Stuart Woods. - Short straw

One

ED EAGLE DIDN'T WANT TO GET OUT OF BED. USUALLY HE woke at thestroke of seven, put his feet on the floor and was up and running, butnot this morning. He drifted for a moment, then snapped back. He raisedhis head and looked at the large digital clock that rested on top ofthe huge, flat-screen TV on his bedroom wall: 10:03 a.m. Impossible.Clock broken.

He sat up and checked his wristwatch on the bedside table: 10:03.What the hell was going on? He had a hundred people coming to lunch atthe grand opening of his new offices at noon, and there was much to do.Why hadn't Barbara woken him? He stood up. "Barbara?" he yelled.Silence. He looked at the other side of the bed: still made up.

He staggered into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, thenhe walked across the hall to his wife's bathroom. Not there. On themarble shelf under the mirror was a small plastic bottle from thepharmacy, lid off. He picked it up and read the label. AMBIEN. Sleepingpill. He never took them. He looked inside: empty.

He replayed the evening before: steaks for the two of them, grilledon the big Viking range, Caesar salad, bourbon before, bottle of redwith. Half a bottle of red wine would not cause him to oversleep. Notunless it contained an Ambien or two. He had an uncomfortable feelingin his gut.

He walked downstairs in his bare feet and checked every room, thenhe went to the garage. Barbara's Range Rover was gone. Could she havegone to the office without him to get ready for the gathering, lettinghim sleep late? She must have.

Ed went back upstairs, shaved and stood in a shower until he felthuman again, then he blew dry his longish black hair, dressed in a newshirt, recently arrived from his shirtmaker in London, then a new suit,recently arrived from his tailor in the same city. He pulled on a pairof black alligator western boots, which added a couple of inches to hissix-feet, seven-inch heightor altitude, as he liked to think ofitchose a tie and a silk pocket square, grabbed his Stetson and headedfor town.

He parked in his reserved space in the basement garage of the newlyconstructed, five-story office building, just off Santa Fe's Plaza,then took the private elevator to the penthouse. His new offices wereswarming with people: painters touching up here and there, janitorscleaning up after the painters, secretaries, caterers, people hangingpictures. Most of these things should have been done by the day before,but everything always ran a little late. He grabbed a passing secretary.

"Where's Barbara?" he asked.

"Haven't seen her," the woman replied, then continued on her way.

He walked across the open flagstone area just inside the glass doorsand into his new office, tossing his Stetson onto a bentwood hat rack.A painter was daubing at a place on the wall next to the windows. Hepicked up the phone and pressed the Page button.

"Barbara?" he said, hearing his voice echo across the whole floor.

His secretary picked up the phone. "Ed? Barbara's not here yet. Ithought she would come with you."

"She left the house before I did, Betty, and I overslept."

"I didn't know you slept at all," she replied drily.

"Not after seven a.m., I don't."

"Tie one on last night?"

"I tied on two ounces of bourbon and half a bottle of wine, andthat's all."

"She'll turn up," Betty said. "Excuse me, I've got things to do."She hung up.

Ed opened the French doors and walked out onto his newly planted,private terrace. He strolled over to the parapet and viewed the actionin the plaza. Everything was as usual: the Indians selling theirjewelry on the sidewalk in front of the Governor's Palace, old folkstaking the spring sun on the benches in the little park, shopkeeperssweeping their sidewalks. Santa Fe had been up for hours, but, likehim, it was just waking. Ed went back inside and walked slowly aroundthe offices, inspecting everything carefully. It was all finally comingtogether. He walked out onto the larger terrace. The caterers had setup a bar and a long lunch table, and they were hand-trucking in dishes,silverware and serving pieces.

He went back to his office and sat down, not knowing what to donext. He was still fuzzy around the edges. Coffee, that's what. Hewalked over to the built-in cabinets on one wall of his office andopened a pair of doors, revealing a little kitchenette. Betty hadalready made the coffee, and he poured himself a mug and took a Danishfrom the plate she had left there. Special occasion. He went back tohis desk and stood by it, sipping his coffee.

It was his fiftieth birthday. Moreover, with the opening of his newoffices, this day was the culmination of everything he had worked forover the past twenty-five years. He had long been Santa Fe's top trialattorney, but he had finally and firmly established himself as one ofthe half-dozen best trial lawyers west of the Mississippi, and thatincluded Denver, Dallas, Los Angeles and San Francisco. When peoplewere accused of bad things, they thought of Ed Eagle.

One case had done more than any other to help him achieve thatstatus: the Wolf Willett murders, a couple of years earlier. Wolf was aHollywood producer, and three people had been murdered in his Santa Fehome: himself and his wife, Julia, among them, or so it had firstseemed. Wolf had been astonished to learn of his own death when he hadread about it, and he had come to Ed Eagle for help. Ed's clearing ofWolf Willett had made headlines all over the country and had revealedthe sordid background of Julia Willett. Ed was now married to Julia'ssister, and he believed he knew everything about her background.

And where the hell was she? It was past eleven o'clock, and theirguests were due at noon.

Betty came into his office with a sheet of paper in her hand, closedthe door behind her and leaned against it. "You're going to want to sitdown," she said.

"That sounds ominous," he replied.

"It was meant to. Sit down."

Ed obediently sat down.

Betty took a deep breath, walked over to his desk and laid the sheetof paper on it. "I just found this in the fax machine," she said. "I'msorry I didn't see it sooner, but I've been busy."

Ed picked up the sheet of paper, which was a letter from his bank.He read aloud: "This is to confirm the wire transfer of $930,000 fromyour firm account and $170,000 from your personal account to" Hestopped reading aloud. "To an account in the Cayman Islands? What thehell is this?"

"It sounds very much like all the cash you have," Betty said."Unless you've got something in your sock."

Ed bared his teeth. "Look in my mouth," he said to Betty. "Do Istill have my eyeteeth?"

"Figuratively speaking," Betty replied, "no."

Two

EAGLE SET THE LETTER DOWN ON HIS DESK. HlS MIND, which hadbeen slowed by the remnants of the sleeping pill, was suddenlyoperating under full steam. "Get me my broker," he said to Betty.

Betty picked up the phone on his desk, dialed the number and handedhim the phone.

"Jim?" Eagle said.

"Morning, Ed. I expect you're calling about the wire transfer."

"Yes, I am. Has it gone?"

"I've just been handed the authorization. We liquidated youraccounts yesterday, as per your fax. The wire will be gone in fiveminutes."

"Hold everything," Eagle said.

"What?"

"Do not wire those funds."

"All right; what do you want me to do with all this cash? It's justover four million dollars."

"Is it too late to cancel the sale of all those stocks?"

"Well, yes; it was done yesterday. I know you wanted the funds wiredbefore two p.m., but we couldn't release that large a sum until we hadconfirmations."

"Jim, listen to me very carefully: the fax you got was not sent byme and did not reflect my wishes. Do you understand?"

"It was signed by Barbara, Ed."

"I'm going to send you a letter confirming that the instructionswere unauthorized, and I want you to call someone at the IRSimmediately and inform them of that fact. Follow up with a letter,because otherwise, I'll be faced with a hell of a tax bill for thecapital gains on those sales."