Wild Card (Stone Barrington #49)(8)

“A machine gun.”

Stone tried not to laugh. “Jamie, everything is all right. Please go back to sleep.”

“How can everything be all right, if there’s a machine gun outside?”

“Do you hear anyone returning gunfire?”

“Not yet.”

“That means everything is all right.”

“Go see.”

“Jamie . . .”

“Go see, or I won’t be able to sleep.”

Stone groaned, then got out of bed and into a dressing gown and slippers. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

“All right.”

He left the room, went downstairs, and made sure the front door’s exterior light was off before he unbolted the door and stuck his head outside. A man with some sort of weapon came out of some nearby trees and walked toward the house, his shoes crunching on the gravel beside the driveway.

Stone closed the door nearly all the way, but through a slit kept the man in sight. He didn’t look familiar. Stone closed the door.

A moment later there was a soft rap on the door. “Mr. Barrington?”

Stone opened the door six inches but kept a foot jammed against it. “What’s going on?” he asked. Somehow he felt he should not identify himself.

“You heard the gunshot?”

“Yes, a rifle?”

“An assault weapon. One of our men flushed a man out from some bushes near the front gate, and he went over the wall. Our man got off a round and thinks he hit the intruder, probably in the ass.”

“Poetic justice,” Stone said.

“Pardon?”

“They shot my guest in the ass.”

“Oh, yes. Well . . .”

“Are you satisfied he won’t be back?”

“I expect he’s back in his van with his trousers down, being attended to. It’s unlikely they’ll come back tonight.”

“Good, then I’ll go back to bed.” Stone thanked the man, went back upstairs, threw his robe on a chair, and got into bed.

“Well?” Jamie asked.

“A passing car backfired.”

“Oh.”

“Sleep.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stone slept peacefully in the knowledge that neither of the two men shot in the ass was himself.



* * *



? ? ?

The following morning Stone and Jamie were out horseback riding, followed by two men in a Range Rover. Stone’s phone rang. “Yes?”

“Mr. Barrington, this is Derek Forrest.”

“Good morning.”

“I wanted you to know that we got a blood sample from the wall this morning, and we’ve sent it back to London for DNA testing.”

“Oh, good,” Stone replied.

“We’ll run it against criminal databases in the U.K. and the States. I’ll call you with the report later today.”

“That’s fine, Derek. Thank you.” He hung up.

Jamie pulled up next to him. “What was that?”

“Just Derek, calling to say that all is well.”

“Is that a euphemism for ‘we’re all in terrible danger’?”

“It is not. His words mean what they say.”

“I never know when to believe you.”

“Life would be simpler for both of us if you would try to believe me all the time.”

“I don’t believe anybody all the time,” she said.

“You have a distrustful nature.”

“It comes from being a journalist. When people speak to me, they are usually lying.”

“How do you decide who to believe?”

“Instinct.”

“How reliable is that?”

“Better than ninety percent, I think.”

“I read somewhere there’s a course you can take that teaches you how to identify liars.”

“How do they do that?”

“Liars have what poker players call a tell.”

“I know what a tell is. I play poker sometimes. What is a liar’s tell?”

“It varies with the liar,” Stone said. “Some blink rapidly when they’re lying. Some don’t blink at all. Some can’t look you in the eye. Others can’t or won’t look away. Some distort their mouths when they’re telling really big lies that they know aren’t credible. These people often laugh when they’re lying, too.”

“Is that it?”

“Oh, no, there are dozens of other tells. This method was apparently developed by the Mossad, the Israeli intelligence service. It’s taught to all their interrogators and to their security people at airports.”

“Maybe I should take the course,” Jamie replied thoughtfully.

“Well, you’d have to spend six weeks in Israel—and it costs twenty-five thousand dollars if you’re not a Mossad agent.”

“Maybe I could get the Times to pay for it.”

Stone was making all this up, and he thought it was time he put an end to it before Jamie headed off to Israel. “They won’t accept journalists in the course. That’s the first question they ask you when you show up for training. If you lie to them, they take you out and shoot you.”