“I beg your pardon? There’s no one here by that name.”
“He’s in the back room with Ali, and this is an emergency. Put him on and quickly!”
“Yes?” Lance’s voice said, warily.
“It’s Stone Barrington. Two very large Middle Eastern gentlemen are in the building looking for you at this moment. I’ve met them before, and they are not friendly.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If I were you, I’d get out of there right now. I have a cab waiting at the corner, near the King’s Road entrance to the building. You don’t have much time.”
Lance’s voice could be heard, but muffled, as if his hand were over the receiver, then he came back on. “We’ll be right there,” he said.
Stone put the phone in his pocket and ran through the rain to the cab, not bothering with his umbrella.
“Where to, guv?” the cabbie asked.
“Just wait. We’re being joined by some other people.”
“Whatever you say, guv.”
A moment later, Lance and his two friends dived into the cab. “Get us out of here,” Lance said to the driver. He turned to Stone. “Now,” he said, “what’s going on?”
They drove past the black limousine. “You recognize that car?” Stone asked.
“No.”
“The two gentlemen I described were in it; they followed you from your house.”
“How do you know that?”
“I was on my way to see you when you came out of the house; they followed you, so I followed them.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I had a rather unpleasant encounter with them and some friends of theirs earlier today,” Stone said. “I wanted to spare you the same experience, or worse.”
“Who are they?”
“I had hoped you could tell me. The man they work for is bald, with a bullet-shaped head.”
“Does that sound familiar?” Lance asked Ali and Sheila.
Both shook their heads.
They had driven around the block and were now on the opposite side of the antiques market building. As they drove toward the King’s Road, a section of the building exploded outward, followed a split second later by a huge roar. The cabbie, without a word, executed a speedy U-turn.
“I believe that was your shop,” Stone said to Ali and Sheila.
Lance was suddenly on a cellphone, punching in a number and waiting impatiently for an answer. “Erica,” he said, “I want you to leave the house right this minute; go to Monica’s gallery; take nothing with you. Do you understand? I’ll explain later; just get out of there immediately!” He ended the call and turned to Stone. “Thank you,” he said.
“Not at all,” Stone replied. “But now perhaps you’ll tell me what the hell is going on.”
Chapter 31
LANCE STARED OUT THE CAB WINDOW at the rainy streets. He had not answered Stone’s request. “Tell me about your encounter with these people,” he said.
Stone related his tale of being abducted and interrogated. When he had finished, Lance still said nothing for a long moment. “Sounds like the Mossad to me.”
“We’ve got to get out of the country,” Ali said. “They just proved that to us.”
“No, not yet,” Lance replied, still looking out the window. Once Erica is out of the house, they won’t know where to find us.”
“Where are we going?” Sheila asked.
Lance opened the partition and gave the driver an address. “To Monica’s gallery; we’ll figure it out there.”
The gallery was in
“Can you wait for us?” Lance asked the cabbie.
“As long as you like, mate,” the cabbie replied. He lowered his voice. “The other bloke knows you’re having his wife off, you know; I can’t wait to see what happens.”
Stone heard this and laughed.
“What is he talking about?” Lance asked as they turned toward the gallery.
“I had to tell him something,” Stone said. They went inside.
Monica Burroughs was sitting at a desk in the large gallery, talking to Sarah Buckminster, who was seated next to her, looking at some slides. “Oh, hello,” she said, as Stone and Lance approached.
“Is Erica here?” Lance asked.
“No, is she supposed to be?”
Lance went to the window and looked out into the street.
Sarah came around the desk and pecked Stone on the cheek. “What’s up? Lance looks worried.”
“There’s been a little trouble,” Stone said. “Lance asked Erica to meet him here.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
Lance was pacing up and down, checking outside often. He came to where Stone and Sarah stood. “I’m going to go and get her,” he said.
“Wait a few minutes,” Stone replied. “She’s probably on her way; she wouldn’t be there when you got there.”
As if to prove his point, Erica came through the front door, breathless. “I’m sorry to take so long; I couldn’t get a cab in this rain. What’s happening?” she asked Lance.
“We have to move, and right away,” Lance replied.
“Why?”
“There’s been . . . some trouble; I don’t want to go into it right now, but our house isn’t safe at the moment. We can go back later and pick up some things.”
Erica looked at Stone. “Will
“It’s best if you just do as Lance says for the moment,” Stone replied. “Lance, do you have anywhere to go?”
“I’m thinking,” Lance said. “I suppose we could find a small hotel somewhere.”
“James’s house,” Sarah said suddenly.
“What?” Lance asked.
“James’s house; there’s no one there but the housekeeper; there’s plenty of room for, what, the four of you?” She nodded toward Ali and Sheila.
“Are you sure that will be all right, Sarah?” Lance asked.
“Of course.” She began rummaging in her large handbag. “I’ve got the key here somewhere.” She came up with it, handed it to Lance, and gave him the address, in
“Thank you, Sarah,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “Come on, everybody, let’s move.”
Stone walked out with them and gave the cabbie a fifty-pound note. “Thanks for your help,”
