dozen of them were people I didn’t know or had never heard of.”
“We’ll want to pay particular attention to those, as they enter.”
“I’ll speak to the receptionist,” Bergman replied.
They entered the gallery, which was empty of guests, so far. “Everything looks wonderful, Sarah,” Stone said. “Will you excuse me for just a moment? I’d like to talk with Edgar and his receptionist.”
They walked to the desk at the front door, and Stone was introduced to the young woman who sat behind it and to Bergman’s wife.
“Here’s how I plan to work it,” Bergman said. “My wife and I will be near the door, greeting the guests as they enter. If someone comes in whom I don’t know, I’ll simply turn and look at you and nod. Is that all right?”
“That’s very good,” Stone said. “I won’t be far away.”
“This is already nerve-wracking,” Bergman said.
“I’m sure everything will be all right; there are two policemen in the street and my man at the back door.” Stone looked toward the display of paintings, walked over, and examined one he particularly liked. He came back to Bergman. “How much is number thirty-six?” he asked.
Bergman consulted the catalogue. “That’s six thousand dollars; it’s one of the smaller pieces.”
“Please mark it sold,” Stone said, handing a credit card to the receptionist.
“I’d be delighted.”
“Which two did Mr. Bianchi buy?”
“Why, number…” Bergman looked startled. “How did you know that? The transaction was done under the strictest confidence. He would be very upset if he thought I had told anyone.”
“It was just a guess; I had dinner with him last night, and he mentioned Sarah’s work.”
“I see,” Bergman said, looking relieved. “He bought numbers six – over there by the flowers – and number fourteen, the big one in the center of the north wall.”
“He has a keen eye,” Stone said, looking at the paintings.
“Yes, he does, and I hope you’ll hold that transaction in the strictest confidence. He’s been a good customer for a long time, and I have no wish to alienate him.”
“Of course,” Stone replied. He looked up and saw Dino coming through the door in a tuxedo. “Don’t you look dapper?” he said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dino replied. “I talked to Anderson and Kelly outside. Is anybody on the back door?”
“Bob Berman; he’s driving us.”
“Okay”
Stone explained the procedure for identifying guests the Bergmans didn’t know.
“I guess we’ve got it covered,” Dino said. “You nervous?”
“Yes.”
“So am I; I wish this weren’t happening. That piece in the
“Me, too. We’ve done everything we can; let’s try to relax and enjoy the party.”
“You relax,” Dino said. “I’ll be nervous.”
Guests began to arrive, first in a trickle, then in large numbers. Stone watched the Bergmans as the people came in and, occasionally, he got a nod from Edgar or his wife. Dino did everything but search the strangers, but everybody behaved well.
At the peak of the party, Stone turned to Dino. “You got it covered here? I want to take a look outside.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Stone slipped outside and looked up and down the street. Everything seemed normal. He could see Anderson and Kelly sitting in their car, parked across the street. Then he noticed the van.
It wasn’t black; instead, it was an anonymous gray, with no markings. He looked into the front seat; there was a map of the city on the passenger seat, but nothing else in sight. There were no side windows, and the small windows in the rear door had been soaped over. Stone stepped back and made a note of the license number, then walked across the street and rapped on the window of the police car. Kelly rolled down the window a couple of inches.
“Yeah?”
Stone tore off the sheet from his notebook and handed it through the window. “Run this plate,” he said.
“What’s it from?”
“The gray van in front of the gallery.”
“That was there when we got here,” Kelly said. “I don’t see a problem.”
“Just run the plate, Kelly.”
Anderson took the slip of paper from Kelly and got on the radio. A minute later, he got out of the car and spoke to Stone across the car’s roof. “The plate belongs to a 1996 Buick Century, stolen in Queens this afternoon.”
“Call the bomb squad,” Stone said, and started across the street. The light changed, and a raft of traffic forced him back. Impatient, he dodged through the stream of cars and walked quickly into the gallery. Bergman and his wife had abandoned their post by the door, and the receptionist was dealing with payment for pictures. “Excuse me,” Stone said to the receptionist, “we’re going to have to move you.”
“I don’t understand,” the young woman said, looking around for her boss. “Mr. Bergman didn’t say anything…”
“Just do it,” Stone said, with urgency in his voice. He spotted Dino and waved him over.
“What’s up?”
“There’s a van with a stolen plate parked directly in front of the gallery; we’re going to have to get these people out the back door right now.”
Dino nodded. “Let’s do it quietly.” He walked over to a group of people and spoke to them, pointing the way to the rear of the gallery.
Stone was about to join him, when he saw that the receptionist and her customers were still at their business. Stone took the man by the elbow. “Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you, but everyone is going to have to leave the gallery through the rear door. Would you and your wife please walk back that way.” He could hear sirens coming up Madison Avenue.
“I don’t understand,” the man said, annoyed at being interrupted. “I wouldn’t want somebody else to get my picture.”
“Please don’t worry about that; this is just a security precaution.”
The man reluctantly took his wife’s arm and steered her toward the rear of the room.
Bergman walked up, looking panicky. “What’s going on?”
“A suspicious van outside; please help Dino get all these people out the back door.”
“Right in the middle of an opening? Are you crazy?”
“Mr. Bergman, this is very serious. Don’t waste another second, and get this woman out of here,” he said, indicating the receptionist. Bergman did as he was asked.
Sarah came over, “Stone, what’s happening?”
“Possibility of a bomb outside,” he whispered. “A crew is on the way to deal with it, now let me get you out of here.” He started to move away from the front of the gallery, then, as an afterthought, he went back to the front window and drew the heavy wool curtains. “Let’s go,” he said to Sarah, taking her arm.
At that moment there was a huge noise, and the front-window curtains billowed as the plate glass behind them exploded inward.
33
STONE WAS THROWN THROUGH THE AIR, taking Sarah with him, landing hard on the gallery’s marble floor. He lay, dazed, on top of her, and then he realized she was struggling to get out from under him. He rolled over. “Are you all right?” he asked, groggily.
Sarah said nothing, but scrambled up and began running toward the back of the gallery, screaming.
Stone got unsteadily to his feet as Dino arrived and slipped an arm around him. He looked back at the window: the window frame was empty, and fragments of broken glass were everywhere. The heavy wool curtains had
