Hush-Hush (Stone Barrington #56) - Stuart Woods Page 0,1
worry.”
“Thank you, Fred,” Stone said and hung up, feeling relieved.
* * *
—
Holly arrived with four pieces of luggage and one Secret Service agent, a woman named Midge. The other agents had to loiter in the garage or around the neighborhood.
She flung herself into his arms. “I want you,” she said, “but I need a nap.”
“You know where the bed is,” he said, leaving Midge to get Holly’s luggage aboard the elevator. Stone looked in his study for a book he had been reading but didn’t find it; so he went downstairs to his law office and did. He was about to leave the room when there was a trumpet fanfare, and a message appeared on his desktop computer screen. Stone walked over, sat down, and read it.
Dear Sir,
Your computer, its hard disk, and all your programs and files are now frozen. Please understand that I have been reading them for weeks and, as a result, I know everything there is to know about you—your address and phone numbers, your social security number, your tax returns, and all your financial information are at my fingertips. I can dump your stock portfolio and deposit the funds in any bank account, anywhere. I can publish your tax returns in your local newspaper. I can print and distribute all the deeply personal e-mails you have sent to women over the years, some of them well-known to the public. In short, I can make your life a permanent hell.
But I am a reasonable person, and I will provide you with a means of avoiding these disclosures. All you have to do is to purchase one million dollars’ worth of Bitcoin on the Internet and transfer them to an account that I will provide details for later. Upon receipt, your files will be restored, your computer unlocked, and it will be as if you never had the pleasure of meeting me. You have until noon Friday next to accomplish this: if you should fail to meet that deadline, your life will lie in ruins.
There is a window at the bottom of your screen where you may send me an e-mail, should you wish.
Regards,
Dodger
Stone read it again, then pressed the Print Screen button and waited for the printer to spit out the copy. When it had done so, he typed GO FUCK YOURSELF into the e-mail window. Then he took his book upstairs and settled in to read.
2
It was the best kind of dinner: old friends, a comfortable atmosphere with a cheerful fire burning in the grate, and a dinner that was nearly as good as Helene’s would have been. Afterward, the ladies excused themselves for a trip to the powder room. They might as well have been in London, Stone thought.
“What’s new?” Dino asked.
Stone took a folded sheet of paper from an inside pocket and handed it to him. “This is new,” he said.
Dino read it, twice. “Are your computers blocked?”
“Mine is. I didn’t try Joan’s.”
“Are you going to pay the million bucks?”
“Of course not!” Stone said, with as much restraint as he could muster.
“You’re pretty hot about this, then,” Dino said, leaning back in his chair and sipping his cognac.
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Me? I would have already turned this over to our tech guys and forgotten about it.”
“I don’t have a tech staff on call,” Stone said.
“Don’t you? There’s Bob Cantor; there’s that kid, Huey, that you worked with on the New York Times thing. And of course, there’s Lance Cabot, who has the tech world at his fingertips.”
“Oh, them. Well, I guess I could call one of them.”
“Call all of them,” Dino advised. “Otherwise, you’re going to find yourself with thousands of dollars’ worth of useless computers. Oh, and then there’s the scandal, if your attacker stumbles into your e-mails from Lance.”
Stone took a big gulp of his cognac and swirled it around in his mouth before swallowing. “It’s embarrassing,” he said.
“I think Lance is going to find it more than embarrassing,” Dino said. “He’s been sending us all those reports from the field, along with the analyses.”
Stone winced. “You’re right. I’m going to have to call him.”
“And then . . .” Dino said slowly, “there’s Holly. I expect you have quite a few e-mails from her in an encrypted file.”
Stone sucked his teeth and bathed them in brandy. “Thank God they’re encrypted,” he said.