BOOKS BY STUART WOODS
FICTION
Hush-Hush*
Shakeup*
Choppy Water*
Hit List*
Treason*
Stealth*
Contraband*
Wild Card*
A Delicate Touch*
Desperate Measures*
Turbulence*
Shoot First*
Unbound*
Quick & Dirty*
Indecent Exposure*
Fast & Loose*
Below the Belt*
Sex, Lies & Serious Money*
Dishonorable Intentions*
Family Jewels*
Scandalous Behavior*
Foreign Affairs*
Naked Greed*
Hot Pursuit*
Insatiable Appetites*
Paris Match*
Cut and Thrust*
Carnal Curiosity*
Standup Guy*
Doing Hard Time*
Unintended Consequences*
Collateral Damage*
Severe Clear*
Unnatural Acts*
D.C. Dead*
Son of Stone*
Bel-Air Dead*
Strategic Moves*
Santa Fe Edge†
Lucid Intervals*
Kisser*
Hothouse Orchid‡
Loitering with Intent*
Mounting Fears§
Hot Mahogany*
Santa Fe Dead†
Beverly Hills Dead
Shoot Him If He Runs*
Fresh Disasters*
Short Straw†
Dark Harbor*
Iron Orchid‡
Two-Dollar Bill*
The Prince of Beverly Hills
Reckless Abandon*
Capital Crimes§
Dirty Work*
Blood Orchid‡
The Short Forever*
Orchid Blues‡
Cold Paradise*
L.A. Dead*
The Run§
Worst Fears Realized*
Orchid Beach‡
Swimming to Catalina*
Dead in the Water*
Dirt*
Choke
Imperfect Strangers
Heat
L.A. Times
Santa Fe Rules†
New York Dead*
Palindrome
Grass Roots§
White Cargo
Deep Lie§
Under the Lake
Run Before the Wind§
Chiefs§
COAUTHORED BOOKS
Bombshell** (with Parnell Hall)
Skin Game** (with Parnell Hall)
The Money Shot** (with Parnell Hall)
Barely Legal†† (with Parnell Hall)
Smooth Operator** (with Parnell Hall)
TRAVEL
A Romantic’s Guide to the Country Inns of Britain and Ireland (1979)
MEMOIR
Blue Water, Green Skipper
*A Stone Barrington Novel
†An Ed Eagle Novel
‡A Holly Barker Novel
§A Will Lee Novel
**A Teddy Fay Novel
††A Herbie Fisher Novel
G. P. Putnam’s Sons
Publishers Since 1838
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2020 by Stuart Woods
Excerpt from Double Jeopardy copyright © 2021 by Stuart Woods
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
library of congress cataloging-in-publication data
Names: Woods, Stuart, author.
Title: Hush-hush / Stuart Woods.
Description: New York : G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 2020. | Series: A Stone Barrington novel
Identifiers: LCCN 2020048298 (print) | LCCN 2020048299 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593188354 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780593188378 (ebook)
Subjects: GSAFD: Suspense fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3573.O642 H87 2021 (print) | LCC PS3573.O642 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020048298
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020048299
p. cm.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover illustration: Mike Heath
Cover image: (island) Mihai Andritoiu / Shutterstock
pid_prh_5.6.1_c0_r0
CONTENTS
Cover
Books by Stuart Woods
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Author’s Note
Excerpt from Double Jeopardy
About the Author
1
Stone Barrington awoke slowly on a Sunday morning. The evening before had been spent with his good friend Dino Bacchetti, and had involved good beef, good wine, and various spirits before and after dinner. Stone was alone in his bed, which was not his preference.
He was alone in his house, too, he recalled, since he had given his cook and housekeeper, Helene, and her husband, Fred Flicker, the weekend off. There was, he remembered, a
housemaid stationed in the kitchen to meet his culinary needs. He picked up the phone and dialed an extension.
“Yes, sir?” an accented voice responded. “This is Gilia.”
Gilia was Greek, being one of a number of Helene’s nieces who occasionally landed in his employ.
“Breakfast,” he said huskily.
“Your usual, sir?” she asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Only a little minutes,” she replied.
“Good.” He hung up.
