by Stuart Woods
“It doesn’t speak well of the NYPD that they would promote the guy.”
“Look, you and I could name a dozen guys who got promoted above their level of competence,” Dino said.
“Yeah, we could. I just wish we didn’t have one of them running this bust.”
“All right, tell me who you’re worried about,” Dino said.
“Mitzi,” Stone replied, “and Hildy Parsons.”
“Oh, that’s right. Hildy is why you’re in this.”
“Exactly. But I’ve come to feel a lot for Mitzi, and she could get hurt.”
“You want me to be around when it goes down?”
“Yes, please. I’d like you at Rita Gammage’s apartment when the buy is made, and we’ll take it from there.”
“When?”
“I don’t know yet; we’re waiting for a call from Derek Sharpe to tell us he has the goods. Mitzi will see that we have some notice, though.”
“Okay, I’m available.”
“Do me a favor?”
“What is it this time?”
“I need you to call the NYPD flight department and inquire about a helicopter pad somewhere in the vicinity of Park and Seventy-second Street.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
“I think that’s all I need until the bust goes down,” Stone said. His cell phone vibrated on his belt, and he dug it out of its holster. “Hello?”
“It’s Mitzi.”
“Hello, there.”
“The buy is tomorrow morning, eleven a.m., at the apartment.”
“Gotcha. Dino and I will be there early.”
“Great.”
“Something I’d like to know about the apartment.”
“What?”
“The windows, the ones overlooking Park Avenue, do they open?”
“You mean, are they not sealed shut?”
“Exactly.”
“Hang on.”
Stone waited until she came back.
“Yes, they open,” she said.
“Thanks. See you tomorrow.” He hung up. “We’re on,” he said to Dino. “Eleven a.m. tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“You still have your old.22 target pistol?” Stone asked.
“Yeah, it’s in my safe.”
“Bring it.”
“Why?”
“Just bring it.”
Dinner arrived, and they dug in.
In spite of the bourbon and the good food, Stone was nervous again. He didn’t like being nervous; something bad usually happened when he was nervous.
56
STONE WOKE EARLY, shaved, showered, and got to Rita’s apartment at eight. Dino met him on the sidewalk.
“I didn’t get breakfast,” Dino said.
“Neither did I,” Stone replied, ushering him into the building, “but we will.” He gave the doorman their names and waited until they were allowed upstairs. Before they went to the elevator, Stone pulled the doorman to the front door and pointed. “See that parking space?”
“Yes, sir.”
Stone put a hundred-dollar bill in his hand. “Please make sure no one parks there but a Mr. Sharpe. He drives a black Mercedes, and he’ll be here around eleven. Tell him that Miss Mitzi reserved it for him.”
“I’ll put a couple of cones out and watch for him,” the doorman said.
Mitzi answered the door in a silk dressing gown, and it looked as though she was wearing nothing under it. The sight stirred Stone, but there wasn’t time.
“You want some breakfast?” she asked.
“You betcha,” Stone said.
She led Dino down the hall toward the kitchen, but Stone went to a front window and made sure it would open, then he went to the kitchen and sat down at the table with Mitzi, Rita, and Dino. Moments later they were eating omelets and croissants, Mitzi dunking hers.
They lingered at the table, chatting, until after ten, then the women went to dress. Stone walked to the big stainless-steel refrigerator, took two eggs from the door shelf, and slipped them into his jacket pocket. Then he went into the living room and began reading the Times.
Dino joined him and took the Business section.
“Since when did you start reading about business?” Stone asked, surprised.
“When I got my hands on some money.” Dino had received a generous settlement when he was divorced.
“So now you’re a capitalist?”
“You bet your ass.”
“You brought the.22 pistol?” Dino had won a department championship with that pistol.
“It’s on my belt,” Dino said, not bothering to show him. “Are you armed?”
“I am,” Stone said.
“Not that you could hit anything.”
