Stone awakened early the next morning to the melodic chirping of songbirds that were nesting in the trees outside his window. He downloaded the encrypted information files from the agency, ran the decoding program, and perused two pages of details about the Arab Abdul-Azim al-Khalifa. Then he opened a pair of files with the information about the cigarettes he’d requested. The first file detailed black-colored cigarettes manufactured throughout the world. It was a brief list of four brands. Two were produced in the Dominican Republic and one in Pakistan, but it was the fourth brand that caught his eye. They were Sobranie Blacks manufactured in Russia. The second file contained a photo of Djarum Clove Cigarillos, with the distinctive red band and gold medallion. Stone reviewed each of the files a second time and closed down the computer.

Waverly packed his suitcases and brought them with him to the restaurant on the top floor of the Water Tower Hotel. He took a table next to the window and sipped black coffee while he scanned a day-old copy of USA Today. He read, with special interest, a story about American forces meeting heavy resistance from Iraqi irregulars and paramilitary militias near Nasiriyah and Karbala, south of Baghdad. He scanned an editorial on the next page and shook his head with disgust. The war was only four days old, and already the naysayers were second-guessing the battle plan. “Pundit bastards!” he muttered beneath his breath.

Stone took one last sip of coffee and headed down the elevator. He paid his bill at the checkout desk and walked out through the main door, pulling his suitcases behind him.

“Can I help you, sir?” the porter called out, as he slammed the trunk of a cab.

“No, thank you. What’s the best route to walk to the train station?”

“Just head down this street three blocks. You can’t miss it. It’s directly across from the Dom.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

It only took Stone ten minutes to walk to the Domvorplatz—the elevated plaza that surrounds the cathedral. From there it was only a few steps to the front entrance of the train station. Stone turned at the bottom of the last set of stairs and took one last look at the magnificent Dom and its twin spires. Walking into the busy foyer of the station, Stone checked the train schedule, glanced at his watch, and headed to the ticket counter. A nonstop to Amsterdam was due in less than twenty minutes.

Waverly purchased a first class ticket and wandered back to track five. A motley mix of businessmen, students, and tourists were milling around the platform as several other trains arrived and departed on the adjacent tracks.

Stone strolled to the end of the platform and dialed into his cell phone a number he’d written on a scrap of paper. There was an answer on the second ring.

“This is Cobra. Twelve ten, central train station.”

The voice at the other end of the phone repeated the instruction and hung up. Stone tucked the phone back in his coat pocket just as his express train was slowing to a stop. The doors opened and a line of people flooded down the stairs to the platform. Stone waited for an old man to pull his luggage down before stepping up into the car. It was empty except for a young couple seated near the back. He glanced at his ticket and made his way down the aisle to the first row. Removing his computer from his luggage, he tucked the suitcases into the overhead rack, and slid into his seat next to the window.

The train eased out of the station, headed toward the Netherlands and the North Atlantic coast of Europe. Stone, feeling forlorn and absorbed in his thoughts, gazed out the window at the German countryside as it hurtled by at high speed.

The car door gushed open and a young woman, pushing a cart with snacks and drinks, stopped in the aisle. “Would you like anything, sir?” she asked cheerfully.

Stone smiled up at her. “Oh, no thank you. Actually, do you have any water?”

“I have bottled water, with or without gas.”

“I’ll take one without gas.”

“Two euros, please,” she said, and Stone handed her two coins. The attendant handed Stone a bottle and pushed the cart to the opposite end of the car. The young couple declined her offer, and the young woman pushed the cart out the door toward the adjoining car.

Stone opened his computer and booted it up. After a few minutes, the monitor lit up and he double-clicked on a file at the bottom of the screen. “Abdul-Azim al-Khalifa” was printed in bold letters at the top of the page. “Abdul-Azim al-Khalifa was born in Jeddah in 1946 and attended school in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, immigrating to Amsterdam in 1994. His primary business is the restaurant Bangkok Thai located in the red light district of Amsterdam. He also owns an import/export business and four warehouses in the city. He is single. There are no known associations with extremist groups. He has never been arrested.”

Stone brushed the hair back from his face and glanced out the window at a herd of cattle. He shut down his computer, leaned back in his seat, and listened to the rhythmic sound of the wheels of the train skipping along the rails.

