“Oliver!”
He looked to his right. Reuben had driven his motorcycle up on the sidewalk and was speeding directly at him. He slowed just enough to allow Stone to dive into the sidecar. Reuben flew over the curb, back onto the street and gunned the motorcycle with Stone’s long legs sticking straight up out of the sidecar.
Reuben, whose knowledge of the streets of D.C. nearly equaled Stone’s, made a series of rights and lefts before he slowed the bike, eased into a dark alley and came to a stop behind a Dumpster. By this time Stone had righted himself in the sidecar. He looked up at his friend. “Your timing couldn’t have been better, Reuben. Thanks.”
“When you didn’t call, I circled back around. The van started to move and I followed it.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t spot you. This motorcycle does tend to stick out.”
“Who the hell are those guys?”
Stone told his friend about the run-in with the Secret Service.
Reuben said, “There aren’t many agencies that can make the Service turn tail on its own turf.”
“I can think of maybe two: CIA and NSA. Neither one gives me much comfort.”
“What do you think they wanted?”
“I first spotted the van outside the rare book shop. It might have been following us before then, though.”
“At DeHaven’s?” Reuben snapped his fingers. “You think this has something to do with that Cornelius Behan prick? He’s probably joined at the hip with the spy guys.”
“It might, considering the timing.”
Reuben looked nervous. “Oliver, if they were following us, do you think they might have had a tail on Caleb and Milton?”
Stone was already on his phone. He reached Caleb and told him some of what had happened and put his phone away. “He just dropped Milton off at home. They didn’t see anyone, but they probably wouldn’t have.”
“But what did we do to get spooks after us? We told Behan what we were doing there. What interest could he have in DeHaven?”
“He might have an interest if he knew how DeHaven died. Or perhaps more accurately, how he was
“You’re saying Behan might have had his neighbor killed? Why?”
“You just said it, his
Reuben snorted. “On Good Fellow Street, with the rich and obnoxious?”
“It’s all speculation, but the fact remains that if you hadn’t shown up, I’m not sure what would’ve happened to me.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Since it seems no one was concerned about us until we went to Jonathan DeHaven’s house, we start there. We find out whether the man was murdered or not.”
“I was afraid that’s what you were going to say.”
Stone settled himself in the sidecar, this time with his legs where they ought to be. Reuben started the motorcycle and they set off.
The men in the van reported in to a very upset Roger Seagraves.
“We could’ve taken the old guy even though his buddy showed up, but we figured it might be too dicey,” one man said over the phone.
Seagraves stared at his secure phone for a moment, thinking what his next move should be. “They were at DeHaven’s for how long?”
“Over five hours.”
“And then to a rare book shop, and then you followed them to the White House.”
“Yep. One of them has a tent in Lafayette Park. And according to the Secret Service, his name is Oliver Stone. What a joke!”
“He spotted your tail, so I don’t know how much of a joke he is,” Seagraves snapped. “And I don’t like you flashing your creds around, especially to the Service.”
“We just got in a jam and had to do it. But we
“But not on official duty tonight,” Seagraves shot back.
“So what do you want us to do?”
“Nothing. I want to check out Mr. Stone more thoroughly. I’ll be in touch.” Seagraves hung up.
CHAPTER 16
IT WAS RAINING AND CHILLY IN Newark when the plane touched down. Annabelle now sported brown hair,
