by Stuart Woods
First Helga, then Stone were hustled out of the van and presented to the big Russian. Majorov first glared at Stone, then smiled a little.
“Well, Mr. Barrington,” he said, putting away his phone, “you have given me quite a chase.”
“Fun, wasn’t it?” Stone asked. The man behind him with the pistol rapped him sharply on the head. “You know,” Stone said, “unless you take these apes in hand, you’re just going to slow down the process.”
“What process is that?” Majorov asked.
“You must have something in mind, or we wouldn’t all be here, would we?”
Majorov held up a hand before the man could hit Stone again. “All right, all right,” he said. “Now to business.”
“I thought you’d never get around to it,” Stone said. “Your message said me for her. I’m here, let her go.”
“First, we have some formalities to complete.” He set his briefcase on the hood of the Mercedes and opened it.
“You don’t need her for formalities,” Stone said. “Let her go now.”
“Mr. Barrington, you are hardly in a position to give me orders,” Majorov said irritably.
Stone didn’t bother to reply.
“Now,” Majorov said, taking a sheaf of neatly printed documents from the briefcase. “I will need your signature in a dozen or so places.”
“For what?” Stone asked.
“We are going to execute a transfer of your stock in The Arrington Corporation to a company that I own in Paris, then a sum of money will be transferred to whatever bank account you wish. Miss Becker will witness your signature.” He nodded to the man standing next to Helga; he produced a switchblade knife and cut the bonds that held her hands behind her back. She held up her limp hands. “My hands are numb,” she said to Majorov. “I can’t hold a pen.”
Majorov sighed and spoke to the man with the switchblade. “Massage her wrists.”
The man closed the knife and tucked it into his belt, then did as he was told.
While they were occupied with Helga’s circulation, Stone took a moment to look around. At one end of the building, perhaps thirty feet away, was the top end of a steel ladder, hooked across the building’s parapet. Fire escape; the only way down, except for the ramp they had driven up. He looked at Helga; she had spotted it, too.
Stone looked around them for weapons. The man behind him still had the silenced pistol, and the man massaging Helga’s wrists had the switchblade, but those were the only weapons in evidence. He had no doubt, though, that the others were well armed. If he could get his hands on the silenced pistol, he might get off three or four shots before anybody could get ahold of a weapon and fire back, but he was going to need some sort of distraction.
Helga, thoughtfully, provided that. Her guard had stopped massaging and pulled out the switchblade again. She lifted a leg and drove the six-inch spike heel of her shoe through his shoe and foot. He screamed and let go of the knife, which Helga caught before it hit the ground. She grabbed him by the hair, jerked him around, and stood behind him, the knife to his throat. “Now, please, everyone will throw the guns over the edge of the building.”
Majorov turned to the man with the silenced pistol and jerked his head toward the man with the knife to his throat. The man raised his pistol and shot his colleague in the chest. Helga held him on his feet for protection.
Stone seized the moment, grabbed the pistol by the silencer, and wrenched it from the man’s hand. Then things began to happen very fast.
57
Stone shot the man whose gun he had taken, because he liked him the least, though he wasn’t very fond of the others, either. That left only Majorov and one other man, who was clawing at his clothing, trying in his nervous condition to come up with a weapon. Majorov just stared with an expression of mild surprise at the change in his fortunes.
Stone trained the pistol on the other man, who stopped groping himself and put his hands on top of his head.
Helga dropped the dead man she had been holding by the neck for cover, went to the surrendered man, and frisked him expertly, coming up with a .45 automatic, then she began striding toward Majorov.
“Now, Miss Becker,” Majorov said, backing away from her.
She raked his face with the barrel of the .45, then, when he leaned back against the Mercedes, kicked him in the knee.
Majorov fell to the concrete deck, yelling—no doubt swearing—in Russian. A gust of wind came up and scattered the papers that had been stacked on the hood of the Mercedes.
“Nicely done,” Stone said, starting to embrace her, but she was going over Majorov’s fallen form with care, tossing two guns and a knife onto the deck.
When she had finished, Stone gave her a hug and a kiss, but not before she had kicked Majorov in the ribs. She seemed to appreciate the affection but then became businesslike. “Now, we must decide how we must dispose of these two,” she said.
“Dispose?” Stone asked.
“If we let them be taken by the police, then there will be only a big mess, with lawyers and bail money, et cetera. I know these things, I have watched all the episodes of Law & Order, you see.”
“I see,” Stone said tonelessly.
Majorov’s henchman, hearing this conversation and seeing them momentarily distracted, made a dive for one of Majorov’s pistols.
Helga turned and shot him with his own gun. “Good,” she said, “now we have only to deal with Mr. Majorov.”
Majorov had struggled into a sitting position and was leaning against the Mercedes, clutching his knee, while blood dribbled from his broken nose and off his chin. “Really, now, Mr. Barrington. Surely you are too civilized a gentleman to listen to such ill-considered talk from this woman.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Stone said, “I think she’s making a lot of sense.”