“Why do you think I asked you to bring the target pistol?” Stone said. He didn’t argue with Dino’s opinion of his marksmanship.
At ten thirty Dino used his cell phone to check on the status of the bust, then he hung up.
“Everything set?” Stone asked.
“Yep.”
“Oh, what did you find out about a helicopter pad?”
“There’s a tennis club a couple of doors from the corner of Seventy-ninth that’s being renovated. They’re taking down the nets and posts on the rooftop courts. My car is parked a block from here; my driver will run us there.”
“How many courts on the roof?”
“Four, stacked.”
Stone called the number Tiffany had given him for the helicopter pilot.
“Hello.”
“This is Stone Barrington.”
“Right, Mr. Barrington. We’re all set.”
“How long a flight from your position to the corner of Seventy-second and Park?”
“Two minutes.”
“At eleven a.m. sharp, start your engines and be ready.” He explained about the tennis club.
“I know the place; I’ve seen it from the air. The space is plenty big.”
“See you there,” Stone said.
At ten minutes to eleven the buzzer rang from the doorman, and Mitzi answered it. “Send Mr. Sharpe up,” she said, then hung up. “He’s on his way; you two had better get into the kitchen.”
Stone went to the window and opened it. The black Mercedes was parked, nine stories down. He leaned out the window, aimed carefully, and dropped an egg. “Bull’s-eye!” he said.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Dino asked.
Stone didn’t reply but aimed the second egg. “Hah!” he shouted. “Let’s get to the kitchen.”
They ran down the hallway just as the doorbell rang.
Mitzi opened the door and let Sharpe in. He was carrying two catalogue cases.
“Who else is here?” he asked.
“Just the maid,” Mitzi said. “You’re not going to get all paranoid on me again, are you?”
“Let’s get this done,” Sharpe said. He knew the way to the study.
Mitzi sat him down, and he opened both catalogue cases and began removing one-kilo bricks of cocaine.
“Do you promise me that this cocaine is just as good as the first shipment you sold me?”
“If anything, it’s better,” Sharpe said.
“Okay, put the bricks back into the cases,” she said, and Sharpe did so.
“I assume my check cleared or you wouldn’t be here,” Mitzi said.
“You’re absolutely right,” Sharpe replied. “I’ve already wire-transferred it out of the country.”
“We’re done, then?”
Sharpe stood up. “We are. Take care of yourself, Mitzi.”
“You sound like you’re going somewhere.”
“Just a little vacation. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks to supply your friends again, if they’re still in business.”
“They’ll still be in business,” she said. She showed him to the door and let him out. Then she turned, leaned against the door, and heaved a great sigh. She went to the phone and pressed the Page button. “He’s gone,” she said. “Let’s
get moving.”
Stone and Dino ran down the hall and into the living room, and Stone continued to the window. “Any problems?”
“Not a one,” Mitzi said.
Stone looked out the window. “There he goes.”
Dino called for his car, while Stone called his helicopter, and then they both ran to the elevator.
When they emerged from the apartment building they found Dino’s car waiting for them at the curb. They hopped in and, after making a quick U-turn, raced up Park Avenue and around the corner of Seventy-ninth Street.
As they turned the corner, Stone saw the helicopter approaching the building and inside a cop who was holding an elevator that would take them up. They emerged from the top floor fire door onto the roof just as the aircraft landed on the tennis courts, jumped in, and buckled their seat belts.
Stone took the left seat, next to the pilot, and put on his headset. “Okay,” he said, “we’re looking for a black sedan that’s been marked with two raw eggs.”
“How’d you do that?” the pilot asked.
“From a great height,” Stone replied.
57
STONE SPOKE INTO the headset microphone. “Let’s stay as low as possible, until we spot the car. When we do, let’s go higher, so as not to worry our man.”
“Shall we try Park Avenue first?” the pilot asked.
“Affirmative,” Stone said.