The express was a few minutes late pulling into the bustling Amsterdam Central Station. Carrying his luggage, Stone stepped onto the platform and hustled down a flight of steps into the crowded depths of the train station. He wove his way through the noisy throng to the main entrance. Stepping through the door into the crisp, early spring air, he spotted a familiar face.

A gaunt fellow, wearing a long overcoat and hat, stepped away from a black sedan parked at the curb. “Mr. Waverly, I’m delighted to see you again, sir,” he said enthusiastically. He had a distinct Dutch accent. “I didn’t expect to see you back in Amsterdam so soon.”

“Neither did I, Stephen. We certainly do live in interesting times.”

“Yes, sir, indeed we do. Let me help you with that luggage,” Stephen said, taking Stone’ssuitcases.

“How’s the family, Stephen?”

“The family’s just fine, sir. Thanks for asking. My son, George, passed his qualifying exams and he’ll be starting his apprenticeship in the fall. My daughter, Mary, just landed a position with the Bank of the Netherlands here in Amsterdam. She’s following in her grandfather’s footsteps; she even got his first office in the downtown branch.”

“Congratulations, Stephen. You must be very proud.”

“Yes, sir,” he smiled, “I’m as proud as a seventy-year-old pensioner with a twenty-year-old bride. I’d like to introduce you to Connor O’Grady.”

A stocky young man, with shoulder-length, reddish-brown hair and a toothy grin, thrust out his hand. He was wearing a fashionable dark hound’s-tooth sports coat with black slacks and an open-collared ivory shirt. A large diamond stud adorned each earlobe. “Pleasure to meet you, Stone. I’m looking forward to working with you. How was your trip?”

“It was fine, a little slow, but I enjoyed getting a chance to see the German and Dutch countryside.”

“My parents bought me a Eurorail pass to travel across Europe during the summer after my first year of college. I thought it was the best thing in the world for the first few days, but then I got sick of it.”

O’Grady stepped around to the street side of the BMW sedan and climbed into the backseat. Stone ducked into the rear driver’s-side passenger seat, while Stephen stowed Stone’s luggage in the trunk and jumped into the driver’s seat. He pulled away from the curb, cut through a line of taxis, and made a right turn onto the busy boulevard fronting the train station.

Stephen glanced up into the rearview mirror and smiled. “Dodick got your e-mail this morning, sir. He has the police searching for any Russians who checked into hotels here in Amsterdam on March eighteenth or later. I had Connor check the hotels you forwarded to me.”

Connor pulled a sheet of paper from his inside jacket pocket. “I reviewed the guest lists at all seven hotels and found only two guests with Russian passports. One was a young attorney, just hired as a junior executive for KLM Airlines. The other has lived in Amsterdam for over two decades. His apartment house burned down, and he’s staying at the hotel until he finds a new place to live.”

“Damn it!” Stone groaned. “I know they’re here somewhere.”

“Don’t you worry, Stone, if they’re here, we’ll find them,” O’Grady said confidently.

“Stephen and I checked out al-Khalifa’s warehouses this morning. There wasn’t a thing going on at any of them. I also managed to get my hands on al-Khalifa’s Dutch tax records. He writes the warehouse payments off on an export-import business called Jeddah Imports and reported a loss on the entire enterprise for last year. I went by Jeddah Imports, too. It’s sort of an upscale gift and rug store that sells all kinds of jewelry, swords, and Persian rugs. We’ve got men watching the business and the warehouses, but we may want to go back and get a closer look tonight.”

“I definitely want to check them out. Where’d you put me up this time, Stephen?” Stone asked, as he watched a group of schoolboys on bicycles cross in front of them at the signal.

“I booked you a nice corner room at the Hotel de L’Europe, sir. Bangkok Thai isn’t open on Sundays, so I made a reservation for tomorrow night, at nine, under your name. Anywhere you’d like to go before I take you to the hotel, sir?”

Stone glanced at his watch and shook his head. “No, just take me to the hotel. I want to see if they’ve sent any new information from Langley. We can get started later this afternoon.”

Stephen handed a card to Stone over the seat. “Very well, sir. My phone number is on this card. Just call me when you’re ready to leave.”

Stephen drove along the canal, past the front of the hotel, doubled back across the water, and went down a narrow street. He pulled to a stop at the front entrance. A doorman rushed to the car.

“Welcome to Hotel de L’Europe, gentlemen,” he said, as he opened the rear door. “Do you have luggage?”

“There are two pieces in the trunk,” Stephen replied, as he stepped to the back of car.

