear Amanda's appetites? Enough to last until lateSunday night, when we snapped the place above. Will she ever show herneatly carved faoe in the Big Apple again? We should know tonight whenshe's promised to appear at a book party for her pal Norman Barton ofthe Times at Idortimer's, the East Side boite, where tout le monde ofGotham journalism will gather to honor dear Norm and get his scribblein their very own copy.$llJAlff WOODSWill dear Amanda show? I certainly will! I wouldn't miss this one fora million-buck advance on my no-holds-barred bio of the delectableDart!Amanda put down the fax and looked at Martha. As she did, every phonein the office started ringing. Barry appeared, breathless, at thedoor. "Amanda, there's apparently some sort of fax being sent to halfthe town. Do you know anything about it?" "Half the town?" Amandaasked, appalled. "Apparently. We're hearing from every columnist inthe city, and some from L.A. asking for a comment." "Tell them to readtomorrow's columtl," she said. "Martha, will you excuse me for a fewminutes? I have to rewrite tomorrow's lead." Martha vanished. Amandaturned back to her computer, stunned, and deleted what she had written.She sat, staring at the screen, wondering what to write. She had onlytwenty minutes until deadline.CHAPTERman da got into the back seat of the spanking new Mercedes S600 andsettled herself. She found the switch for the rear seatair-conditioning, and cool air flooded the rear passenger compartment.She touched the glassy surface of the buried walnut trim on her doorand squirmed on the leather seat; she asked Paul for music, and thesounds of Bobby Short's singing materialized around her. She mighthave been sitting at ringside at the Cafe Carlyle, she thought."Mortimer's, please, Paul," she said. Then she settled back into thesoft, two-toned leather and tried to compose herself.She could not remember the last time she had felt such anxiety; infact, she could not remember the last time she had been so vulnerable.Amanda had conducted her life for a very long time in suchS11JART WOODSa way that no one could have any ammunition to fire at her. She wasthe soul of discretion, especially where her own personal life wasconcerned, if not that of others. Outwardly, she was always charming,concerned, sweet, or grateful, whichever the circumstances called for.Inwardly, she was well aware that the scandal sheet's reference to heras a "high bitch" was entirely justified. Half the satisfaction ofbeing a bitch was to be sure that no one could ever prove it of her.Tonight, though, there were allegations in the air. She had, over thepast ten years, been slyly critical of any prominent woman with awell-known sex life. Now she herself would be subjected to a greatdeal of unwanted scrutiny and, probably, a very messy divorce.She had decided to press on with her column's lead about her time inSt. Bart's; all she could do now was brazen it through. After all,though the sheet had been entirely factual, proving the allegationswould be quite another thing. With computer-generated photographicediting available to almost anyone who desired it, she could claimdoctored pictures, in the hope that whoever was doing this would notwant to reveal himself in order to provide further evidence. If itcame up in court--well, she'd cross that abyss when she came to it."Lovely car, Miss Dart," Paul said. He rarely spoke unless spoken to,but Amanda received the compliment gratefully. It added another whitto the confidence that would be needed to face the crowd atMortimer's."Thank you, Paul," she replied. "I hope you will enjoy driving it."The car slid to a halt in front of the restaurant,and after a moment, Paul had opened the door for her. She stepped out,smoothed her skirt, took a deep breath, and plunged into the EastSide's most fashionable hangout. She had timed her entrance for amoment when half the guests would have already come; that way she couldeasily spot those already there, then watch the others arrive.As the door closed behind her there was an audible pause in theconversation as> people glanced her way, then a resumption as they pre:' tended not to see her. In a trice she had located: the Walter Cronkites, the Mike Wallaces, the AbeRosenthals, and the Richard Clurmans, all friends of Norman Barton's,who was rumored to be in line for the executive editorship of the Timeswhenthe present occupant of that office retired. She headed toward thehonoree, giving a happy wave and a smile to acquaintances along theway.Norman was standing in the back room, sur rounded by friends andadmirers, autographing copies of his book. After only a brief pause,Amanda strode forward, and the others gave way like yachts before theQueen Mary. "Norman!How exciting this must be for you!" Someone from the publishing househanded her a book. "Ican't wait to read every page!""Amanda!" Barton cried, touching his cheek to each of hers. "I'm sopleased you got back in time!""Oh, I got back early this morning," she replied."I didn't know the airlines arrived from the islands at that hour,"someone said.Amanda turned her gaze on a short, plump woman who collected gossipitems for a news syndicate. "One