The helicopter rose vertically from the tennis courts for a couple of hundred feet, then the pilot executed a ninety-degree turn toward Park Avenue and pointed the machine downtown. They had moved only a few blocks when Stone looked down and saw the egg-decorated Mercedes.
“There,” he said, “in that traffic backup by the construction site.”
DEREK SHARPE SAT in the traffic jam and began to sweat. He wasn’t worried about Sig Larsen leaving without him, since it took both of them to withdraw or transfer funds from their offshore account, but he was anxious to have this over and done with. He longed for a beach and a drink with an umbrella in it.
Finally, traffic edged forward, and he broke loose of the jam and headed downtown at a good speed.
STONE WATCHED as the Mercedes moved quickly down Park Avenue. “He’s going to turn west toward the Lincoln Tunnel,” he said to the pilot.
“I’m ready,” the man replied.
At Forty-seventh Street, the Mercedes made its turn and began the slow process of driving west on a crosstown Manhattan street. The pilot hung back a block or so, keeping the black car in sight.
“HE’LL TURN LEFT on Eleventh Avenue,” Stone said. “Then we’ll pick him up on the other side of the Hudson when he comes out of the tunnel.”
“Got it,” the pilot said as the Mercedes turned left on Eleventh Avenue. “Shall we cross the Hudson now and get ahead of him?”
“Sure,” Stone said.
The pilot turned right and headed toward the river. “Did you see that guy put the Airbus down in the river?” he asked Stone.
“I saw it a dozen times on TV, and I’m still amazed that everybody walked away from that one,” Stone replied. “The pilot said he was just doing what he’d been trained to do, but he did it awfully well, didn’t he?”
“Sure did,” the pilot said. “Here comes the other end of the tunnel.”
“Let’s gain some altitude,” Stone said. “I don’t want him to spot us when he emerges.”
The pilot flew the machine a little way south and hovered at five hundred feet looking back at the tunnel. “Traffic’s moving well at this hour of the day,” he said. “He’ll pop out of there soon.”
A black Mercedes appeared. “There,” Stone said, pointing.
“Not unless he stopped at a car wash,” the pilot said. “No egg on that car.”
“You’re right. Cars are pouring out of the tunnel; he should be out of there by now.”
They hovered for another couple of minutes.
“Something’s wrong,” the pilot said.
SHARPE HAD BYPASSED the tunnel entrance, just in case he was being watched, then turned downtown on Ninth Avenue. Just a few more blocks, he told himself. He joined the West Side Highway at Thirty-ninth Street and headed downtown. Nearly there. He left the highway at the West Side Heliport and parked the car next to it. He could see the chopper on the ground with Larsen standing next to it. The rotor was already turning, and Hildy and Larsen’s “wife” would be inside.
Sharpe had nothing in the car he needed to take with him. He hated to abandon such a nice car, but the lease was up in a couple of months, so what the hell? He jogged toward the waiting helicopter.
Larsen was holding the door for him, and he jumped in and gave Hildy a big kiss. The chopper rose, rotated a hundred and eighty degrees and began to fly north along the Hudson VFR corridor.
Larsen was pointing down. “What’s that on top of your car?” he asked.
Sharpe looked down and saw the egg splatter on the car’s roof. “I don’t know,” he said. “Vandals, I guess.”
“HE’S NOT coming out of this tunnel,” the pilot said, “because he didn’t go into it.”
“You’re right,” Stone said. “We’ve been had.” Then he looked across the river and saw a helicopter take off from the West Side Heliport. “Uh-oh,” he said, pointing. “Head over there.”
The pilot turned the machine and started toward the Hudson. “There’s one that just took off,” he said, pointing at a helicopter making its way north.
“I want to see the parking lot,” Stone said, then he pointed. “There’s the Mercedes with the egg on top.”
“The chopper going north is the only one I see in the air,” the pilot said.
“Follow it,” Stone said. “He’s headed for Westchester Airport.”
The pilot made the turn north. “Well,” he said, “I hope it’s the right helicopter.”