“Let me offer a more businesslike alternative—two alternatives, actually.”
“Go on,” Stone said.
“Why don’t we just throw him off the building?” Helga asked. “We can say he ran, then fell.”
“That’s certainly a possibility,” Stone said, “but I want to hear what his idea of business is.”
“Very wise, Mr. Barrington,” Majorov said. “There is a piece of luggage in the trunk of my car containing two million dollars in cash. My travel expense money. Why don’t you take that—and the car, if you wish—and just go home? I’ll clean up here, and the police need never know about these events.”
Helga spoke up. “Why don’t we throw him off the building, then take the money and the car?”
“You see,” Stone said to Majorov, “she’s really thinking very clearly.”
“Yes, Mr. Barrington,” Majorov said, “and I admire her acuity. However, then you would still be left with elaborate explanations to the police, and some risk to yourselves.”
“He has a point,” Stone said to Helga. “Neither of us really needs the money, and I already have two cars, so why don’t we just hog-tie him and wait for Dino to figure out where we are. In fact,” he said, getting out his iPhone, “I can satisfy his curiosity right now.”
“Really, Mr. Barrington,” Majorov said, “there is no need for this pig-tying business. I have been crippled, you see, so I will not be fleeing. It is quite impossible in my condition.”
“You’re breaking my heart,” Stone said.
“And you didn’t listen to my second alternative,” Majorov said.
“You’re right, I didn’t.”
“The second alternative is to wait here for another minute or so, when this rooftop will be flooded with my associates, whom I have already asked to join me here. They will be heavily armed and not so inclined to be as businesslike as I.”
Stone had just pressed the speed-dial button for Dino when, with a roar, two unmarked NYPD police cars shot onto the roof from the ramp and spilled
out Dino, Holly, Paddy, and Stanley, each waving a weapon.
“It looks like you didn’t need us,” Dino said, surveying the rooftop carnage and the cringing Majorov.
“Well, Dino,” Stone said, “if what Majorov has just told me is true, not only do we need you, but we may need reinforcements, as well.”
Then, from somewhere, came the beat of helicopter blades, and a large, evil-looking chopper rose from below the building’s parapet and turned sideways, revealing a wide-open door and several men inside, bristling with automatic weapons.
58
Everyone stood, transfixed, staring at the helicopter and its deadly cargo. Majorov used this moment to slither around the Mercedes and begin to hobble painfully toward the machine.
Then, as one man, Stone and his group dived behind the Mercedes as the firing began. The Mercedes, which seemed brand-new, began to disintegrate into small pieces of flying glass and metal, as did the two police cars behind it.
“Stay behind the engine,” Stone yelled, and they all huddled more closely together.
“This car will be gone in a minute,” Dino pointed out.
“Just stay behind the engine!” Stone yelled.
Then the firing, unaccountably, stopped. Instead of automatic weapons fire, Stone could hear the sound of a second helicopter.
“I hope to God they don’t have reinforcements coming,” Dino said.
Stone took the opportunity to peep from behind the remains of the Mercedes and saw Majorov being assisted into the big helicopter, then the machine turning away from the building. “It’s leaving,” he said. Then another helicopter hove into view, and this one was a welcome sight.
“Dino,” Stone said, “check this out. Is that a Black Hawk?”
“I believe it is,” Dino said.
“And, Holly, is that Rick LaRose behind the machine gun in the firing bay?”
Holly popped up. “One and the same!”
Rick gave them a wave as his chopper turned in pursuit of Majorov’s transport, which was beating its way at top speed toward the beach.
Stone stood up. “Is anybody hit?”
“Strangely enough, no,” Holly said.
Helga, Stanley, and Paddy got to their feet.
They all turned and looked at the two police cars that had brought them there, which were in approximately the same condition as the Mercedes.
“Anybody seen my Lincoln?” Paddy asked.
“I think I saw it on a lower level as we came up,” Holly said.
“Go find it, Paddy,” Dino said, and Paddy trotted off toward the ramp.
They all turned and watched the progress of the two helicopters and found themselves witnessing a running air battle. The two machines were banking and swerving just off the beach, four or five blocks away, and the view from the five-story parking garage gave them a princely perch for watching.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like this,” Stone said as the two choppers continued to exchange bursts of fire, nearly at wave height, lit by the lights of Brighton Beach and Coney Island.
Then, as they watched, a small puff of black smoke erupted from the engine area of the Majorov machine, and it began to yaw and look less controllable. Then the chopper began a long, slow turn in toward the beach, and people began to spill from the helicopter into the sea, perhaps ten feet below. A moment later the machine vanished in a huge ball of fire as the fuel tank exploded.
Two police helicopters now converged from the edges of the conflict and began to pick up survivors. The Black Hawk climbed a few feet and turned back toward the garage. It hovered overhead and switched on some floodlights, illuminating the top deck of the garage, then it sank slowly until it touched down and its engines were brought to idle.