doesn't always fly the airlines,dear," she replied sweetly. "Sometimes one's friends provide.""Oh, a private jet," the woman cried. "You landed at Teterboro?"Obviously looking for something she could check."No," Amanda replied dismissively, then reached forward, took Barton'selbow, and deftly plucked him out of the group as a cow pony cuts asteer from the herd, and, by her proximity to the honoree, placedherself at the center of the party.They chatted enthusiastically for a moment, and then, as Amanda hadplanned, people began to approach, greeting them both, complimentingAmanda on her tan, asking about her holiday."Did you try that new little restaurant?" a rival columnist askedcattily."Oh, my dear, no," Amanda sighed. "All I did was work. I got up everymorning, played the tennis ball machine for half an hour, worked forthree hours, had lunch at the pool, then worked another three hours.The staff cooked every bite I ate.""And what work kept you so occupied?" the woman asked."Why, I finished my book, darling," Amanda sang back. "It goes to mypublisher's tomorrow!"The woman blinked. "Congratulations," she said, then disappeared.Amanda worked the crowd for an hour, then, at the moment when the tideseemed to turn toward dinner, she made her good-byes and headed towardthe door, nearly colliding with Bill Eggers."Oh, Bill," Amanda said, "you are just the man I want to see. Comewith me, you're taking me to dinner." She hustled him to her car."Good thing I didn't have plans," Egers said."I'd have kidnapped you anyway," Amanda said, sliding her arm throughhis. "Paul, we're going to Elaine's.""Yes, ma'am," Paul replied."I see you got the car," Eggers said, looking around admiringly. '""Of course I did, darling," Amanda giggled."I don't think Dick Hickock knew what hit him.""Of course not, darling." She made small talk all the way to Elaine's,while simultaneously formulating her next move.CHAPTERman da swept into Elaine's, automatically' casting an eye about for whowas there and where they were seated. Elaine herself was way in theback of the restaurant, seated at a customer's table. She lifted aneyebrow and Jack, the headwaiter, seated Amanda and her lawyer at afavored table up front. Amanda was just as happy not to have beengreeted by Elaine, who she found hard to read, never quite sure whethershe was being insulted. She came to the restaurant only for her work;before they were seated she had three items for tomorrow's column.Bill Eggers ordered a double Jack Daniel's on the rocks, and Amandaordered a large bottle of San Pellegrino mineral water. She alwayskept her wits about her, relaxing enough to drink alcohol only when shewas among trusted friends in her home or theirs. They chatted idly asthey selected from the menu and ate two courses. Only when they hadboth declined dessert and received their coffee did Amanda choose tobegin."Bill, you must know about this scandal sheet that was circulated to alot of fax machines this afternoon.""I believe I caught a whiff of it.""Well put; it was all so much dung.""Certainly was, Amanda. I mean, I would have known if you weren't inSaint Bart's.""Of course, darling." She paused for effect. "I want to hire aprivate detective; I'd like you to recommend one."The lawyer's nose wrinkled. "Is it that important to know who sent thefax?"Amanda gazed across the room. "It might become that important; if so,I intend to be ready.""Amanda, let me give you my lecture, the short version, on privatedetectives."All right, Bill; I'm listening.""I suppose I've dealt with a couple of dozen of them in one way oranother over the past twenty-five years, and I haven't found one yetwho could be trusted to keep a confidence." He held up a hand beforeshe could reply. "I'm not saying there are not ethical private eyesout there; it's just that I've never run across one. They tend to befailed cops whose ethics were too ripe for the police force--and that'svery ripe indeed. They dress badly, smell awful, and drink in themorning; they charge you by the day, then spend half the day at thetrack; they charge you for information, then make you pay them not toreveal it to others." "This is the short version?""All right, I've said it, and having said it, I have a much betteridea.""I can't wait to hear it.""Does the name Stone Barrington ring a bell?" Amanda wrinkled her browbefore she caught herself. "That police detective who was involved inthe investigation of the Sasha Nijinsky disappearance four or fiveyears ago?""Your memory always astonishes me." '"It's not that good; tell me about him. The long version, past andpresent.""Born somewhere in New England to a mill-owning family who went bustduring the thirties; father dropped out of Harvard to become acarpenter and a political leftist in Greenwich Village, thus becomingthe black sheep; mother wasMatilda Stone...""The painter?""Right. Stone went to law school, but during his senior year he hungout with some cops and became besotted with their profession. When hegraduated, he didn't take the bar; instead, he went to the policeacademy. He had made it as far as detective second grade over fourteenyears--no better than average--when Sasha Nijinsky