“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Doyle said. “Mitzi is going to ask Sharpe for ten kilos of coke and forget about the grass. I think he’s greedy enough to hang around until the big deal gets done.”
“And what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to try to bring the thing with Larsen to a head; get him to commit an actual crime.”
“And what would that consist of?”
“It would consist of Mitzi giving him a ten-million-dollar check to invest.”
“Like a fake check?”
“No, like a real one?”
“Whose money are we playing with?”
“I’ve got a banking connection who will issue the check and then put a hold on paying it.”
“You mean a delay at the bank to keep Larsen in town a little longer?”
“Exactly. I can tell we’re on the same page.”
“I think you might put somebody on checking out the jet charter services at Teterboro and White Plains airports,” Stone said, “because when they run, I think that’s how they’ll do it.”
“Good idea,” Doyle said. “I’ll get that started today.”
“They’ve probably used the same service before to move money. And I’d send your guys to the airports to do the inquiry in person. I think that might encourage the charter service to play straight with you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Doyle said. “See ya.” He hung up.
The phone rang again immediately.
“Mitzi on line one,” Joan said.
“Hello?”
“Are you and Brian on the same page now?” she asked.
“Oh, sure. He told me his big idea, and I loved it.”
“Brian thinks you’re fucking me.”
“Now where would he get that idea?” Stone asked.
She was laughing when she hung up.
47
STONE DUG OUT Sig Larsen’s card and called the number.
“Larsen Enterprises,” a British-accented woman’s voice said.
“Sig Larsen, please. It’s Stone Barrington calling.”
“One moment, please, Mr. Barrington. I’ll see if I can find him.” This was apparently designed to create the impression of a large office, Stone thought.
“Just one moment, please, Mr. Barrington. I’m getting him out of the conference room.”
Yeah, I’ll bet, Stone thought.