by Stuart Woods
“I’ll try,” Arrington called back. There followed some grunts and groans. “Okay, I’m on my feet, hopping your way.” Her voice got closer.
“Do you see a button on the wall? It’s about shoulder high.”
“I see it.”
“Press your forehead against it and push.”
A moment later, the door started upward. Stone ducked under it and found Arrington, her head still pressed against the button. “You can stop pushing now; just hold it right there, and I’ll get the cuffs off you.” He unlocked the handcuffs while Dino untied her feet.
Arrington fell into Stone’s arms. “Oh, God, I thought I would never see you again. I thought I’d never see anybody again.” She hugged Dino. “How did you find me?”
“We were brought to you,” Dino said. “You have any idea where we are?”
“No.”
Stone pointed upward. “Seagulls; we’re near water.”
“That’s very helpful, Stone,” Dino said archly. “Come on, let’s look around.” He started down the alley, and Stone and Arrington followed.
They came to the end of the garages, and the alley joined a street.
“Look,” Stone said, pointing. A sign said “Field 121.” “We’re back where we started; Randall’s Island.”
“All that driving was just to confuse us,” Dino said.
“Where the hell is Randall’s Island?” Arrington asked.
“In the East River,” Stone replied. “Come on, let’s find my car.” He started across the street, and they followed. Then Stone caught a flash of silver at the end of the street, where it joined the traffic circle. “Quick,” he yelled. “Under the stands.”
They ran across the road and ducked under the grandstand of the ballpark. “Hit the dirt.” They all got on the ground.
Billy Bob’s silver Navigator turned into the street from the traffic circle and started toward them. It turned into the alley and drove toward the garages they had just left.
Stone was on his feet. “Come on, we’ve got to get to my car before they find out we’re gone!” They started running down the street toward where Stone had left his car. From somewhere behind them he heard car doors slamming. “They’re back in the Navigator!” he puffed. They were still a hundred and fifty yards from the car, he reckoned. Arrington fell, and they stopped to help her. “Hit the deck!” Stone said.
They were all on the ground again as the Navigator turned the corner and drove past them.
“They’re seeing if your car is still there,” Dino said. “When they find it, they’ll know we’re still here and on foot.”
The Navigator turned into the ball field.
“Come on,” Stone said, running toward his car.
“We can’t go toward them,” Arrington said, grabbing his arm.
“We’ve got to get to the car. I’ve only got five rounds in this thing, but there are two guns under the car. Anyway, when they find it, they’ll start driving around, looking for us.” He heard car doors slam again. “Hit the dirt!” They all did.
A moment later, the Navigator backed out of the ball field and drove slowly away from them. Obviously, they were searching.
“Come on, but stay as far under the stands as you can,” Stone said. They kept low and ran toward the Mercedes.
Stone could see the rear end of his car, now, and he saw the brake lights of the Navigator come on, then the reversing lights. “Go for it!” Stone yelled, and he sprinted, leaving Arrington behind. “Make for the car!” he yelled over his shoulder.
He made the car, but the Navigator was reversing toward them, and he had no time to get inside. Dino arrived at the car, and Arrington was close behind.
“You left me!” she said.
“One of us had to get here,” Stone said.
Dino was on the ground, looking under the car. “It’s too low,” he said. “I can’t get under it.”
“Keep the car between us and the Navigator,” Stone said. “It’s good protection.”
The Navigator stopped, the two front doors opened and the two men with shotguns got out, looking around.
“Arrington,” Stone whispered, “stay close to me.” He looked around, but Arrington was gone. Dino was huddled close, on his other side. “Where’s Arrington?” Stone asked.
“She was right here,” Dino whispered back. “Here come the shotguns.”
“They’re behind the car,” one of the men shouted, and the two brought the shotguns to their shoulders.
“What are you waiting for?” Dino asked. “Shoot somebody!”
“They’re too far away,” Stone said.
“You’re just chickenshit! You just don’t want to shoot somebody!”
“Give it a moment,” Stone said. He heard a shotgun being racked. He looked up, and one of the men was ten feet away. Stone took his shot. The side of the man’s head exploded, and he went down. As Stone ducked, he heard a shotgun go off and the sound of pellets striking his car.
“One down, one to go,” Dino said.
“If I stick my head up again, he’ll blow it off.”
“Come out from behind the car,” the man yelled.
A millisecond after he yelled, Stone heard a gunshot, and the man cried out in pain. He stuck his head up, and the man was gone. He stood up further and saw him on the ground, holding onto a bleeding foot.
The man saw him, too, and brought the shotgun around.
Stone fired, striking him in the shoulder, but he was still trying to aim. Another shot exploded, and the man stopped moving.
Stone looked under the car. “Arrington?”
“Did I get him?” she asked.
“You did. Stay where you are, and throw Dino a gun.” Stone began to run toward the Navigator. He could see nothing through the darkened windows, but if one rolled down, he was going to start shooting.
The Navigator roared away, and Stone fired twice at it. The rear window shattered, but the second shot went astray. Stone turned and walked back toward his car, spent.
Dino was pulling Arrington from under the car. She stood up, and they all looked at each other, dirty and skint, and they began laughing.
