“This doesn’t make any sense,” Stone said. “They would send a hit man from Eastern Europe to a small island in Penobscot Bay just to send a message to London?”
“I know it’s a stretch, but crime is worldwide these days; the whole thing could have been arranged with a single phone call or e-mail. Anyway, we know the result.”
“I’m having lunch with Ed Rawls and some friends of his,” Stone said. “Is there any reason to think these same people would have an interest in Rawls?”
“None that I know of. You can tell him about this; it might set his mind at ease. By the way, are you armed?”
“No.”
“Does Dick have any guns in the house?”
“Well, he had the Keltec, but the state police have still got that. Why do I need to be armed?”
“I’m not certain that you do, but I have some concerns.”
“Please tell me about your concerns.”
“When the man called and you answered, he said, ”Is this Stone?,“ and you replied, ”Yes,“ because that’s your name, too. So he thought he was talking to Dick, right?”
“I suppose so.”
“This source is classed as unreliable, so he may be working both sides of the street. He may have called to make sure Dick was dead.”
“Come on, Lance. Whoever killed Dick knows that he’s dead.”
“Try and follow me: The shooter would have reported back to whoever sent him that Dick was dead, and it may very well be that the person who sent the shooter also killed him, for security reasons. The phone call could have simply been a check to see if the shooter was lying.”
“I suppose that makes a perverted kind of sense,” Stone said.
“These people would not casually kill a senior officer of the CIA; it would have been carefully planned, with cutouts at every level, to protect those who ordered the killing. Shooting the shooter is a very good cutout. If caught, he might give up the people who hired him to save his own neck.”
“Well, yes, I’ve had some experience with that.”
“Anyway, when you spoke to the guy this morning, that may have indicated to these people that the shooter lied about havin
g completed the hit and that Dick is still alive and well. And you, of course, are also named Stone, and you are living in Dick’s house.”
Stone sighed. “Are you doing anything about this?”
“People from the London station are looking for Dick’s snitch as we speak. When they find him, they’ll work their way up the food chain until they find the people who gave the order for the hit.”
“And what, do you estimate, are the chances of their reaching the top of the food chain?”
“I think good; the Agency does not take lightly the murder of their officers and especially the murder of an officer’s family in the United States. I’ll keep you posted on developments. In the meantime, buy a shotgun and watch your ass.” Lance hung up.
Stone called his secretary, Joan. “Hi.”
“Good morning.”
“I’d like you to send me some things, overnight.”
“Shoot.”
“Go up to my dressing room, find my golf shoes—they’re the ones with the plastic spikes…”
“No kidding?”
“… and also a pair of brown alligator moccasins and a pair of boat shoes.”