Strategic Moves

TWENTY-FIVE

Pablo Estancia was dressed in tan slacks, a yellow silk shirt, and a nicely tailored dark blue blazer with brass buttons. He seemed perfectly at ease as he surveyed his new companions.

“Now, let’s see,” he said. “The young gentleman is so CIA that he might as well have the letters tattooed on his forehead.”

Todd seemed to blush.

“You, sir,” he said to Mike Freeman, “are too old to be CIA and on this particular mission. I think you are a retired intelligence officer, but considering your accent, not from the United States.” He turned to Holly. “This very attractive woman is mature, yet still involved in Agency activities, probably in a supervisory position.”

They all laughed, then Estancia turned toward Stone and appraised him carefully. “You, sir, are a little too polished-looking, even in those clothes, to be CIA, or even FBI.”

Stone laughed. “So who am I?”

“You are a lawyer,” Estancia said, “but an unconventional one.”

“Not a bad guess for a cold reading,” Stone said.

Estancia chuckled. “This airplane is not military, but CIA,” he said. “No one aboard is in uniform. Where, may I ask, are we heading?”

“To the United States,” Holly replied.

“And where will we land?”

“Not too far from the coast.”

“And then I will be transported to a safe house for interrogation?”

Holly shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Well,” Estancia said, “allow me to make you a promise: I will answer your questions truthfully, in return for immunity from prosecution for myself and my household.”

“Your household?” Todd asked.

“My wife, children, their children, my mistress, and my domestic staff, numbering twelve.”

“We can talk about that,” Holly replied, “once we are settled at our eventual destination.”

“This is a very impressive airplane,” Estancia said. “May I look around?”

Todd looked at Holly. “Why not?”

Mike led Estancia out of the trailer and into the cargo bay.

“Astonishing!” Estancia enthused. “I could ship anything in this aircraft, and as much of it as anyone could buy!” He looked into the cockpit. “Amazing avionics,” he said. “Complete situational awareness at all times. Tell me, did you pick me up at an airport, or on a road?”

“On a road,” Todd replied.

“I thought so.” Estancia stepped forward and peered at the very large multifunctional display in the center of the instrument panel, and at the moving map displayed there. “And I see we are headed for—what is the name of that airport? It used to be an air force base.”

“Stewart International,” Todd said.

“Ah, yes, at Newburgh, north of New York City.”

“Correct,” Todd replied.

“Well, thank you so much for the tour,” Estancia said. “May I return to that very comfortable chair in the caravan?”

“Sure,” Todd replied.

They all trooped back into the trailer. “A nice television,” Estancia said. “Do you have movies? I love movies.”

“Yes,” Mike replied. “What would you like to see?”

“Do you have Singin’ in the Rain?” he asked. “That is my favorite movie. I love Gene Kelly, and Debbie Reynolds is very cute.”

“I think we can manage that,” Mike said. He found the DVD and inserted it into the machine. He also turned on the smaller screen to show the moving map.

“Very nice,” Estancia said. “I enjoy watching our progress. I am very impressed with all the trouble you have gone to, just to get me to the United States. You should have just invited me, and I would have taken my own airplane.”

“What do you fly?” Stone asked.

“A Gulfstream Five,” the man replied. “Very fast, excellent range, very comfortable. Do you have an airplane?”

“Yes, I have a small jet, a Citation Mustang.”

“Isn’t it fun to fly yourself?” Estancia said. “I have my private, my instrument rating, my multi-engine rating, and three jet type ratings. I enjoy being in the left seat.”

The movie started, and Estancia watched it, rapt. Eventually, everyone but Stone moved out of the trailer for one reason or another, leaving him alone with the extractee.

“May I ask your name?” Estancia asked.

“I’m Stone Barrington.”

The two men shook hands.

“Where do you practice law?” Estancia asked.

“In New York City.”

“Do you do criminal trial work?”

“Sometimes.”

“I think I may be in need of a lawyer quite soon,” Estancia said, obviously aware of his understatement. “Do you have a card?”

Stone dug a card from his wallet and handed it to the man.

Estancia gazed at it, seeming to memorize the information, then he stuck it into a jacket pocket and settled down to watch the movie.

Later that night Mike, Todd, and Holly returned to the trailer and got into their bunks.

“We’ll be arriving around four or five a.m., local time,” Holly said to Stone as she pulled up a blanket.

Estancia glanced at his watch, then returned to the movie. He turned down the volume so as not to disturb the others.

Stone woke around four a.m., Eastern time. He had never changed his watch. The others were still in their bunks, but Estancia wasn’t there. He must be back in the cockpit, Stone thought to himself. He glanced at the moving map and saw that they were off the tip of Long Island and were descending through eighteen thousand feet. He splashed some water on his face and left the trailer, taking his jump seat in the cockpit for landing. They were now descending through ten thousand feet over Long Island Sound, approaching the coast. He could see the lights of the towns out the window, and to the south, the glow of New York City.

The others filed in and took their seats.

“Where’s Estancia?” Todd asked.

They all looked around and realized their prisoner was not in the cockpit.

“He must be in the john,” Mike said.

Then a roar began to fill the cockpit, growing louder, and the aircraft seemed to be striking turbulence. Papers in the cockpit were flying around.

“The rear platform is lowering!” the pilot yelled over the noise, and Stone couldn’t hear what he said next over the roar of air.

Everybody got out of the seats, in spite of the turbulence, and moved into the cargo bay, looking for Estancia. Todd looked in the trailer and came back. “He’s not in the john.”

“Good God!” Holly yelled, pointing.

Stone stepped to the other side of the cargo bay and saw the interior lights of the Mercedes on and Estancia at the wheel. He ran toward the car, followed by the others.

Before any of them could reach the car, it reversed, sped down the ramp, and disappeared into the dark night.

Everybody was stunned into silence. Mike recovered first. He walked aft in the airplane, found the switchbox, and closed the rear ramp.

Relative silence returned to the interior of the airplane.

“He committed suicide?” Todd asked.

“No,” Stone said. “He was wearing a parachute.”