Strategic Moves

FIFTY-EIGHT

Stone tried to think of what to do. “Pablo, how did you get away from the Washington market?”

“One of my security people met us out back with a rental car and drove us here. He’s gone, now, to return the car.”

“Then Lance will soon find out about the rental car. What happened to the other one?”

“My other security guard returned it to Newburgh.”

“Where do you want to go, Pablo?”

“To Switzerland.”

Stone shook his head. “No, Aarons knows about that house; he told me so. I imagine he already has people there.”

Pablo thought about that. “I have a friend who has a country house in the south of England. I have not been there for some years, so I have no noticeable connection to it.”

“You’re sure that Aarons isn’t aware of it?”

“I can’t see how he would know about it,” Pablo said. “As I said, I haven’t been there for a long time, and Aarons’s interest in me is very recent.”

“Where is your airplane?”

“At Gulfstream, in Georgia, having some avionics issues resolved.”

“How soon could you get it to the Northeast?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“There’s an airport near Washington called Oxford. It has a five-thousand-foot runway.”

“Wouldn’t Lance’s people be watching it?”

Stone shook his hand. “They will check it today, but Lance doesn’t have enough people around there to watch every airport. Anyway, since you have opted out of the surveillance he arranged, you have relieved him of the necessity to protect you. I’ve seen a G-Four take off from there, but probably not with full fuel.”

“I think we would need at least six thousand feet with full fuel.”

“Then have your people fly up from Georgia and land at Oxford but not refuel. That way, they won’t even have to stop the engines. You can land at Gander, in Newfoundland, and top off there.”

“That seems a good plan,” Pablo said.

“Can you get in touch with your friend in England?”

“I’ll call him now,” Pablo said. He produced a cell phone and made the call. A conversation in French ensued, then he hung up. “All arranged,” he said. “We can land at Blackbushe, in southern England, and he’ll have us met.”

A woman came into Stone’s office, and Pablo introduced his wife, a petite, beautiful woman about twenty years Pablo’s junior.

“I’ll drive you to Oxford tomorrow,” Stone said. “You two can stay here tonight.”

“I think we’ll be fine at our New York apartment,” Pablo said. “I’ve never told anybody about it, and my security people will be there.”

Joan buzzed. “A Mr. Aaron Beck to see you,” she said.

“Quick,” Stone said to the couple, “out the back. You know the way through the garden, Pablo.”

Pablo and his wife hurried out of his office, and Stone asked Joan to send in Mr. Beck.

Moishe Aarons walked in, followed by two large young men.

“Mr. Aarons,” Stone said sarcastically, “what a nice surprise.”

“Where is Pablo?” Aarons asked.

“Are you going to start that again?” Stone asked, opening his center desk drawer and extracting a pad and pen. He left the drawer open.

“Mr. Barrington,” Aarons said, “you have exhausted my patience.”

“And you, mine,” Stone replied.

“Search the house,” Aarons said, motioning the two men forward.

Stone produced a .45 semiautomatic from his desk drawer. “Hold it right there,” he said.

“You’re not going to fire at us,” Aarons said, but he didn’t move.

“I can shoot all three of you dead before you can move, and nobody will blame me. You are intruders and I am licensed for the weapon.”

“I’m licensed, too,” Joan said from the door, and she racked the slide on her own .45.

The three men turned and looked at her. She had assumed a firing stance.

Aarons turned back toward Stone. “I want Pablo,” he said.

“Well, you can’t have him,” Stone replied. “At least, not from me. Try Lance Cabot again; he seems to be a productive source for you.”

“I don’t have time,” Aarons replied.

“And I don’t have any more time for you,” Stone said. “Now, hear this: from this moment I am going to consider you and your people a threat to my life and act accordingly, and I am a very good shot.” That was a lie, but he doubted if Aarons had perused his range record at the NYPD. Dino was always needling him about his mediocre shooting performance.

“Place your hands on your head, turn and walk out of the building,” Stone said. “If you call again I’ll hang up on you, and if you come back I’ll fire on you. Is that clear?”

The three men did as Stone had ordered, and Joan locked the door behind them.

“Very good,” Stone said from his office door. “I particularly liked your firing stance.”

“That’s what they taught me at the range,” Joan said, “but I doubt if I could have hit any of them with this thing; it weighs a ton.”

“Only thirty-nine ounces,” Stone said.

“That’s two and a half pounds,” Joan pointed out, “and I’m a small girl.”

The phone rang, and Joan answered. “Mike Freeman for you,” she said.

Stone walked back to his desk and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“It’s Mike.”

“Hello, Mike. It must be a beautiful day on Lake Waramaug.”

“I’m in New York,” Mike said.

“A pity; it’s gorgeous up there.”

“You know, don’t you?”

Stone now had to decide between his two clients. “Lance called,” he said, avoiding the decision.

“I’m embarrassed,” Mike said. “I’ve already fired the two men who let it happen.”

“I wouldn’t be too hard on them,” Stone said. “After all, we have to assume he’s still safe, just not in custody, so to speak.”

“We checked all the airports in the area,” Mike said. “No sign of Pablo.”

“I wouldn’t try too hard to find him,” Stone replied. “He doesn’t seem to want protecting anymore.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Mike said. “We’ll stand down.”

Stone hung up. Now, he thought, if I could just be sure that the Mossad and Al Qaeda have stood down.