“I didn’t know,” Stone said.
“Scotland Yard hushed it up, the knifer having been one of their own. Had an exemplary military record, too, killing people in the Special Air Services. That detective inspector, Throckmorton—unlikely name, isn’t it?—didn’t think a shady American spook’s life was worth a blip in the happy retirement of one of their former officers.”
“And what did the Agency have to say about that?”
“Almost nothing. Somebody gave Throckmorton a good lunch and received the details. They shook hands and went their separate ways. Hedger is now a star on the memorial in the lobby of the headquarters building at Langley.”
“The more I learn about your business, the less I want to learn about it.”
“You shouldn’t feel badly about Hedger. He was a bad apple; been using his position for years to enrich himself in various underhanded ways, and the Agency was sick of him. Good riddance and no trial or publicity. His death didn’t even make the tabloids, let alone the Times. His alumni newsletter ran a nice obit, though, most of it lies.”
“An ignominious end,” Stone mused.
“In Hedger’s case, deservedly so.”
“What is this legal work you want done? It isn’t illegal work, is it?”
“Oh, no, no, nothing like that. It’s pretty simple, really: A fellow we hired for some contract work got himself into a scrape with the local law, and—”
” The local law where?”
“Right here in Gotham, actually.”
“Go on.”
“There’s a DUI and some other minor stuff involved. He needs a lawyer, and we feel honor bound to provide him with one. We’ll pay five hundred an hour.”
Stone’s normal fee for that sort of thing was three hundred an hour. “That is not ungenerous.”
“We don’t want it to go to trial, you see; could be embarrassing and might even reveal i
nformation detrimental to national security.”
“You mean, detrimental to the Central Intelligence Agency.”
“Same thing. Do we have a deal?” Lance held out his hand to shake.
“Oh, all right,” Stone said, shaking the hand. He picked up a pen and pad. “What’s your client’s name?”
“Herbert Fisher, a professional photographer by trade.”
Stone nearly choked. “Oh, no, no, no, no,” he said, holding out his hands as if to ward off evil.
“You know Mr. Fisher?” Lance asked, looking surprised.
“I know him far better than I want to,” Stone said.
“Well, come to think of it, he did ask for you. I’m glad you’ve agreed.”
“Wait a minute, Lance. I’m not doing this. The guy is trouble from beginning to end—he won’t take legal advice, won’t do anything he’s told.”
“Stone, Stone, it’s a simple matter, really. We just want you to negotiate something for him—get him off, if possible, sure, but we can’t let it go to trial.”
“Lance, sometimes these things go to trial, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“Stone, we can do something about it, if necessary, but we’d rather let you handle it in the normal way.”
“I don’t like the sound of that, Lance.”