this translates into an immediate threat against Pablo?'
'Oh, yes,' Lance said, as if he had been misunderstood. 'If what happened at my brother's Lake Waramaug house is any indication.'
Stone waved for another bourbon. 'All right, what happened at Lake Waramaug?'
'The house was set afire by unknown arsonists about an hour ago. It's still burning.'
'Was anyone hurt?'
'No, but the house is going to be a total loss, and I'm going to have to find the money to pay for its rebuilding and the replacement of certain valuable antiques. God, it may take an act of Congress.'
Stone was appalled. 'No insurance?'
'Well, yes, but filing a claim would just provoke a lot of unwanted questions from a claim adjuster, and those might find their way to a congressional committee.'
'I see,' Stone said.
'Stone,' Lance said, 'if you know where Pablo is, you'd better get him out of the country, and pronto.'
'Pronto,' Stone repeated tonelessly.
'Yes,' Lance said.
'Excuse me for a minute,' Stone said. He went into the empty dining room next door, the one Elaine used for big parties, and called Pablo.
'Yes?'
'It's Stone.'
'Good evening.'
'What time can your airplane be at the place we discussed?'
'I'm told by the pilot ten a.m. tomorrow morning.'
'Then I need to pick you up at eight a.m. sharp. Where can we meet?'
Pablo gave him an Upper East Side address. 'We will be standing just inside the door of the building promptly at eight. What will you be driving?'
'A black Mercedes E55 sedan,' Stone said.
'You sound very concerned,' Pablo said.
'I am, but I can't tell you any more now. I'll explain everything on the way to the place.'
'All right,' Pablo said. 'Should I be armed?'
'It couldn't hurt,' Stone said. They said goodbye and hung up.
Stone returned to the table, where Lance and Dino were ordering dinner. 'Spinach salad, chopped; rib eye, medium rare,' Stone said to the waiter.
'Did you manage to make contact?'
'Yes,' Stone replied.
'Did you impress upon him the danger he's in?'
'No,' Stone said, 'it would have just made him nervous, and I don't want him nervous.'
'Anything I can do to help?' Lance asked.
'Please, Lance,' Stone said, 'don't help any more.'
SIXTY
At a quarter to eight the following morning, Stone opened his garage door, walked out to the sidewalk and looked around. His street was uncharacteristically empty, and he was grateful for that. He backed out of the garage, closing the door with the remote, drove up to Park Avenue and took a right.
He turned left in the East Sixties and saw the awning with Pablo's street address on it. He did not stop, but drove slowly around the block, checking both sides of the street for loitering men and his rearview mirror for a tail. Nothing.
He circled the block and pulled up in front of Pablo's building, pressing the button that unlocked the doors. Pablo and his wife hurried from the building, each carrying only a small duffel, and jumped into the rear seat.
'Put your luggage on the front passenger seat,' Stone said, again watching both sides of the street, 'and keep an eye out for trouble.'
He turned up Madison Avenue, then left on East Sixty-sixth. A moment later they were crossing Central Park. Stone took the opportunity to check his rearview mirror again, and he did not like what he saw. 'Black Range Rover behind us,' he said. 'Three men.'
'That's my car,' Pablo said, 'with my two security men and my butler, who will return to the city with the car when we are gone.'
Stone took a few deep breaths and tried to get his pulse to return to normal. 'How are your men's driving skills?' he asked.
'Excellent,' Pablo said, 'particularly the one now driving.'
'Good. I don't want to have to worry about them if we have to evade something.' Leaving the park, he turned right on Central Park West, then left on West Seventy-second Street. A few blocks later he turned north on the West Side Highway and increased his speed to seventy miles an hour.
Soon they were on the Henry Hudson Parkway, with its well-engineered curves and its beautiful stone bridges, constructed by Roosevelt's Works Progress Administration in the 1930s. He drove north for another three- quarters of an hour, then joined I-684, heading north. Traffic was light, and they were making good time. Stone chose this time to tell Pablo about the events of the day before.
'I'm sorry to hear that,' Pablo said. 'It was a very beautiful house. I feel I should pay for it.'
'Let Lance Cabot worry about that,' Stone said. 'He has deep enough pockets, and it was his fault anyway. He knows that.'
'There's something else I feel I should do,' Pablo said, 'that I would like you to do for me.'
Stone heard the sound of a check being ripped from a checkbook, and it was handed forward. It was made out in the amount of $100,000, to the doctor in Rye into whose swimming pool the Agency's Mercedes had landed.
'Would you send that to the gentleman with my apologies for the inconvenience?'
'Of course,' Stone said, 'but I'm sure he has already convinced his insurance company that he is covered for falling objects.'
'Nevertheless,' Pablo said.
Stone turned onto I-84 and drove east. Past the Southbury exit he got off the interstate and drove on surface roads toward Oxford-Waterbury Airport. The Range Rover kept pace. Stone made the final turn into the airport road and looked up. 'Look,' he said, 'Gulfstream landing; that's very good timing.' The big airplane settled behind the trees.
Stone drove up the hill to the little terminal building. He didn't try to drive through the gate, figuring it would take too much time to get it opened, but pulled into a parking space. 'Let's go,' he said, getting out of the car. The Range Rover had pulled in beside them, and three men got out.
Stone grabbed the two duffels in the front seat. 'Follow me,' he said. He trotted through the little lobby and was buzzed out through the doors to the ramp, where the Gulfstream sat, its engines running, its door open. He shook Pablo's hand and hustled the party aboard, and as the door closed, Stone turned back toward the building and saw a gray van come to a halt at the locked gate to the ramp.
Stone grabbed the butler's arm and hustled him back through the building. 'There's a van at the gate to the ramp,' Stone called to the receptionist. 'Don't open it or there will be trouble.' He hustled the butler outside. 'Get out of here,' he said, getting into his own car. As he waited for the man to back the Range Rover out, he looked toward the van and saw a bearded man arguing with the intercom at the gate, and then he saw the Gulfstream turn onto a taxiway and head for the runway.
Stone got the car started, then got out his cell phone and called Lance.
'This is Cabot,' Lance said.
'It's Stone. I'm at the Oxford-Waterbury Airport in Oxford, Connecticut, and I've just put our friend on an airplane, which is about to take off. There is a van with four men inside trying to get out onto the ramp.' As he