“Okay,” Dino said, finally, “it’s time for the cops. Fuck Lance.”
“Right,” Stone said. There was, after all, the matter of the two dead men with shotguns.
52
STONE TRIED LANCE’S radio but got no answer. He got the car started and headed back for the Triborough Bridge, while dialing Lance’s cell phone. No answer, so Stone left a message.
“Lance, it’s over; Dino and I are out, and we’ve got Arrington. We’re headed back to my house. There are two dead men back at Field One Twenty-one, and Dino has put out an APB for a silver Lincoln Navigator with no rear window, probably driven by Billy Bob. Call me.” He hung up.
“Where’s Billy Bob headed?” Dino asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe to Martin Block’s building in Queens. Lance has that covered. To tell you the truth, I don’t really give a damn. We’ve got Arrington back; that’s all that matters.”
“Now you’re talking,” Arrington said.
“And what was all this in aid of?”
“Billy Bob wants to kill me.”
“So, why didn’t he?”
“Beats me, but I’m not going to quarrel with the fact.”
“He was planning to,” Arrington said. “It was about some fellow with a German name?”
“Mitteldorfer,” Stone said.
“Not a friend of either of us,” Dino chipped in.
“They were in prison together,” Arrington said. “Until Billy Bob escaped.”
“Jesus, yet another crime of his,” Stone said.
“That means the whole world of law enforcement wants him,” Dino replied.
“I couldn’t care less, not anymore,” Stone said.
“So you don’t care about Billy Bob anymore?” Dino asked. “You don’t want him?”
“Let Lance worry about Billy Bob; I’m d
one with him.”
“Maybe he isn’t done with you, did you think about that?”
“He’d be a fool to keep trying to kill me,” Stone said. “He’s got to worry about surviving, now. Anyway, Lance is going to scoop him up in Queens.”
“You hope.”
“I hope? Why are you being such a pessimist?”
“So far, when it comes to Billy Bob, I haven’t found anything to be optimistic about.”
Stone hit the remote-control button and swung into his garage, closing the door behind him.
“Where’s Peter?” Arrington asked as they got out of the car.
“He’s in the kitchen with McGonigle and Corey.”
“Where’s his nanny?”
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but she was a victim of Billy Bob or his people.”
Arrington put her face in her hands. “She was a sweet girl; God, I hope this is over.”
“I hope so, too.”
Arrington started running. “I want to see Peter,” she said.
“I promised to take him to the Central Park Zoo,” Stone yelled after her. He went into his office to let Joan know he was back and to try to call Lance again. Dino went with him.
Joan was at her desk. “ ’Morning,” she said.
“I’m back. Will you get me Lance Cabot on his cell phone?”
“Sure.”
Stone heard the scream from his office. He and Dino started running toward the kitchen. When they came into the room Arrington was still screaming, as much in anger as in fear. McGonigle lay on his face in a pool of blood. Stone checked for a pulse and found none. Corey was on the other side of the kitchen table, lying on her back, with a bad-looking chest wound. Dino was bent over her.
“She’s still alive,” he said. He got on his phone and called for help.
Arrington had stopped screaming, but she was pointing at the kitchen table. On its top, someone had written, apparently in Corey’s blood, “IT’S NOT OVER.”
Stone took Arrington in his arms. “We’re going to fix this,” he said. “We’re going to find Peter.”
Joan buzzed him. “I’ve got Lance on the phone.”
Stone picked up the extension. “Where are you?”
“Sitting on Block’s place in Queens.”
“We just got back to my house: McGonigle is dead, and Corey is in bad shape with a gunshot wound to the chest. Peter has been taken.”
“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” Lance said.
“Don’t take Block’s building; Billy Bob may go there with Peter.”
“I got your message about the APB. That may not be helpful.”
“Why?”
But Lance had hung up.
THE PARAMEDICS had left with Corey and sedated Arrington by the time Lance arrived, and the coroner and a team of detectives were dealing with McGonigle’s body and the crime scene in the kitchen. Stone had put Arrington to bed, and he and Dino were sitting in his study when Lance came upstairs.
“I saw McGonigle,” Lance said. “Where have they taken Corey?”
“To Bellevue,” Stone replied.
Lance called somebody on his cell phone. “Corey is at Bellevue Hospital with a chest wound,” he said. “Find the best thoracic surgeon in New York, kidnap him, if you have to, and get him to her immediately.” He snapped the phone shut. “All right, Stone,” he said, “why did you call the cops?”
“Lance,” Dino said, “I called the cops. I am the cops. You blew catching Billy Bob, and we now have a trail of dead bodies that can’t be ignored. This is obviously bigger than your resources, and we needed an APB to find the Navigator.”
“Then there’s Peter,” Stone said. “We need the biggest possible net out there.”
Lance sat down. “This has all gone horribly wrong,” he said. “We chased that fucking helicopter all the way out Long Island Sound to Montauk and halfway back, before we had to stop to refuel and lost it. I thought you were aboard.”
“That’s what Billy Bob arranged for you to think,” Stone said. “I told you there would be some sort of switch. Has anything at all happened at Block’s place?”
