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“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 were 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.