Strategic Moves

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.

“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.