Lance shook his head. “I sent Sandy back in there to buy some more stuff, and he reports that all was normal. Block is working in his office, and nobody seems suspicious.”
“Billy Bob is going to be in touch with him at some point. As far as we know, Block is all he’s got in New York.”
“We’ve tapped the phone lines; now all we can do is wait.”
They sat silently for a while.
“Waiting is not fun,” Stone said.
53
DINO’S CELL PHONE rang first. “Bacchetti. Yeah . . . yeah . . . yeah . . . shit! Keep me posted.” Dino stood up. “A patrol car spotted the Navigator trying to get into the Lincoln Tunnel, tried to stop him, but couldn’t. A pursuit is under way as we speak.”
Then Lance’s phone rang. “Yes? Where? Good. Hold it there, and . . . wait a minute.” He looked at Dino. “Which way is Billy Bob headed?”
“He was on Forty-second Street, headed east.”
Lance turned back to his phone. “Stand by there, and start questioning the pilot.” He snapped the phone shut.
“What?” Stone asked.
“My people caught up with Billy Bob’s chopper at the East Side Heliport five minutes ago.”
Dino’s phone rang again. “Bacchetti.” He listened, then covered the phone. “Billy Bob turned into a parking garage off Times Square, and he’s being pursued upward, level by level.
“Why would he corner himself like that?” Stone asked.
“What kind of building is it?” Lance wanted to know.
Dino went back to the cell phone. “What kind of building?” He covered the phone again. “Office tower, big one; the first six floors are parking.”
“I know what he’s doing,” Lance said.
“What?” Stone asked.
But Lance was already on his cell phone. “Look inside the chopper,” he said. “Is there a handheld radio there?” He waited impatiently. “Right,” he said. “Get the radio to the pilot; if Billy Bob calls him, make him answer, even if you have to put a gun to his head. I’m on my way.”
Dino was back on his cell phone. “Billy Bob made a run for the elevators and made it. He’s handcuffed to Peter, and he’s carrying a large, metal suitcase.”
“I knew it,” Lance said. “Stone, you come with me. Dino, you join your people in Times Square.”
“Okay,” Dino said.
“And I want you to empty Times Square immediately.”
“Jesus, I don’t have the authority to do that,” Dino said.
“Find somebody who does. Tell them that Billy Bob very probably has a suitcase containing thirty-six very powerful grenades and a rifle launcher. Are you getting the picture?”
“Holy shit,” Dino said.
“Stone, let’s get going.”
Dino was calling for his own car as Stone and Lance ran for the garage.
When Stone had made the street, he turned to Lance. “Now, tell me what is going on.”
“Billy Bob is headed for the top of that office tower,” Lance said. “He’s probably already there by now, and from the top of that building he can . . .”
“Threaten Times Square with the grenades,” Stone said, completing his sentence. “It’s what you predicted a while back.”
“I meant it as an illustration, not a prediction,” Lance said. “My people have Billy Bob’s helicopter at the East Side Heliport, and his driver, too. That’s got to be Billy Bob’s way out. I seriously doubt if he has two choppers at his disposal.
“What’s your plan?”
“Plan? I don’t have a plan; no plan will work. All we can do is react to what Billy Bob does and try to predict his next move. Right now he’s on top of a tall building with Arrington’s child and all those grenades. As crazy as he may be, nothing so far has indicated that he’s suicidal. He expects to get out of there, and how else but by hel
icopter?”
They turned into the heliport and abandoned Stone’s car in some executive’s parking space. Stone brought Billy Bob’s radio. He followed Lance into the building, and they were waved into a back office by one of his people.
The helicopter pilot, dressed neatly in his uniform of black trousers and white shirt with epaulets was sitting in an office chair, surrounded by Lance’s people. “I’m telling you that’s all I know about it,” he was saying.
“Tell me,” Lance said.
“Are you in charge here?” the pilot demanded.
“Tell me, and do it now.”
“This guy, Stanford, chartered our chopper; he’s been our customer in the past. He said he wanted to run through some routines for a movie he’s producing. I was to snatch the guy off a Little League baseball field on Randall’s Island, then fly out to Montauk and back doing a lot of maneuvers. I did it, and that’s all I know. I haven’t even been permitted to call my office.”
Lance nodded. “Has his helicopter been refueled?” he asked one of his people.
“Yes, sir,” the man replied. He handed Lance a handheld radio. “This is what Billy Bob gave the pilot.”
“I’ve got another one,” Stone said, holding it up.
“Where’s our equipment?” Lance asked his man.
“Van, outside.”
“Get me the rifle and some loaded magazines.”
“Yes, sir.” The man left.
“What are we doing?” Stone asked.
“We’re waiting for instructions,” Lance replied.
“Instructions?”
“From Billy Bob.”
The man came back with a large case and a box of magazines.
“Let’s wait in the chopper,” Lance said.
“Where are you going with my chopper?” the pilot asked.
“Wherever your client tells you to. You’re still flying it.”
“Who are you people?”
Lance shoved an ID wallet under his nose. “Read it carefully,” he said.
