25
Stone was on the phone with Mike Freeman, hearing about Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, when Herbie’s call came.
“He says it’s urgent,” Joan said.
“I’ve got to run,” Stone said to Mike, and pushed the button for line two. “Herb?”
“Hey, Stone. I need to set up a meeting with you for first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Okay, what’s up?”
“It’s to do with one of Mark Hayes’s people at High Cotton. He’s gotten himself into something that may involve American intelligence, and I’m out of my depth there.”
“Okay, nine o’clock?”
“Good. I’ll be bringing my investigator, too. Her name is Harp O’Connor.”
“Okay. I’ll help if I can. See you at nine.” He hung up.
—
Nine came early for Stone; he wasn’t usually at his desk much before ten. His housekeeper, Helene, made coffee and pastries and left them in his office.
Herbie arrived on time and sat down. “They’ll be along shortly.”
“What’s this about?” Stone asked.
“It started with a High Cotton employee who disappeared. Mark Hayes called me and asked me to look into it. I put Harp on it, and she found the guy in Palo Alto, California, brought him back last night, and stashed him in some way-in hotel downtown.”
“And how does this relate to intelligence?”
“Harp will have to explain that. By the way, I’ve been seeing a lot of her.”
“Good for you.”
“You still seeing Marla?”
“Not so much.”
Joan walked two people into Stone’s office, and Herbie made the introductions.
“Hi, Jimmy,” Stone said, “we met once before at your big office party a while back.” They shook hands.
“Okay, Harp, tell us what’s going on.”
“First, let Jimmy tell his story.”
“Go ahead, Jimmy.”
“About three weeks ago, I met this girl named Jasmine Shazaz,” he said. “A real knockout. Almost immediately, she began telling me about her brother, Mo, who is a venture capitalist. She said he had heard about me and wanted to put me in a start-up that would make me a huge amount of money when it went public. I talked to Mo on the phone a couple of times, and he impressed me by immediately offering me twice what I was getting at High Cotton. He began pressing me to quit immediately and come to Palo Alto, where he had offices. The lease on my apartment was up, and I finally caved. I put my belongings into storage and went to Palo Alto. What I found was a rented space—one of those short-term things you see advertised in the tech magazines.”
“Tell them what Shazaz wanted you to do,” Harp said.
“The first thing he wanted me to do was to set up a chain of websites, where members could contact his company and each other while concealing their identities and whereabouts. He told me that this was part of a venture of his, and it would make it easier to set up a company for me. I didn’t understand it, but I started to work in this empty office. Then Harp showed up and brought me back.”
“Tell him about the messages,” she said.
“There was an existing website that was part of this, and there were three messages left on it that hadn’t been deleted. Each of them said the same thing: ‘All is well. I am fine,’ and they were signed ‘Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.’”