30
Stone and Meg had dinner in his study. Bob, now bereft of Sugar’s companionship, dozed fitfully beside the fire.
“You know,” Meg said, “I think I prefer dining in this room to any restaurant I have ever gone to.”
“Thank you,” Stone said.
“I should thank Bob, as well. He makes it feel like home. Why have you deprived the poor dear of Sugar?”
“Sugar, alas, is a member of a family across the street, and I don’t think they would accede to Bob’s wishes in the matter.”
“I’m sure Sugar misses Bob, too.”
“Then she will have to find a way of expressing her desire to her family before we are likely to enjoy her company again.”
“Maybe dogs should be acquired in braces,” she said.
“As fond as I am of Bob, I’m not sure I could handle two of him.”
“Oh, well.”
“There’s something I have to tell you about,” Stone said.
“Uh-oh.”
“Not something bad, necessarily, just something I think you would prefer to know about now rather than later, when you might blame me for keeping it from you.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “Does this knowledge involve another woman?”
“No, no,” Stone replied quickly. “It’s entirely a business matter.”
“Oh.”
“I had a visit from a fr . . . an acquaintance late this afternoon who has managed to learn that Gino Bellini left Harmony Software with more than his talents and skills in his pocket.”
“What, did he steal the silver?”
“Worse—the crown jewels.”
“And what would those consist of?” she asked.
“All the designs and specifications of your driverless car,” Stone said.
She stared at him, speechless. “And how did your acquaintance come by that knowledge?” she asked finally.
“He has a rather large staff devoted to the unearthing of such information.”
“Do you regard his information as reliable?”
“About as reliable as one can get in an unreliable world.”
“But what could Gino do with it? It would take him months, maybe years to build a duplicate car. By that time, we’d be in full production.”
“His intent, apparently, is to sell the files,” Stone said.
“But . . .”
“Abroad.”
“I’m trying to think who would be a buyer capable of using the design.”
“Keep thinking.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Russia?”
“I don’t think they would have the technical capacity. There is a story that, during World War Two, an American bomber crew were forced to land their disabled B-17 Flying Fortress in Siberia. Stalin ordered the airplane confiscated and reproduced, down to the last rivet.”
“And?”
“And when the Russians were finished, their airplane weighed so much it could not fly.”
“I think the Russians have become more technically adept since that time.”
“And so has the technology become more daunting.”
“The Koreans might manage it, I suppose.”
“Think bigger.”
“The Chinese?”
Stone nodded.
“The Chinese have the designs for my car?”
“No, my acquaintance managed to block such a sale. Don’t ask how—I didn’t.”
“So Gino is looking for another buyer?”
“It would seem so. My acquaintance has suggested another means of blocking a sale.”
“How?”
“Let me ask you—Harmony is insured by the Steele Group, is it not?”
“We are.”
“And in the event of a theft of technology, Steele would have to pay?”
“They would.”
“What are the limits of your policy, in such a case?”
Meg wrinkled her brow. “I believe it’s a hundred million dollars. They’d have to lay off half of it to Lloyd’s of London.”
“My acquaintance has suggested that I approach Arthur Steele with the notion of buying your designs and specifications back from Gino. With Steele’s money.”
She thought about it for a minute. “What a good idea!” she said, brightening.
STONE MET Arthur Steele for lunch at a club on the Upper East Side of which they were both members, one so low-key that it didn’t have a name. It was called “The Club” by its members.
Arthur shook out his napkin and spread it over his lap. A waiter took their order and Arthur took another sip of the martini he had started at the bar. “Now, Stone, what’s on your mind, and how much is it going to cost me?”
“Let me put it this way, Arthur—it’s going to save you seventy-five million dollars.”
Arthur looked at him suspiciously. “You sound like my late wife telling me how much she saved me, shopping the sales.”
“She saved you seventy-five million dollars.”
“I’m not sure I can afford to save that much money.”
“Well, it beats the alternative,” Stone said.
“And what is the alternative?”
Stone explained, as gently as he could, what had occurred, not mentioning any names. “I’d like to offer Bellini twenty-five million. Your company’s liability, as you know, is seventy-five million.”
“Is Lance Cabot involved in this?” Arthur demanded.
“Lance is the source of my information, but he is going to great lengths not to be involved in it. He has already managed to prevent a sale to China, but now he is walking backwards as fast as he can.”
Their food was served, and Arthur tried his Dover sole. “Meg has not filed a claim, has she?”
“No, but it would take her less than a business day to do so.”
“I can’t go to the board and tell them that one of its members has filed a huge claim. It would be huge, I expect.”
“She places a value of half a billion dollars on the stolen property, which means given your liability limit, you’d save four hundred million. Can you afford to save that much?”
Arthur suffered a brief fit of coughing. “God, it’s difficult to be in the insurance business these days,” he said. “What should we offer this Bellini, Stone?”
“Offer twenty million and settle for twenty-five million.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“You might remember, Arthur, that your group owns a very large chunk of Harmony Software. If the designs were sold, you would suffer a great deal more than what it costs to buy off Bellini. Harmony’s stock would plummet, and you know what you paid for your share.”
Arthur gulped down the rest of his martini and chased it with another gulp of his wine, then he set down his glass and applied his napkin to his forehead. “Oh, Christ, go ahead,” he whimpered.