by Stuart Woods
“Talk to Lance and get back to me.”
“Are you in touch with Pablo?”
“No, but he’s in touch with me. He called five minutes ago, having seen the news reports. His family are arriving today at wherever he is, and of course he’s very concerned about their safety.”
“I’ll talk to Lance,” she said, and hung up.
Willa was staring at him. “This is like being in the middle of a spy novel.”
“I want your word you will not speak of this to anyone,” Stone said.
“Do you think I’m an idiot? I don’t want to be involved, I’m just fascinated to hear about it.”
“Don’t you have to go to work?”
“It’s Saturday,” she pointed out, “but if you want me out of here, say the word.”
He kissed her on the neck. “No, I don’t want you out of here.”
“Who’s going to call next?” Willa asked.
“I’ve no idea.”
The phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Herbie.”
Stone was silent.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, thanks, and I can’t talk right now,” Stone replied.
“Okay. Can I call you later?”
“Make it Monday,” Stone said, and hung up.
“And who was that?” Willa asked.
“A client, unrelated to anything on the news.”
Willa set her tray on the floor and cuddled up to him. “Let me take your mind off all this.”
“I don’t think you can,” Stone said.
But she could, and did.
FORTY-NINE
Joan buzzed again, and Stone picked up the phone. “Why are you in on Saturday morning?” he asked, panting from his exertions with Willa.
“Never look a gift horse in the mouth,” she replied. “Holly Barker on line one.”
Stone picked up the phone. “Yes, Holly?”
“I figured out who gave Pablo’s name to the press,” she said.
“And who would that be?”
“Todd Bacon.”
“Your acolyte? The new CEO of your new air transport company?”
“One and the same.”
“Why would he do such a thing?”
“I think he’s angry at Pablo over the thing with the flying Mercedes. He had planned the whole operation, then, at the moment it was about to come to fruition, Pablo ruined it for him.”
“Have you confronted him?”
“Lance is doing that right now, and he’s better at those things than I.”
“I hope he tears a strip off his hide,” Stone said.
“I think he’ll do more than that,” Holly said. “I think Lance is angry enough to fire him. Hang on a minute, will you?”
Stone hung on.
“More spy stuff?” Willa asked, brushing her mussed hair out of her eyes.
Holly came back on before Stone could reply. “Okay, it’s done. Todd Bacon is off immediately to man a radio listening post in the Aleutian Islands, off Alaska.”
“The perfect place for him,” Stone said.
“I have to agree,” Holly replied. “There’s a fly in the ointment, though.”
“What’s that?”
“I have to go up to Newburgh and get the air cargo thing running smoothly while Lance looks for somebody else to run it.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes,” she said. “I suppose there are worse assignments, but it does take me away from the center of the action. It’s Lance’s way of telling me that I should have somehow prevented Pablo’s automotive aviation event. This is going to drive my boyfriend crazy.”
“Then you’d better get it up and running smoothly fast.”
“Oh, and Lance is going to the director about funding for protection for Pablo.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Yes.”
“Hire Strategic Services; protection is what they do best.”
“What a good idea! I have to go tell Lance. Goodbye!”
Stone hung up.
“Did you finish?” Willa asked.
“My conversation?”
“No, what we were doing. Did you finish?”
“Sort of, but I was interrupted.”
“I didn’t finish,” she said.
“And that’s my cue, isn’t it?”
“You should be on the stage,” she said, lying back and offering him access.
Stone made his entrance.
Stone and Willa appeared at Elaine’s, on schedule, freshly showered and clothed. Mike Freeman was sitting with Dino at their table.
Stone introduced Willa, and they sat down. Bourbon was brought for both of them, and Willa did not pass out from the smell of it.
“I gather you spoke to Holly Barker earlier today,” Mike said in a low voice.
“It’s all right, Mike; Willa was there, and she’s trustworthy.”
“I have a team assembled,” Mike said, “but I don’t know where to send them or how to transport them.”
“I’m afraid I have to wait to hear from Pablo,” Stone said. “This is strictly one-way communication.”
“Oh, well,” Mike said. “They can’t blame us if somebody gets to him before we do.”
Mike’s cell phone buzzed, and he answered. “Freeman.”
He listened for a moment. “I’m with Stone now; we have to wait for him to call. I’ll get back to you.” He hung up. “Holly,” he said.
“Lance is nervous,” Stone said.
“Let’s see if we can figure this out,” Mike said. “When Pablo called, did you get a caller ID number?”
“No, his phone was blocked. It was probably a cell phone, though; that’s how we communicated before.”
“And you don’t know where he called from?”
“Now that you mention it, when he called we were both apparently watching the same broadcast on NBC, so he must be in the country. He also said that his family was arriving, so they must be coming from Europe.”
“Did he say anything about an airline or an airport?”
“No, but he told me when we first met that he has a Gulfstream Five jet.”