disappeared. He waspractically on the scene when she vanished and thus caught theinvestigation. His theories didn't square with the department's--hehad never really been one of the boys--so at the first opportunity theyretired him for medical reasons. He had taken a bullet in the knee onan earlier investigation.""Was he crippled?""Not really; they were just looking for an eXCUSe.""What has he done since?""For a while he spent his time restoring a Turtle Bay townhouse left tohim by a great-aunt, until he ran out of money. Then he crammed, forhe bar examination and passed it well up on the lit, top ten percent.I'd known him in law school; I took him to lunch and offered him a dealwith us." ' "He joined Woodman and Weld?""Not exactly. He became of counsel to us, set up his own office athome, and began handling our client-related criminal cases and theoccasional investigation.""Client-related criminal cases? I don't understand; you don'trepresent criminals, do you?""Typically, a valued client's son involved in a date rape--that sort ofthing.""I see. And what sort of investigations?" "Again,client-related--divorce, adultery, runaway daughter, theft of companyfunds, industrial espionage--whatever comes up.""Is he good?""He combines a good policeman's curiosity andtenacity with a good lawyer's discretion and restraint. And he'ssocially acceptable." "Then why don't I know him?" "He lives a quietlife, dates a lady judge; he's, better known in courtroom circles thanin society." "Wasn't there a lot of publicity about him over theNijinsky case?" "A great deal, but he went to ground very quickly, andthe press forgot about him, not having any reason to remember." "Hesounds good." "Why don't you go and see him? I'll be glad to make anappointment." "Bill, people usually come to see me." "It wouldperhaps be more discreet for you to go to him." "Make the appointment;I'll go for tea tomorrow at four." "Tea?" "Bill, if he can't mount adecent tea, why would I want to know him?" Amanda looked up to see atelevision actor come into the restaurant with a woman who was not hiswife. She made a mental note for the column.CHAPTER7'hr young man stood behind the stone wall that separated Central Parkfrom Fifth Avenue and watched the front door of the apartment buildingfrom across the street through a pair of pocket binoculars. It wasjust before 2:00 A.M." and a couple were being deposited at the curbby a hired limousine.The night doorman got the car door, then rushed ahead to open thebuilding door for them. The young man watched him see the couple ontothe elevator, then return to the lobby. The doorman picked up aclipboard, made some sort of mark, probably next to the couple's name,then tossed the clipboard onto a desk, tipped his uniform hat back onhis head, stretched and yawned, then sat down at the desk and restedhis head on his arms. He had obviously checked in the last people forthe night--all present or accounted for--and now there would be no oneto disturb his sleep until the early birds went for their jogs. Theyoung man waited for another twenty minutes, checking the doormanfrequently through the binoculars; finally, the man was clearly deeplyasleep. The young man set a paper bag on top of the wall, placed hishands on the wall, and vaulted lightly over it. He picked up the paperbag and crossed Fifth Avenue. Traffic was very light at this hour. Hechecked his watch: just past 2:30 A.M. He approached the door of thebuilding without stealth, as if he were about to enter, then stoppedand again checked the doorman, who was still sleeping soundly. Helooked at the lobby loor: marble. Then he stepped into the shadowsbeside the door of the building, shucked off his sneakers, pulled out apair of soft leather-soled bedroom slippers, put them on, then put thesneakers into the bag. He couldn't afford squeaking noises from rubbersoles on the marble floor. He checked the doorman again, then walkedsilently across the lobby to the elevator, which he already knew wasvery quiet, and pressed the button for the fourteenth floor. The youngman already knew a lot about the building and the apartment he wasabout to enter. He stepped out of the elevator car and into a privatevestibule. Only one apartment to a floor in this building. The doortook nearly two minutes--a very good lock--and when he heard the boltslide back he stopped, put away his lock picks took a stopwatch fromhis pocket, and pressed the start button. He had forty-five seconds,and he didn't want to use more than thirty, if he could help it.He opened the door, closed it behind him, and sprinted down a hall,across a large living room, and into the study. He knew that theoccupants were away and that the maid's room was all the way at therear of the apartment, behind the kitchen. In the study, he opened acloset door, switched on the light, found the burglar alarm centralcontrol box, and fixed the stopwatch to it with a magnet glued to itsback. Twelve Second'one.He opened the control box and began the process of disconnecting firstthe telephone line Io the box, then the wire to the siren. This wasnecessary because he didn't know the disarming code sequence. Helooked at the watch; thirty-two