The porter grabbed the bags and set them on a cart. “Give the desk attendant this ticket, sir,” the man sang out cheerfully, handing a receipt to Stephen and pushing the cart toward the door. “Thank you, sir!” he called out, as Stephen slipped him a tip.

“Mr. Waverly, everything’s under your name,” Stephen said handing Stone the ticket. “Don’t worry about Connor’s earrings, sir. He acts like he’s wet behind the ears, but he’s actually tough as nails. The disco getup is just part of his facade.”

“We were all young and foolish at one time. Thank you for picking me up, Stephen. I’ll give you a call a little later.”

Stone stepped toward the hotel entrance and pulled open the door. Looking back at the BMW, he caught Connor’s eye through the rear window. The young case officer lifted his hand in a mock salute, and the car eased away from the curb.

Stone looked out through the rear window of the car at the dilapidated, single-story warehouse. A pair of dim spotlights beamed down from the roof onto an empty dock along the side of the building. Two delivery vans were parked inside the razor wire-topped, chain-link fence that surrounded the lot. The silhouette of a darkened freighter loomed behind the warehouse.

“That’s al-Khalifa’s last warehouse,” Connor muttered. “It’s the one he’d be most likely to use since it’s on the harbor, but this is our sixth trip out here in the past three days, and we haven’t seen even a hint of activity.”

“You’re right,” Waverly sighed. “It doesn’t look like much is going on. Stephen, make a circle around the block. I’d like to take a look at the harbor side of the building.”

Stephen turned the car around and made a left turn at the first intersection. Driving beneath a solitary street lamp, he skirted past a garbage container and inched down the pitch-black alley on the back side of the warehouse building. The water in the harbor rippled against the hull of a rusty old freighter, named the Serendipity, docked across the waterway.

“Are you sure al-Khalifa doesn’t own any other property, Stephen?”

“You’ve seen every property we have listed, sir, but I guess it’s possible he has access to some other buildings we don’t know about.”

“How about ships? Does he own any freighters?”

“We looked into that, sir. There’s no evidence he owns any maritime properties.”

“Where does he live?”

“On the second floor above the Bangkok Thai restaurant,” Connor answered. “That is, when he’s in town. He travels regularly to Saudi Arabia, mostly to Jeddah, but occasionally to Riyadh.”

“Let’s drive by the restaurant. If nothing’s going on, we’ll call it a night. I need a bite to eat.”

“I’m starving, too,” Connor piped up. “What are you hungry for?”

“I’ve been craving a nice, thick, juicy steak, with a baked potato and salad, ever since I left Virginia.”

“A steak, huh? Stephen, drive by the Bangkok Thai and then take us to the Grasshopper.”

“The Grasshopper, sir? Let me recommend a better restaurant for Mr. Waverly’s first night back in Amsterdam. How about La Rive at the Amstel?”

Connor grinned at Stephen in the rearview mirror. “Not on my salary. Besides, I want to make sure Stone gets a taste of the local color. Trust me on this, Stone. Don’t worry; I’ll make sure you get to bed early.”

“Okay, Connor,” Waverly replied, “if the Grasshopper is where you want to go, then the Grasshopper it’ll be.”

 

Stephen eased to a stop at the curb. “Here we are, Mr. O’Grady, the Grasshopper.”

Connor leaned forward and patted Stephen on the shoulder. “Thanks, Stephen. We won’t be needing you anymore tonight. Stone and I can take a cab after dinner.”

“Thank you, sir. Keep your wits about you, Mr. Waverly. Just give me a call thirty minutes before you want me to pick you up in the morning.”

“Thank you, Stephen. Kiss your wife for me.”

“I will, sir. See you tomorrow.”

Stone opened the rear door and both men got out on the curb. The BMW cruised away, stopped briefly at the corner, made a right turn, and disappeared in traffic.

The Grasshopper, a three-story restaurant-bar on the edge of the red light district, was churning with activity. Dozens of odd-looking people were milling on the street outside the front door. Stone glanced at a frail-looking young man with a shock of purple hair and more than a dozen pierced rings in his eyebrows, but looked away when the man turned and gave him an impish grin.

“This way, Stone,” Connor said, as he stepped down from the curb and walked across the street. “I usually have an espresso in the basement before dinner. Are you game?”

“Fine with me. I’m still jet-lagging.”

Connor opened the door and, with Stone right behind him, hustled down a steep flight of stairs into a dimly lit basement reverberating with pulsating rock music. The pungent odor of cannabis enveloped them as they emerged from the stairwell at the bottom of the stairs.

