Read Unintended Consequences for Free Online Page A

weeks they tried me with Arabic. Turns out I had a gift. I was there for fourteen months and left conversant in half a dozen languages, including Swedish and French.
    “During my time there, people came to see me, people with only first names. I filled out a lot of forms, wrote my biography, and was given three polygraph exams. On my last day, when I had no idea where I’d go next, I was offered a trainee’s position with the Agency. I flew to D.C., where somebody met me and delivered me to Fort Peary, Virginia.”
    “The Farm.”
    “That’s the place. I learned enough new skills there to make a very fine living as a burglar, a safecracker, a con man, or an assassin, and then I found myself in Africa, never mind where. I loved it. Four years of that, then two Middle Eastern postings, where my Arabic was an advantage, then I think they decided I was getting a little too wild and woolly, so they sent me here to get me civilized. One of the things they’d been after me about was clothes, so I appreciate your guidance this morning. I think I could learn a lot from you.”
    “I’m at your disposal while I’m in Paris,” Stone said. “In the daytime, anyway.”
    Rick fished his smartphone from his pocket and read an e-mail. “Your Amanda Hurley is interesting,” he said, then his eyes flicked at the mirror behind Stone. “What’s that passage to my left?”
    Stone looked at it. “Men’s room,” he said.
    “My man just went in there, and I don’t want to be here when he gets back. Thanks for a terrific lunch.” He got up and started out.
    “Hey, wait a minute,” Stone called after him. “What about Ms. Hurley?”
    “Later,” Rick said, and he was gone.

9
    S tone arrived at Lasserre at eight sharp, was taken up in an elevator to the dining room and seated at a table for two. The other chair was empty. He looked around and admired the room, as he had on his earlier visit some years before.
    It was essentially square with a sunken center, and the seating was arranged so that everyone could see everyone else. The decor was simply beautiful, and overhead was a frescoed ceiling. As he watched, it slid open to reveal a rose arbor and the night sky. That happened periodically, he recalled; it let out hot air and, in the old days, French cigarette smoke. A pianist played old tunes.
    A waiter was taking his drink order when he looked up to see the maître d’ leading in an attractive woman. Stone stood to receive her. “Good evening, Amanda,” he said as the maître d’ seated her. “Would you like a drink?”
    “Champagne fraise des bois, please,” she replied.
    “Two,” Stone said, and they were left alone with the menus and each other. She was a slender, attractive woman with chestnut hair and beautiful skin. She wore an Armani dress—black, since that seemed to be about all Armani sold.
    “How nice to see you again,” she said.
    “Indeed. How have you occupied yourself since you arrived in Paris?”
    “Museums and galleries, mostly.”
    “Is art your business?”
    “I have degrees in art history,” she said, “and I work as the curator for a couple of corporate collections in New York. I come to Paris to refresh my eye and to buy for my clients.”
    “Sounds like interesting work.”
    “I learned on the airplane that you are a lawyer, but then you passed out—and after only one drink. Does alcohol disagree with you?”
    “Alcohol and I normally get along very nicely, thank you, and don’t take it personally—I assure you, it wasn’t the company. I suppose I must have been very tired.”
    “What kind of law?”
    “Over the years, a bit of everything. Currently, mostly corporate work.”
    “Is it enough to keep the mind alive?”
    “Quite enough.”
    “Actually, I know a good deal about you,” she said.
    “How?”
    “I read the book.”
    “Book?”
    “
Golden Couple
,” she said, “by someone called Kelli Keane?”
    Stone took a quick breath. “God, is that