* * *
—
Gilia had been taught well. The eggs were soft and creamy and properly salted, the sausages were tender and juicy, and his Wolferman’s English muffin was perfectly toasted and buttered. By the time he had wolfed it all down, he felt restored. He was searching for an old movie to watch on TV and had just selected a John Wayne western, John Ford’s Rio Grande, when his cell phone rang—the secure one. He picked it up. “Speak,” he said. It was likely to be one of two people on the line; he hoped it was the tender gender one.
“What kind of greeting is that?” she asked.
“A cautious one,” Stone replied. “I was hoping it was you and not Lance.” Lance Cabot was the director of Central Intelligence, for whom Stone served as a special adviser. The woman on the line was the President of the United States, Holly Barker, with whom Stone had had an affectionate relationship for many years, off and on.
“I was thinking of coming to New York,” she said. “When would be convenient for you?”
“How about right this minute?”
“You understand there are arrangements to be made.”
“I thought we had that all ironed out and given a code name, ‘Turtle Bay.’” That was the name of the neighborhood surrounding a private garden on which his house was located. “All you have to do is dial a number, speak those words, and you’ll be here in time for lunch.”
“I know that’s supposed to be how it works,” she said, “but I’ve never actually used it. And things have a way of going awry when their operation depends on the workings of the federal government.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Stone said, reprovingly.
“My faith in my government, or lack of same, is based on long experience.”
“But your experience at the top of it is brief,” he replied. “Try it and see.”
“Hang,” she said, picking up another phone and dialing an extension. She held the other phone so he could hear the conversation.
“Yes, Madam President,” a male voice said after a single ring.
“Execute Turtle Bay,” she said.
“Your helicopter will arrive in thirty minutes,” he replied. “ETA, East Side Heliport in one hour and forty-two minutes. Weather is favorable all the way. A three-car SUV group will greet and transport you to your destination.”
“Excellent,” she said, and hung up. “You get that?”
“I did. Sounds as if it should work as planned,” he said. “Do you want to go out for dinner?”
“You know we can’t appear in a New York restaurant without causing a press riot.”
“Then I’ll have you all to myself.”
“You could invite the Bacchettis,” she replied.
“Done.”
“I’ll look forward to that. Tell Viv I’m dressing to kill. See you soon.”
Stone looked forward to it as well. He called another number.
“Bacchetti,” a gruff voice replied.
“Which one?”
“The one who didn’t have to go through menopause.”
“Holly’s on her way. Dinner here this evening?”
“Viv will want to know what we’re wearing.”
“You and I are wearing tuxedos. Tell Viv to let her imagination run wild.”
“I can’t do that. It would mean an all-afternoon shopping trip and a big dent in her credit card.”
“C’est la guerre, pal. Six-thirty for drinks.” He hung up. Then, as he did, he remembered that Helene was away for the weekend, and he was not cooking in a tuxedo, or out of one, for that matter. He called Fred’s cell phone.
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Fred,” Stone said, “but our friend Holly is coming to dinner, as well as the Bacchettis, and I don’t know if Gilia can handle that.”
“One moment, sir.” He came back a moment later. “Helene says Gilia can manage with what’s in the fridge and the pantry. She’ll call her with instructions. Not to 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, H
uey, 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.
“Your computer was encrypted, too,” Dino pointed out. “And yet . . .”
The women returned in time to keep Stone from exploding.
“What’s wrong?” Holly asked Stone.
“Wrong? Not a thing.”
“I’m not buying that.”
“And look at Dino,” Viv said. “He’s just scored some big point. So Stone’s ox has probably been gored.”
“We’re not talking,” Dino said smugly.
“Stone?” Holly said.
“Dino’s not talking.”
“Dino,” Viv said, “you’re going to tell me.”
“If I feel like it,” Dino replied airily.
“You may want to reconsider your position.”
“It’s Stone’s problem. He can tell you, if he wants.”
“It’s something I’d rather keep to myself,” Stone said firmly. “For the moment.”
* * *
—
Later, Holly crawled into bed with Stone and slung a leg over his. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me?”
“I’ll handle it myself,” Stone replied, giving her a long kiss.
“You’re trying to distract me from the subject?” she said.
Stone kissed her again and threw in a caress to a place she loved. “Is it working?”
It was working.
* * *