“So do I,” Stone said.
“IS THE AIRPLANE going to be waiting?” Sharpe asked Larsen.
“It’s already there,” Larsen replied. “I’ll call him when we’re five minutes out and tell him to start the engines.”
“Man, oh, man,” Larsen said. “This is really happening.”
“What’s happening?” Hildy asked. “We’re just going to the Bahamas, right?”
“You’ll see when we get there,” Sharpe said.
DINO TAPPED Stone on the shoulder and spoke through his headset from the rear seat. “What the fuck is happening?”
Stone turned toward the rear seats. “They took a helicopter from the West Side Heliport,” Stone replied, “and they’re headed for Westchester. Just enjoy the view of the Hudson.”
Mitzi spoke up. “Should I call Brian?”
“I guess you’d better,” Stone said. “Tell him to alert the team at Westchester that Sharpe and Larsen are headed there in a helicopter and to arrest them on sight.”
“Will do,” Mimi said.
Stone turned back and looked north. “I don’t see the chopper,” he said.
“I was just about to mention that,” the pilot replied. “I don’t see him, either. He was there; then I looked at my chart for a couple of seconds and when I looked up, he was gone.”
“I heard that,” Dino said. “Now what?”
58
STONE WAS ANXIOUSLY LOOKING UP and down both shores of the Hudson River. The George Washington Bridge was coming up and the pilot climbed another hundred feet to clear it.
“I don’t get it,” Stone said. “How could a helicopter just vanish?”
“He’s low over land somewhere,” the pilot replied. “It’s hard to spot a helicopter from above when it’s flying low.
Stone began concentrating on looking down. “There… No, that’s a car.”
“See what I mean?”
“Well, it doesn’t matter how low he flies if he’s going to Westchester,” Stone said. “We’ve got that covered, and they’ll see the chopper when it lands.”
“What if he’s not going to Westchester?” the pilot aske
d.
“What are the alternatives?” Stone asked.
“I don’t know- Albany? Hartford? Bridgeport?”
Stone remembered something. “When I was getting my instrument rating, I flew some approaches at Oxford, Connecticut.”
“That’s worth a try,” the pilot said, flipping through his airport guide. “Five-thousand-foot runway-that’s plenty for a corporate jet. If you’ve got Westchester covered, they won’t miss us.”
“It’s on the way to Hartford,” Stone said. “Let’s at least take a look at it.”
The pilot put the airport’s identifier, OXC, into his GPS and swung right, following the needle.
“How long?” Stone asked.
“Twelve minutes,” the pilot replied.
IN THE other helicopter the pilot turned and addressed Larsen. “Five minutes,” he said.
“I’ll call the airplane,” Larsen said to Sharpe. He tapped a speed-dial key on his cell phone and listened. “I’m not getting through,” he said.
“We may be moving too fast for the cell phone to capture a tower,” Sharpe said. “It doesn’t matter, we’ll be there in five minutes.”
“SIX MINUTES,” Stone’s pilot said.
“Has this thing got any more speed?” Stone asked.
“I’ll push it,” the pilot said. Then, a moment later, “Four minutes.” He looked up. “Can you see the airport?” he asked.
Stone looked hard. “No. We’re too low; it just looks like country-side.”
The pilot climbed another two hundred feet. “There,” he said. “Twelve o’clock and five miles.”
“There’s the other chopper,” Stone said, “setting down now, and I can see what looks like a Citation on the ramp.” He turned toward the rear. “Looks like we’ve got ’em, Dino,” he said.
Dino reached into his jacket and produced a Colt.45, 1911 model, and checked it. Mitzi was checking her weapon, too.
“You are wearing your vest, aren’t you?”
She pretended not to be able to hear him.
Stone turned back to the pilot. “Set this thing down right in front of the jet, and keep the rotor turning. He won’t be able to taxi.”
“Got it,” the pilot said, and started to descend fast. He called Oxford tower and announced his intentions.