Connor walked over to a windowed booth beneath the stairwell and motioned to a young man inside the enclosure. As Stone watched, the young man stooped down and spoke to Connor. There was an exchange beneath the window, after which Connor turned and walked back to Stone.

“See if you can find a table!” he bellowed above the music. “I’ll get the espresso.”

Stone made a beeline for an empty table near the jukebox. Slipping into the booth, he glanced around the hazy room at the dozen or so tables filled with rowdy young people. He watched Connor weave his way to the bar at the front of the room. A barmaid, wearing a short T-shirt and tight, low-cut jeans, finished serving a couple and smiled at Connor. He leaned across the bar and yelled, holding up two fingers. She nodded and turned toward the espresso machine.

Connor paid the barmaid and, picking up both cups, strolled across the room and sat down at the table across from Stone. “It’s a double,” he yelled above the din. “You look like you could use it.”

Stone nodded and lifted the cup to his lips. Connor smiled contentedly, pushing his espresso to one side. He fetched a packet of rolling papers from his shirt pocket, and with marijuana from a small plastic bag, set about rolling a thick joint. When he was done, he looked up at Stone, smiled, and stuck the joint in his mouth. Lighting the end with a lighter, he took a deep drag and held the joint out for Stone.

“No thanks!” Stone said loudly, while shaking his head. “I don’t smoke.”

“Are you sure?” Connor bellowed. “All work and no play makes for a dull boy.”

Stone barely heard him above the pulsating music. He grinned uncomfortably as Connor took another hit off the joint and leaned across the table. “Have you ever smoked pot, Stone?”

“A few times, but not in the last three decades.”

Connor nodded his head in greeting at the young women sitting at the table next to them. “Why the hell not?” he asked, without diverting his gaze.

“People in our line of business should avoid vices, weaknesses that can be exploited. Didn’t they teach you that at the farm?”

Connor’s expression grew serious as he peered across the table into Stone’s eyes. Suddenly, he grinned mischievously. “They never told me I’d have to give up all the good times if I joined the company. Pot smoking is legal here, Stone. When in Rome…” Connor took another long drag on the joint, tapping it out in the bottom of the ashtray. “Let’s go,” he yelled above the din, as he slid out of the booth. “I’m starving.”

Stone tailed Connor back up the stairs through a double-glass door into a bustling restaurant charged with music. They passed a long, mahogany bar that stretched the length of the restaurant, and Conner took a seat on a barstool at an empty table near the back of the room.

“How’s this, Stone?” he queried, pushing his stool back from the table and scanning the room.

“Just fine,” Stone replied with an amused smirk.

A striking, young blonde in tight blue jeans and a low-cut blouse wandered over. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She smiled as she set coasters on the table. “Welcome to the Grasshopper. How about something to drink?”

Connor gave her a smile and an exaggerated wink. “I’ll take a Heineken, but I have a rare swallowing disorder, so I’ll need you to serve it to me with a spoon.”

“Sweetie,” she purred, leaning over the table and looking him straight in the eyes, “if you tip me enough, I’ll serve it to you with an eye dropper.”

“Whew, baby, I can hardly wait,” Connor joked, as he reached up and ran his fingers through her hair.

Pushing his hand away, the waitress grinned and stood up. “How about you, sir?” she asked Stone. “Can I get you anything?”

“Heineken sounds fine. I’d also like a menu.”

“Sure,” the waitress said, absentmindedly flicking her tongue stud across the corner of her mouth. “I’ll bring a menu back with the beers.” She turned and sashayed away toward the kitchen.

“God, I love this city,” Connor sighed, as he watched the shapely lass walk away.

Waverly leaned back on the stool and crossed his arms on his chest. “How old are you, Connor?” he asked.

“I’ll be thirty-one in June.”

“And how long have you been here in Amsterdam?”

“Just over six months.”

“How many women have you slept with in the six months you’ve been here?”

Connor smiled amusedly. He rubbed his chin as he pondered the question. “I’d say twenty-five, maybe thirty.”

“Twenty-five women in six months! Ever heard of HIV?”

“I ain’t gonna catch HIV, man,” he chuckled. “I practice safe sex.”

“Safe sex, huh? You ever hear of Dieter Neuman, Connor?”

“Sure, I heard of Dieter Neuman. What about him?”

