Hit List

53

Dino dropped Stone off at his house, then took Herbie and himself away. Everybody slept in his own bed that night. Nobody knew where Sig slept.

Stone’s phone rang early. He picked it up and spoke, “We didn’t search the marina.”

“My thought exactly,” Dino replied.

“It came to me about ten seconds before you called.”

“I’ve already ordered a search of all the boats,” Dino said. “Give ’em another couple of hours. There were at least forty boats there, and that’s forty cold entries and searches. I hope to God he’s not there. We’ll look like fools.”

“I’m not a cop,” Stone said. “You may reserve that pleasure for yourself.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Dino said. “Oh, somebody just handed me a piece of paper: two motorcycles were stolen in Soho last night.”

“Okay, no foot search of Manhattan.”

“I could just give orders to shoot any male driving a motorcycle,” Dino said. “We could get lucky.”

“Save your luck for something that won’t send you to prison,” Stone said.

“Let’s take a day off,” Dino said.

“How do you know Sig is taking the day off? There are still people on the hit list he has promised to murder, myself among them.”

“We need to do something he won’t expect,” Dino said.

“We could do that, if he expected something and we knew what it was.”

“I’m just sayin’.”

“A meaningless turn of phrase. Don’t feel you have to talk just to fill the air with noise.”

“Are you telling me to shut up?”

“Yes, until you have an actionable idea.”

“Your actionable idea took us to two countries yesterday.”

“Three, if you count this one. And we had sight of him in each of them. That’s a pretty good score for hunches, isn’t it?”

“It would be a fantastic score, if we had scored.”

“Well, I for one am entirely willing to cede the search to your thousands of policemen and anybody else who cares.”

“Dinner tonight, Clarke’s?”

“Seven,” Stone said, then hung up.

Stone decided to turn the day into Sunday. On Sundays, he read the New York Times cover to cover and watched the political shows on TV. He had to settle for the daily Times, but the political shows were all recorded, and Holly Barker was on two of them. He had forgotten that the presidential election was being held the following Tuesday, and although Holly was ahead in most of the polls, she was ahead only by a point or two.

His phone rang. “Hello?”

“Don’t worry,” she said, “it’s not Dino.”

“I’m so glad, baby. How are you?”

“I’d be a lot better if I were a lot further ahead in the polls,” she said.

“Where are you?”

“The pollsters are calling it a statistical tie, and I’m scheduled to be on MSNBC in four minutes, so I’d better be at Rockefeller Center.”

“So near, and yet so far away,” Stone muttered. “Any chance you could shake loose for a tryst?”

“My team warns me about every ten minutes that seeing you between now and Tuesday could have catastrophic results.”

“They know you that well, do they?”

“They believe they know you that well. I’m not positive, but my chief of staff may have ordered the Secret Service to shoot you on sight.”

“They’d enjoy that, wouldn’t they.”

“They’d rather arrest you and get their picture taken hauling you off to jail in shackles.”

“I don’t think I’ll leave the house until next Tuesday,” he replied.

“Good thinking. You can watch me on television.”

“I don’t suppose you can get naked on television?”

“Good guess. I’m not allowed to speak the words ‘naked’ or ‘sex.’ They are not to pass my lips.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“You may not talk affectionately to me on the phone, either. My staff is absolutely positive that any phone I can reach is tapped.”

“By whom?”

“The Russians, maybe. They would love to torpedo me.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. A pass to the election-night party is being delivered to you. Don’t lose it.”

“In Washington?”

“In New York. The committee has taken the whole of the Carlyle Hotel, every room, bar, nightclub, and dining room. After three PM, nobody can enter the hotel without the little pass.”

“What color is it?”

“The standard is blue, but there are silver, gold, and platinum ones, as well. Yours is the latter, so afterward you can have it melted down and turned into a tie pin, or something. Also, it opens the door to two rooms: a bedroom across the hall from my suite and my suite. You’re welcome anytime, after the polls close, when your presence can no longer do any damage.”

“And what time is that?”

“Nine o’clock in New York.”

“And when do I have to leave?”

“If I lose, never.”

“And if you win?”

“Ask me in eight years — less, if they can think of a reason to impeach me.”

“I’m torn,” Stone said. “I wouldn’t want to see you impeached, but...”

“What?” Somebody was talking to her. “Gotta run. I’ll see you on TV.” She hung up.

Stone switched on the TV with a couple of minutes to go. He wondered if he’d still be allowed to attend the election-night party, if Sig were still on the loose.

The music came up, and a freshly barbered Chuck appeared on screen and introduced the Democratic candidate for President of the United States.

Stone thought Holly looked sunny, composed, and absolutely smashing in a tailored suit and long pants. There must be someone following her around with a brush and comb, he thought, because her hair was absolutely perfect — glowing, even. He settled back to watch and almost immediately dozed off. When he awoke, Holly had been replaced by a panel of journalists who argued about her chances.