Two-Dollar Bill

42

STONE CALLED his home number every hour to check for messages. Nothing for the whole morning. Then, at one o'clock: "It's Dino. I haven't been able to reach you for a couple of days. Call me when you get this."

Dino was playing it smart; he knew Lance might be listening in.

Stone started to call him on the landline, then stopped. If Lance were listening on his home number, he might be listening on this line, too. All the agents, except Corey, were out of the house at the moment, and she was playing Parcheesi with Peter. Stone got out his cell phone and began walking around the large apartment, checking for a signal at every window.

Finally, in the back bedroom, he got a one-bar signal. He called Dino.

"Bacchetti."

"It's Stone."

"You're weak, can you speak up?"

"No, I'm on my cell phone. What's happening?"

"Sometimes you're brilliant, Stone. Not all that often, but…"

"What is happening, Dino?"

"We got three sets of prints. One of them, as you said, was government blocked. I ran the other two and came up with two names. One is a Martin Block, no record; he was printed in the army twenty years ago. The other is a Rocco Bocca, who got out of Sing-Sing just over a month ago."

"Did they send Mitteldorfer back to Sing-Sing?"

"Yeah, I checked. I almost had them put him in solitary, but decided against it. He might be able to tip off Billy Bob."

"Have you found out anything about Bocca?"

"You bet. He was doing five to seven on multiple burglary charges, served five and a half. And get this, he was working as a burglar alarm installer and hitting his clients."

"He's our guy. You get an address?"

"I got his parole officer's name, but the guy is out of the office all day, and I couldn't get a cell number. I left a message, so if he calls his office, I'll hear from him."

"Good news."

"You want me to pick him up when I find out where he is?"

"No, but if you can put a tail on him, do that. If he meets Billy Bob it might be wherever he's holding Arrington."

"Will do."

"I'll keep calling my home phone every hour. Leave a message, if you learn anything more."

"Okay."

Stone hung up and looked out the window. There was a narrow porch at the rear of the carriage house, with a door leading to it, locked from the inside. That was a way out, but not in daylight, because men were stationed outside. Maybe not at night, either, because two agents slept in this room. He walked around the apartment again, checking windows. The back porch was definitely his best bet.

STONE SPENT the afternoon playing games with Peter and checking his answering machine for messages. Nothing more came in, until close to dark, when Dino called again: "I don't understand why you're not returning my calls," he said. "You out of the country, or something?"

It was completely dark by six o'clock, and agents were coming in for dinner. They were taking turns cooking or bringing in pizzas from the local parlor in Washington Depot. Peter preferred the pizzas.

Stone ate one slice, then clutched his gut. "Jesus," he said. "Please excuse me for a few minutes."

He left them sitting around the table and went to a bathroom in the hallway, closing the door, then he got his overcoat from his room, put it on and crept down the hall toward the rear bedroom. There was a roar of laughter from the people at the dining table.

Stone walked quickly across the bedroom, opened the door and stepped out onto the rear porch, closing it quickly behind him. He didn't want anyone feeling a cold draft in the house. There was a fire ladder at one end of the porch, and he climbed down it, then stood at the bottom, his back to the wall, and listened. Somebody coughed.

He peeked around the corner of the house and saw a cigarette glow in the darkness. One of McGonigle's team. His house was only fifty or sixty feet away, separated from the mother property by a high hedge. Stone ran along the hedge and around a corner. He was in full view of the Rocks's driveway, and if anybody drove in, he would be caught in the headlights.

He ran toward the road, looking for a gap in the hedge that had once been a passage between the main house and the gatehouse. It was mostly grown over, but it allowed him to push through the hedge without going to the main road, which might be watched.

He crept across the lawn to the kitchen door of his house and let himself in with his key. From there he ran upstairs in the dark to his bedroom and went to his dressing room. He had to feel for the keypad on the safe, but after a couple of tries, he got it open.

He stuck his small.45 in his pocket and a couple of extra magazines, then he took the box containing the little Keltec.380 that Lance had given him and went back downstairs. He let himself out the kitchen door and walked as quietly around the house as he could, looking for guards. He saw none.

His car was standing where he had left it, and there was no way to keep the interior light from coming on when he opened the door, so he did it and got in as quickly as he could. He put his key into the ignition and turned it to the first position, to disable the ignition lock, then he reached up and turned off the interior light, so it wouldn't come on when he opened the door.

He got out of the car and, with the door open and his hand near the steering wheel, put his shoulder against the central pillar and began pushing the car backward. There was a slight incline to the street, and he picked up speed, turning the wheel when he had to. Once in the street, he continued pushing the car backward until he was nearly to the church. Then he got into the car, started it and, with the lights off, turned past the church and drove down to the main road. He drove past a number of the Gunnery school buildings and took his first right, before he switched on the headlights. He felt exhilarated, as if he had broken out of prison, but he had only a few minutes before they began knocking on the bathroom door, looking for him.

He couldn't call Dino yet, because he wouldn't get cell-phone reception until Bridgewater, if then. He concentrated on driving fast on the curvy country road, much faster than usual. He wanted to get as far away from Washington as he could, as quickly as he could.

Fifteen minutes later he was in Bridgewater, and he switched on his cell phone. The signal was weak, but he finally found a part of the road where it was stronger, where he pulled over and called Dino's cell phone.

"Bacchetti."

"It's Stone."

"Okay, I finally got hold of the parole officer, at home. Rocco Bocca is living at his sister's house in Queens, and I've got two guys watching it. There are two cars in the driveway, so he might be home."

"Do this," Stone said. "Have the detectives knock on the door and ask to see him. Tell him, or whoever's there, that they're checking his alibi for a burglary that fits his MO. At least we'll know whether he's home."

"Okay. You on your cell?"

"Yes, I got away from the group."

"What about Peter?"

"He'll be fine with them; he likes the female agent."

"Are you coming back to the city?"

"Yes, but I don't want to go home; somebody might be watching."

"My place?"

"No. Are you at home?"

"On the way."

"Don't go there. Go to the Carlyle and get a room, under the name of Bocca. I'll come there."

"Okay; I'll go there now."

Stone hung up the phone, which rang immediately. That would be Lance. They would have missed him by now. He didn't answer.

He headed toward the city, staying off the interstate. It would take him longer, but he would be harder to spot. He felt better now, though there was not much reason to. At least he was doing something.