“Dieter spent two years with me at Langley in the mid-nineties and just about everyone, including the deputy director, said he had star written all over him. Then he took an assignment in Budapest. Two years later he found out he’d been infected with HIV and less than a month after that, he was out of the agency and taking thirty pills a day. I visited him at his parents’ place in Virginia about six months ago. You know what he told me? He told me there wasn’t a single time he didn’t practice ‘safe sex.’ Safe sex, my ass.”

Connor smiled amusedly. “I’ve heard all those stories, Stone, and I’m not planning on living much past forty anyway,” he said. He turned to glance in the direction of a commotion at the entrance door.

Three unruly young women pushed through the door and cavorted across the restaurant. They sat on stools near the end of the bar and began chatting and joking loudly with the bartender. One of the young women, a striking Asian, peeled off her coat to reveal a tight, little figure adorned with a slinky, strapless, red blouse and metallic gold pants. She gyrated seductively to the music for a few beats and then whirled back around to join her girlfriends. Stone turned back to Connor. There was a smirk on his face.

“There’s only one difference between you and me, Stone.”

“And what would that be, Connor?”

“It’s simple; I act on my fantasies.”

Stone shook his head as their waitress approached carrying a tray. She slid a mug in front of Stone, set another next to Connor, and handed them both menus. Stone gulped the head off his beer and set the mug back on the table. Connor picked up the menu, opened it, and scanned down the page.

“What can I bring you for dinner?” she asked.

“I’ll have the porterhouse steak, bloody rare,” Connor replied.

“And you, sir?”

“I’ll have the same,” Stone replied, “but I want mine medium.”

“You got it. Let me know if you want to see the wine list.”

The waitress walked away. Stone took another gulp of beer and set his mug on a coaster.

“Is this your first overseas assignment, Connor?”

“Yeah,” Connor said with a grin, nodding his head up and down to the beat of the music. “Except for a brief trip during college, this is my first time out of the good old U.S.A. They gave me two choices, and I decided this one was more to my liking.”

“In other words, you thought the Netherlands would be a better fit from a lifestyle point of view?”

“Exactly. But I don’t want you to think I’m just some air-headed party boy, Stone. I earned this assignment.”

Stone grinned skeptically and asked, “How exactly did you earn it?”

Connor’s eyes flashed with anger, his demeanor suddenly becoming dead somber. “I earned this assignment with creativity and hard work. That’s no BS.”

Stone grinned at Connor across the table. “Okay, tell me how you earned it.”

“You ever hear of Jaffar the Pilot?”

“Sure, I heard a little about him, and I understand catching him was a first class operation. You had a part in that?”

Connor gulped down half of his beer and slammed his mug back down on the table. “I worked my tail off, night and day for four months, tracking that bastard from one end of the world to the other. I pored over al-Qaeda intercepts and bank records for weeks on end until I pinpointed his location. Then our operatives in Islamabad took him out. Two months later, we discovered he’d been picked by al-Qaeda to lead another 9/11-style attack. That was my first assignment.”

“Not too bad for a first assignment, Connor. I guess you did earn it.”

“I haven’t gotten much respect from a lot of the old-timers. I overheard one of the deputy directors in Langley talking to one of her assistants. She said I just got lucky.”

Stone grinned in amusement. “Yeah, it’s funny; in our business, the harder you work, the luckier you get.”

“Officially, we’re still looking for Jaffar. The director doesn’t want word getting around that we’re back in the assassination business.”

“But you can bet your ass they found a way to let al-Qaeda and Hamas know about it. You know, Connor, you might get a little more respect if you toned down the disco look a bit. Maybe you should get rid of the earrings.”

“That ain’t gonna happen. These studs are a critical part of my cover and they get me into places you can only imagine.” Connor downed the last of his beer and set the mug down on the table. He scanned across the room and slid down off his stool. “You want another beer, Stone?”

“Sure, I’ll have another one.”

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

Stone watched the young case officer step across the room to the end of the bar next to the three women. They were still dancing and laughing, oblivious to what was going on around them. Connor leaned across the bar and barked out his order to the bartender. The Thai beauty turned and stared at Conner while he conversed with the bartender. Connor grinned down at her and made a comment. She feigned innocence, then smiling, flicked his diamond stud with her index finger. Suddenly, she grabbed the back of Connor’s neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Connor, caught totally by surprise, at first seemed to push her away, but finally surrendered to the young woman’s charms. He wrapped his arms around her back, traced kisses down her neck, and kissed her passionately once again.