“Not that many of those in the air at a given moment,” Mike said. He made a call. “I want reports on all G-Fives landing anywhere in the U.S. in the past twelve hours,” he said. “I don’t know how many passengers, but there would be at least one woman and some children—I don’t know how many or how old. Maybe some staff and security, too. Call me.” He hung up. “All right, my people are on it. Let’s see if we can narrow the search.”
They ordered dinner.
“Willa,” Mike said, “what do you do?”
“Deputy DA,” Willa replied.
“Where?”
“Manhattan.”
“Ah.”
“What does that mean, ‘Ah’?” she asked.
“It means you’re very important,” Mike replied. “Not many deputy DAs.”
“Four,” she said. “One for admin, three others to supervise ADAs.”
“I’ll bet you get the juiciest cases,” Mike said.
“Sometimes.”
“You’re awfully closemouthed,” he said.
“I told you, she’s trustworthy,” Stone pointed out.
Mike’s cell phone rang. “Freeman.” He listened. “Good work,” he said. “Arrange transport, four cars.” He hung up.
“Did they find it?”
“Took off from Lucerne, Switzerland, this afternoon, their time. Landed six hours ago, guess where?”
“I give up.”
“Newburgh, New York, Stewart International.”
“So they’re in New York,” Stone said.
“Or its environs,” Mike pointed out.
“All we need now is to hear from Pablo,” Stone said.
“And soon,” Mike replied. “If we can figure out where he landed, so can other people.”
FIFTY
Stone and Willa w
ere getting ready for bed when his bedside phone rang. “Hello?”
“It is I,” Pablo said.
“I’m glad you called. I need to know where you are.”
“Why do you need to know?”
“Because the Agency has agreed to offer you security, in the form of contract professionals from Strategic Services, and they need to know where to find you.”
“How did you know I’m in the country?”
“It’s possible to track jets, even without a tail number, if they’re
G-Fives. You landed at Stewart International.”
“If you can know that, others can, too.”
“That’s very astute of you, Pablo, and all the more reason for you and your family to be guarded as soon as possible.”
“I don’t want to name my location on the phone,” Pablo said.
“All right, e-mail me, and give me your phone number.”
“I’ll text your cell,” Pablo replied.
“They need to know exactly where you are: an address.”
“I’ll meet them somewhere. I want to see them before I let them near my family.”
“Pablo, Strategic Services is a world leader in personal security. I know the CEO well, and I recommended them to the Agency. You can trust them.”
“I still want to meet them somewhere, and I’d like for you to be there, too. I don’t believe I’ve used up the retainer I paid you.”
“Pablo, give me a hint where you’d like to meet.”
“All right. Litchfield County, Connecticut.”
“Good. I have a house there, and that’s where we’ll meet.”
“All right.”
Stone gave him the address of his house.
“I know a house called The Rocks. Is that it?”
“Next door, much smaller house; used to be the gatehouse for The Rocks.”
“What time?”
“I have to drive up from New York. Noon?”
“All right.”
“Pablo, are you armed?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t shoot at anybody.”
“You arrive first, then the others.”
“That’s good. Now, give me your cell number.”
“There’s no point. That area is a dead zone for cells.”
Stone sighed. “See you at noon tomorrow.” They both hung up.
“You’re going up to Connecticut?” Willa asked.
“Yes. Would you like to come?”
“Yes,” she replied.
Stone called Mike Freeman.
“Freeman.”
“It’s Stone. Pablo called, and we can meet him at noon tomorrow at my house in Washington, Connecticut.”
“Good. Where is it?”
Stone gave him the address. “He wants me to arrive first, then the others. I suggest you have all four of your cars wait at the filling station in Washington Depot.”
“All right,” Mike said. “By the way, Lance has provided us with a safe house. It’s on Lake Waramaug, in Litchfield County. Do you know it?”
“Yes. Is it Lance’s brother’s house?”
“That’s right. Do you know him?”
“He was a client for a while.”
“He’s away, but there’s a housekeeper.”
“Sounds good.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mike said.
“Do you want to ride with me?”
“Sure.”
“Where do you live?”
“The Dakota; Seventy-second and Central Park West.”
“I’ll see you at ten a.m.” They hung up.
“Such intrigue!” Willa said, snuggling up.
Stone stopped in front of the Dakota, a huge apartment house built late in the 1880s, and Mike Freeman came out carrying an overnight bag. Stone popped the trunk, Willa got in the rear seat, and Mike got in up front.
“Go,” he said.
Stone went.
“How long a drive?”
“An hour and forty-five minutes,” Stone said. “Maybe less on a Sunday morning.”
Stone drove into the village ten minutes early.
“Let’s go down to the Depot and make sure my people are there,” Mike said.
Stone drove down the long hill into Washington Depot, and they found four black SUVs parked at the filling station, which was closed.
“God, Mike, it looks like the president’s in town!” Stone said.
“You have a point,” Mike replied. “Next time we order vehicles we’ll go for varied colors.” He got out of Stone’s car, talked with one of his men, then got back in. “Okay; they’ll follow us in five minutes.”