Rick LaRose hopped out of the machine and strode toward them, smiling broadly. “Everybody here okay?” he yelled.
“We’ve got three dead,” Stone said, pointing toward Majorov’s men, whose bodies had been further ripped by the fire from the helicopter. “All opposition.”
“Was Majorov aboard the helicopter?” Rick asked.
“We saw him get aboard,” Stone replied. “Has his body been recovered?”
“I haven’t heard yet,” Rick said, “but they were low enough when they abandoned ship that there should be survivors. Some of them were making for the beach when I last saw them.”
“If they make it ashore,” Dino said, “they’ll disappear into the Russian population out here, and they’ll be tough to find.”
“Dino,” Stone said, “if in the unhappy event that Majorov made it ashore, he will be heading for an airport as we speak, probably to his own airplane.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Holly said, reaching for her phone. “I can order a federal presence to every airport in the greater New York area. Inside an hour or two, nobody will exit the country that we don’t want to leave.” She pressed a button and began talking.
“Can I offer anyone a lift to the East Side Heliport?” Rick asked.
“You bet your ass you can,” Stone said.
The Lincoln came up the ramp with Paddy at the wheel.
“I’ll take my car,” Dino said.
Stone herded Holly, Helga, and Stanley toward the waiting Black Hawk.
They were nearly there when Helga stopped. “Just a moment,” she said. “I forgot my luggage.”
She returned to the remains of the Mercedes, rummaged in what had been the trunk, and came up with a small, tattered alligator suitcase, then she returned to the Black Hawk and was helped aboard.
Everybody buckled in, the rotors began to spin noisily, and the big helicopter lifted off and turned toward the sea. As it turned again to follow the shoreline back to Manhattan, they could see the scattered fires and oily smoke that had been the Majorov chopper.
“My people have recovered the black Mercedes van,” Holly said over the intercom. “I’ve asked them to meet us at the East Side Heliport.”
“I hope this will be my last ride in that thing,” Stone said.
• • •
It was after three in the morning before Stone and Helga made it to bed, too tired to molest each other.
59
They all met for breakfast in Stone’s kitchen at around ten A.M. Stone was stiff and sore, and he expected that Helga was, too, though she seemed very happy.
“I’ve had news this morning,” Marcel said, “that my newly armored Maybach will be at Le Bourget to meet me this evening. That will be a comfort, as will the presence of Mike Freeman’s men.”
“I hope you won’t need them much longer,” Stone said. “Even if Majorov survived the helicopter crash, I can’t imagine that, after his experience, he would come after you or your business again.”
“I hope you are right, Stone,” Marcel replied, “but if he does, I will be ready.”
They packed their luggage into the Mercedes van for the trip to Teterboro. Stone noticed that the black alligator suitcase was missing and asked Helga about it.
“It had bullet holes,” she said, “and I thought that might attract the attention of Swedish customs. So I’m making a gift of it to you.”
“Thank you so much,” Stone said. “A little legal advice—taking cash out of the country is not illegal, but not reporting it is. When you clear emigration on your way out, ask for a form to report cash aboard. List the amount, sign it, and turn it in.”
“But they will tax me.”
“I don’t think so, but if they search your luggage, you’re covered. Also, I hear that there are so many of those forms turned in that it takes them years to record them all, if they bother.” He helped her into the van.
Marcel shook Stone’s hand, then hugged him. “I have never been entertained in such a fashion,” he said. “I will dine out on the stories for years.”
“As wi
ll I,” Stone said.
“I have sent you a small house gift to express my gratitude for your hospitality,” Marcel said. “It will be delivered later today. And I want to thank you for the experience of your American wines. They were very interesting.”
“Thank you, Marcel,” Stone said. “And I look forward to a long and happy experience with you in the hotel business.”
Marcel got into the van, Stanley closed the door, and they were off.
Stone went back into the house through the office door, and Joan was at her desk, working. “Hi, there. Everybody get off all right?”
“They did.”
“I got a call that we’ll be getting a delivery late this afternoon. Something Marcel sent.”
“Yes, he mentioned it—a house present, he said.”
“I hope it’s not another car. The garage is full.”
“I doubt it.”
“By the way, when I came into work this morning, I ran into a woman, a real estate agent, putting a ‘for sale’ sign on the little house next door, on the garage side.”
“So, we’ll be getting new neighbors, eventually.”
“She took me through the house,” Joan said, “and it’s charming. In perfect condition, ready to move into and mostly furnished. It has been very nicely turned into a duplex and three apartments, and there’s an elevator. It’s available, empty, with no lingering tenants.”
“Well, I hope it attracts nice people on the downstairs floor, since their garden is just over the wall.”
“I was thinking,” Joan said, “Helene’s lease is up in a couple of months, and she has to move, and I could use more space, myself. Why don’t you buy the house and move us into it? There’d still be room for guests—maybe Peter and Hattie?”
“They’re going to be living in L.A.,” Stone said. “But how much are the owners asking for it?”