The bartender set the beers down on the bar and rang a bronze bell mounted on the wall. “That’ll cost you five euros for public display of affection,” he joked out loud.

Connor grabbed the young woman’s face in both of his hands and beamed down at her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered into his ear. They both laughed and glanced across the room at Stone.

The Thai woman broke free and scurried away to her friends. She huddled with them for a moment, and then the two women turned and peered across the room at Stone. The blonde grinned and shook her head. The Thai woman seemed to plead with the brunette, but the young woman just laughed and resumed dancing with her girlfriend.

The Thai woman hurried back to Connor and kissed him once again on the mouth. After a whispered conversation, Connor wrapped his arm around her waist and the two of them walked back to Stone’s table.

“I met someone, Stone,” Connor said, with a playful grin.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“Stone, this is Joy.”

“Nice to meet you, Joy,” Stone said with sincerity.

“Joy very happy meet you, Mr. Stone,” she replied demurely in broken English with a slight curtsy.

“Listen, Stone, Joy invited me to go dancing with her and her friends,” Connor offered contritely. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all, Connor, I plan to head back to the hotel right after dinner. But don’t stay out too late. We need to get an early start in the morning.”

“How early are we talking?”

“Breakfast at eight?”

“Perfect. Stephen and I will pick you up at the hotel. I’ll call you from the lobby when we get there.”

“That’ll do just fine.”

“Thanks, man,” he said with a wink. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Connor grabbed Joy’s hand and the two of them scurried across the restaurant. Joy’s girlfriends pulled on their coats and headed for the door. Connor turned back toward Stone and gave him the thumbs up. Stone nodded his head and lifted his drink as Connor disappeared out the door.

Stone savored the steak with a glass of Bordeaux before paying the bill and strolling out of the restaurant into the night. The foot traffic was light, even for a Monday night. He hustled past a couple of panhandlers sitting on the curb and made his way over a small bridge to a taxi stand, less than fifty yards from the restaurant. “Hotel de L’Europe, please,” he said as he jumped into the first cab.

The cab driver didn’t reply. He sped away and wound through the nearly empty streets of Amsterdam, pulling up in front of the hotel a few minutes later. Stone paid the fare in euros and stepped through the revolving door.

The attendant at the main desk looked up and smiled. “Sleep well, sir. Do you need a wake-up call?”

“No thank you. I’ll set my alarm.”

“Very well, sir. Goodnight, sir.”

Stone glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes shy of eleven. He took the elevator to the fourth floor and walked a short distance to room 412.

It took the better part of a half an hour for Stone to check his e-mail. There was nothing new about the missing uranium. The true identities of the Russians, Andrey and Vladimir remained unknown. An international manhunt was underway, but there was no information on where they’d gone after leaving Cologne. Similarly, the Russian named Victor Petrenko had simply disappeared.

It was shortly after midnight before Stone finally climbed into bed and turned off the lamp on the bedstand. His thoughts wandered to his family. Finally, weariness overtook him and he drifted off to sleep.

Stone took a shower and rolled into bed a little after midnight. He lifted the phone receiver and dialed direct. The phone rang four times.

“Hello?” A sleepy woman’s voice answered.

“Hi, Honey.”

“Hi, Stone. I’m sorry we missed your call yesterday. I caught the flu and we were in the emergency room.”

“The flu? Are you okay?”

“I’ve been sick as a dog the past two days. Mom had to come take care of the kids. They’ve gone to the park.”

“That was nice of her. Say hello for me. How’s my boy?”

“He’s having a hard time, Stone. He asks about you all the time, and he’s having some problems at school.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Problems with behavior . . . He’s been hitting other children and throwing tantrums for no reason. I tried to assure him you love him and miss him and would come home as soon as you can, but he’s having trouble understanding.”

“Oh, my God,” Stone sighed. “We can’t expect him to understand, Julie. Just keep telling him I love him, and I’ll come home as soon as I can. How’s my little angel?”

“Anne’s doing fine. I just hope she doesn’t catch the flu.”

There was an awkward pause. “I love you, Honey,” he finally said. “It’s great to hear your voice.”

“I love you, too, Stone.”

“Well, I hope you feel better tomorrow. Take care of yourself and I’ll try to call again tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’ll make sure Mikey’s home, so you can talk with him.”

“Goodbye, darling, I love you.”

“Goodbye, Stone.”