Hit List

52

Stone was snoozing, when he felt the landing gear go down. He got up, walked forward, and sank into the jump seat. “He’s landing?”

“He was; he just asked the tower for a go-around and vectors to Newburgh.”

“Where the old Air Force base is?”

“Yes, and the Citation Service Center. They own Hawker these days.”

Stone thought for a moment. “Ask for VFR to Oxford, Connecticut. OXC, lowest available altitude.”

Faith pressed the button. “Got it, direct and six thousand feet.”

“Ten miles out of Oxford ask for a change of destination for Newburgh.”

“They’ll want a reason.”

“Tell them we need a part from the Citation Center.”

“That should work.”

Stone could see the Hudson River coming up now. “What’s the active runway?”

“We’re lined up for it,” she said. “I see the Hawker. It’s taxiing from the terminal.”

That gave Stone pause. “Did you see anyone get on?”

“No, but there were a couple of people on the ramp. I couldn’t see which way they went.”

Stone made a decision. “Land, and request a rental car from the FBO soonest.” He saw a red Ford van driving away from the Citation Center, then lost it as a building got in the way. They touched down and rolled to a stop. “Get some fuel,” Stone said to Faith, then opened the door, waved at Dino and Herbie, and ran down the stairs.

The three of them burst out of the building and into the car park, looking for their rental. It was a Volvo station wagon, and they were moving immediately.

“The interstate is that way,” Dino said, pointing.

“I don’t think he’s heading for the interstate,” Stone replied.

“So we’re working your hunches now?”

“You don’t need to come to Newburgh to find an interstate. He has another reason to land here.”

Shortly, they were in downtown Newburgh, and Herbie spotted the van. “Red Ford, half a mile ahead, turning left.”

“Got it,” Stone said.

“Where the hell is he going?” Dino asked.

“Maybe he has a country house up here on the river?” Stone posited. They were soon in a residential neighborhood, then the van turned into a parking lot and stopped.

Dino read the sign aloud: “Luxury Dog Resort and Spa.”

“He’s picking up Trixie,” Stone said.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Frances’s Jack Russell terrier. At least, I think that’s what he is. A brown ball of fur.” They were parked across the road.

“Let’s bust him on his way out,” Stone said.

“Negative,” Dino said. “Sig will shoot it out, and I want at least a SWAT team, and that’s going to take time up here.”

“And we’ve got only one weapon among the three of us.”

“And half a magazine of ammo,” Dino said, “four rounds. If he’s got a six-shooter, we’re outgunned. And we’re surrounded by civilian houses.”

“That’s a pessimistic way to look at it,” Stone said.

“I don’t know another way, given the circumstances. I think we need the state police, not the locals.” Dino got out his cell phone and started punching numbers.

A dog and owner were leaving the building about every minute. “Check-out time,” Herbie said.

“Or maybe the yoga class ran over,” Stone replied. Then Sig followed Trixie out of the building. Trixie made three pit stops on the way to the van, and Sig waited patiently.

“He’s moving,” Stone said.

“Don’t press him,” Dino said. “I don’t want a backwoods car chase in a strange neighborhood.”

“Admit it. You don’t think I could keep up.”

“That, too,” Dino said.

“He’s not going back to the airport,” Stone said. “At least, not the way we came.”

The van hugged the river, headed south.

“You think he’s alone in the van?” Dino asked.

“Except for Trixie,” Stone replied.

They drove for another half hour, with Stone keeping three or four cars between them. Herbie had his cell phone out. “He’s headed for the Palisades Interstate Parkway, is my best bet.”

“Then the George Washington Bridge,” Stone said. “We could trap him there.”

“I’m not shutting down that bridge at rush hour,” Dino said. “I’d have to find a job in another state.”

“How about the other side of the bridge, when he turns down the Henry Hudson Parkway toward the city.”

“That’s a great idea, unless he goes in the opposite direction,” Dino said.

“I told you, I’m working hunches. I think he feels safer in Manhattan.”

“Weirdly, I agree with you,” Dino said.

Sure enough, Sig turned south. After five minutes or so, traffic came to a halt on the West Side Highway. Nothing abnormal about that. Slowly, the traffic began to inch forward until, ten minutes later, they came to a red van, parked sideways in the middle lane, while the other cars picked their way around it.

“I hope he had a heart attack,” Dino said. He jumped out of the car, ran to the rear door of the van, and yanked it open, then he ran back to the Volvo and got in. “He bailed,” Dino said, pointing at the greenery beside the road. “Now he’s just another dog walker in Riverside Park.”

Dino blocked traffic while Stone drove around the van, then they were running south for the next exit, at Seventy-ninth Street. After the exit they came to a roundabout which allowed an exit or returned one to the highway. Without slowing around, Stone drove entirely around the circle.

“Hey!” Dino said, annoyed.

“He’s not in the park,” Stone said.

“And you know that, how?” Dino asked.

“Hunch,” they said in unison.

Stone got out of the car and walked a few steps to the main pontoon of the Seventy-ninth Street Boat Basin. He gazed out over the river and saw half a dozen or more small boats making their way up- or downstream.

“Hunch?” Dino asked.

Stone said nothing, just looked up and down the river.

“I’m all out of hunches,” he said, eventually.