seconds had passed. Not bad. Thealarm would go. off in thirteen seconds, and Since he had done all hecould, he would just have to wait and see what happened. At forty-fiveseconds there was an audible click and the sound of tone dialing fromthe central computer unit. No siren, and, since the telephone line hadbeen disconnected, no phone call to the central security station of thealarm company. There was the possibility, though, that thedisconnecting of the phone line had sent Some sort of code to centralsecurity, so he would not dally.The safe was conveniently located in the same closet as the alarmcontrol box; he had examined it briefly on his previous visit. It wassturdy and electronically operated, requiring a four-digit code and akey to open the door. The key was absent, but the lock would not be aproblem. He retrieved a small screwdriver from his tool kit andremoved the battery access panel from the front of the safe, then tooka palm top computer from a jacket pocket. A wire attached to tinyalligator clips ran from the computer, and he attached the clips to thesafe's battery terminals. He had written a simple program for thecomputer that would start at the lowest possible four-digit number,then go to the highest possible four-digit number and balgk and forthuntil the safe clicked open. The process would be shortened by thefact that most of these electronic safe keypads would not allow therepetition of a number in the code, so there would be fewer codes totry. He had test-run the program, and he knew that it required nineminutes and eighteen seconds to try all the possible codes. He tappedthe instructions into the small keyboard, and the program began to run.He set the computer on top of the alarm control panel and settled in towait. Four minutes and nine seconds into the program, he heard a clickfrom the safe, and the program stopped.Quickly, in case there was a time limit, he picked the safe'sconventional lock, and the door swung open. Inside were two delightfulsurprises. The first was three thick stacks of one-hundred-dollarbills, with a rubber band around each, and another stack of fifties.The bills looked well used, and a cursory inspection revealed that theserial numbers were not consecutive. He estimated that they totaledapproximately thirty-five thousand dollars, but this was no time tostart counting; he stuffed them into one of his jacket's large pockets.The other surprise in the safe was a small, nickel-plated automaticpistol, with, of all things, a silencer! He stuffed that into apocket, then opened a jewelry box, which was full of a lot of junk thatdidn't interest him, except for a Cartier watch with a gold bracelet.That he kept; he loved watches. 'He had just closed the safe door and was putting away his equipmentwhen from a distance he heard a noise like the front door opening,followed by voices. No time to reconnect the alarm system; he closedthe cabinet door, switched off the light, and left the closet, closingthe door behind him. While he was doing all this he wondered if he hadsomehow caused this to happen. His heart was racing; he loved it. Thevoices came closer, and he dove into the kneehole of the desk, pullinghis knees up to squeeze in."We got a disconnect signal," a voice said. The lights came on in thestudy. "If somebody cuts the phone line or disconnects it, we get asignal. Usually means a burglar has visited.""Do you really need a gun?" another voice asked, sounding nervous.There might be somebody in the apartment right now," the other voicereplied. "If there is, I'm going to be ready." The voices weremuffled slightly, and the young man thought they were probably in thecloset by now. "See right here?" the first voice asked. "The phoneline was disconnected." Time to go, the young man thought. He peeredaround the corner of the desk and saw the backs of the two men. "He'sprobably had a shot at the safe," the first voice said. "Electronicjob." The young man crawled quickly, silently toward the door of thestudy; in doing so, he had to fhove past the closet. As he made thedoor, the first voice spoke again. "You stay here," the voice said,and there was the sound of the action of an automatic pistol beingworked. "I'm going to have a look around. You might use the phone onthe desk over there to call nine-one-one and tell them there's been abreak-in." "Right," the other man replied. The young man sprintednearly soundlessly through the living room, his soft slippers makingonly tiny noises on the carpeting. He made it down the hall to thefront door, opened it, and stepped into the hallway. The elevator andthe front door seemed like a bad idea; if there was already a cop caron the blOCk when the 911 call went in, he might meet them going outthe door.The elevator door stood open. He stepped inside,pushed in the EMERGENCY button to activate the car, pressed the buttonfor the ground floor, and stepped out of the car just as the doorsclosed. The elevator started down, and he made for the stairs.Holding his paper bag of tools, he bounded down flight after flight,past the lobby floor to the basement There had to be a back door
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