The Stolen

19

The phone call was not unexpected, but it rattled

Raymond Benjamin nonetheless. He'd been sitting in his loft, sipping a glass of pinot noir, from the Argyle wineries,

2005 vintage. There were few things that beat a glass of red and a cigarette at night. Perhaps a little Coltrane.

Getting a phone call from this number ruined all of it.

He recognized the area code and extension immediately, and as soon as they appeared in the caller-ID display, Benjamin knew there was a problem. Petrovsky was only supposed to call if there was an emergency. And

Benjamin made it very clear about what constituted an emergency.

He answered the phone. "Doctor," Ray said. "There'd better be a fucking good reason for this."

Raymond Benjamin listened as Dmitri Petrovsky filled him in on what had occurred at the hospital that day. He ended the conversation by saying he'd watched the two people-Henry Parker and Amanda Davies-leave the hospital. Only, when they left, they didn't drive away. In fact, they'd been sitting in their car for several hours.

Petrovsky and Benjamin came to the same conclusion: they were planning to follow the doctor when he left work.

When Ray Benjamin hung up the phone, he sat there for a moment, thinking. Then he got up, tossing the rest of his glass into the sink, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. He called Vince and told him to be at the garage in fifteen minutes. Ray had a lot of phone calls to make.

First he called the house. The couple took it as well as he expected. He told them they'd prepared for a day like this. And if they kept up their end of the deal, it would all be worth it. And if they didn't, he only needed to remind them of the photograph.

When everything was in motion, and Petrovsky confirmed that Parker was still at Yardley, Ray Benjamin went to the garage. Vince was waiting for him. Vincent Cann was a tall, slender man of thirty-eight. His jet-black hair was slicked back, his face clean-shaven as always. A pair of designer sunglasses sat on his face. He nodded when he saw Benjamin approaching.

"Clusterfuck, ain't it, boss?"

Ray answered by not answering at all.

They piled into the car. Ray opened his window a crack.

The younger man was chewing gum, his jaws working overtime. Ray reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh pack of Chesterfields. He depressed the electric lighter, unwrapped the pack, stuck the cig in his mouth and waited.

Vince said, "Should we get going?"

"Wait a second," the older man said. The lighter wasn't ready yet.

When the metal knob popped out, Ray took the end, pressed it to the tip and inhaled deeply. There was nothing like a good Chesterfield. When the butt was half smoked, a long finger of ash hanging off the end, Ray flicked it out the window.

"Clear your schedule for the next few days," Ray said to Vince as he pulled into traffic. "We're going to be busy cleaning this mess up, and there's not a lot of time."