“That’s good,” Stone said. He drove back up the hill and turned into Kirby Road. As he turned into his driveway there was no sign of another car. “Everybody wait here,” Stone said, then got out and looked around. He went to his front door, unlocked it and looked around again. Pablo was strolling through his front gate.
Pablo shook Stone’s hand. “Who are the people in your car?” he asked.
“Mike Freeman, CEO of Strategic Services, whom you met on the C-17, and a friend of mine, Willa Crane. There are four cars parked down the hill; they’re five minutes behind us. Where is your family?”
“At the Mayflower Inn,” Pablo replied.
“How many in your party?”
“My wife, two servants, and two security. I have an appointment tomorrow morning with an estate agent to look at houses to rent.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Stone said. “The Agency is providing a very comfortable house for you. It’s well-located for security. Shall we pick up your people?”
“They’re packed and ready,” Pablo said. “I have two rental cars.”
The four black SUVs drove up and stopped in the road. “Here we go,” Stone said, opening the rear door for Pablo, who got in beside Willa.
Stone drove to the Mayflower, and Pablo went inside. A moment later he and his party emerged, and porters put their luggage into two station wagons, then Stone led the way to Lake Waramaug.
Mike was on a two-way radio to his cars. “Two cars ahead of us,” he said, and Stone slowed so that they could pass. “I’ll direct you.”
Stone noticed that Mike was searching both sides of the road with his eyes the rest of the way.
FIFTY-ONE
They drove the five miles to Lake Waramaug, a large natural lake north of Washington, and down the north side to a driveway marked only by a mailbox. The seven cars, including Stone’s, filled the parking area at the house.
A man came outside from the house. “Mr. Barrington?” he asked, looking around.
“I’m Stone Barrington.” He shook the man’s hand.
“My name is Robert. My wife, Jane, and I run the place. Mr. Cabot is on a buying trip in Europe, but he told me to make the entire property available to you, except for the master suite and the workshop, both of which are secured.” Robert looked around. “How many of you are there?” he asked.
“How many beds do you have available?” Stone asked.
“Fourteen, in seven bedrooms, including the guesthouse.”
Stone counted noses. “Mike, we’re okay on numbers, unless you’re staying.”
“For a night or two,” Mike replied.
“You can use my house, then.”
“Thank you, Stone.” He turned to his men. “Get your luggage inside, then I want a by-the-square-foot search of the property for any possible security risk.” The men moved to their work.
“These people are Mr. and Mrs. Gelbhardt,” Stone said to Robert. “They are the principal guests. Can you please show them to the best available room?”
“This way,” Robert said, then led them into the house. Stone, Willa, and Mike followed and waited in the large living room.
“You say Barton Cabot was once your client,” Mike said. “No more? A falling-out?”
“Nothing like that,” Stone replied. “Our business was successfully concluded; we remain on cordia
l terms. Bart is an antiques dealer.”
“I’ve researched him thoroughly,” Mike said. “I think this is a perfect safe house for our purposes.”
“It’s quite a place, isn’t it?” Stone said. “It’s a pity you can’t see Bart’s workshop. He builds eighteenth-century American antiques out there.”
Mike laughed. “You mean, like those factories in South America that turn out pre-Columbian art?”
“Yes, except Bart’s pieces are handmade from old mahogany with the same hand tools that were employed at the time. The pieces are indistinguishable from the real thing, believe me.”
Mike’s cell phone rang. “It works here!” he said, surprised. “Freeman.” He listened for a moment. “Good afternoon, Lance. May I put you on speaker so Stone can hear you?” Mike pressed a button and put the phone on the coffee table.
“Good afternoon, Stone,” Lance said.
“Good afternoon, Lance.”
“Is anyone else with you?”
“Yes, my friend Willa Crane, deputy district attorney in the Manhattan office.”
“How do you do, Ms. Crane?” Lance said.
“I’m very well,” Willa replied.
“Ms. Crane, do you have a federal security clearance?”
“I did when I worked for the U.S. Attorney, some years ago.”
“Please hold.” Lance put them on hold for a couple of minutes, then returned. “I have authorized the reinstatement of your clearance, which had expired,” he said. “I thought I might as well, because if you are where you are, you already know more than a civilian should.”
“Thank you for your trust, Mr. Cabot,” Willa said.
“Are you all settled in, Mike?” Lance asked.
“Happening now,” Mike replied. “Within the hour my people will have surveyed the environment and taken appropriate actions to deal with any anomalies.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” Lance said. “I’m sure Barton’s people will make you all comfortable.”
“Pablo has brought some of his own people to help out,” Mike replied.
“Lance,” Stone said, “have you any news of what’s happened at Tora Bora?”
“Mostly what you’ve seen on the news,” Lance said. “But I can tell you that the cave system is pretty much pulverized. Anyone still alive there won’t be for long and is beyond rescue.”
“Is there any news of the principal target?” Mike asked.