Stone Barrington stood in the shooting range in the basement of his New York City home, held the Colt Model 1911 semiautomatic .45-caliber pistol out in front of him with both hands, and squeezed off a round.

The president of the United States, Holly Barker, stood next to him. “Near miss,” she said.

“I hit him in the chest,” Stone protested. “All right, sort of in the chest.”

“You should be able to hit him in the center of the chest or in either eye,” Holly said. “I don’t know why I can’t fix you. If my father, Ham, were here, he’d fix you in a minute. Why can’t I do that?”

“It just may have something to do with the quality of your student,” Stone said.

“You can shoot the eye out of a gnat with a rifle. Why can’t I get you to do that with a .45?”

Stone tried again. “Maybe I’m unfixable. Maybe I’ve been hit over the head too many times, and my brain is wobbly.”

“I could always fix anybody, like Ham does.”

“Maybe serving as president has cut into your range time,” Stone suggested.

“What range time? The Secret Service gets all wobbly anytime I’m in the same room with an unholstered handgun,” she said. “I guess they’re afraid I’ll shoot myself.”

“Then they don’t understand whose daughter you are.”

“Right about that. They’re all so, young. They can’t remember as far back as when Ham was national pistol champion two years in a row.”

“Maybe Ham has faded a little?”

“Forget about that. He only competed twice. He could win it again today.”

“If I ever need somebody shot, I’ll get Ham to do it for me,” Stone said.

“Good idea.”

“I’m fatally limited to having no more than one good idea a day, without a healing infusion of Knob Creek,” Stone said. “Let’s adjourn to my study.”

“Okay,” Holly said. “Then, after I’ve loosened you up, I’ll take you upstairs and fuck your brains out, if we can get past the Secret Service.”

“You must be the only female president to talk that way,” Stone said.

“Wrong. Kate Lee served two terms and never stopped talking that way. She still does.”

They let themselves out of the shooting range, past a nervous-looking Secret Service agent, and sought solitude in Stone’s study. Stone poured.

They took a swig of the bourbon, then Holly sat back on the sofa and gazed at him. “Stone,” she said, “there’s something I’ve never been able to figure out about you.”

“What’s that? I’m an open book.”

“Why are bad people always trying to kill you?”

“I’ve often wondered about that myself,” Stone said. “And I can’t figure it out, either.”

“Why are you such an inviting target?” she asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he replied.

“Dino says it’s because you’re sloppy. He can’t get you to carry all the time, and you’re constantly forgetting to set your very expensive alarm system. I mean, Mike Freeman or Bob Cantor is always updating it with the latest feature, yet people keep getting into your house.”

“Well, not when you’re here,” Stone said. “Those Secret Service people are the best alarm system on the planet.”

“That’s what they think, too. A tip: don’t bring up Jack Kennedy or even George Wallace in their presence. They get all defensive.”

“Then I’ll never bring up those names,” Stone promised. He rose and went to get a fresh bottle of Knob Creek from the cabinet next to the bar.

“They’ll never need to watch your ass,” Holly said. “I’ll do that for them.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in this millennium,” Stone said, putting that part of himself back on the sofa.

“Have you loosened up yet?” Holly asked.

“I believe I have,” Stone replied.

So, they went upstairs, past two Secret Service agents, and did what Holly had suggested earlier. They did it well, too, being accustomed to each other’s bodies.

Stone got Holly into his Bentley, which was nearly as well armored as the car the government supplied for her, and shipped her off to the East Side Heliport. She was wearing a burka that Ralph Lauren’s people had made for her, which saved her from recognition by the public. Her helicopter was something smaller than Marine One, and that helped, too. It was normally used by the CIA, but they were happy to loan it to her, especially at budget time.

Stone went back into his study and called Dino Bacchetti.

“Yo.”

“ ‘Yo’? Is that the person to whom I am speaking?”

“Yeah, who’s this, Lily Tomlin?”

“Dinner at Clarke’s, in an hour?”

“You’re on.” Dino hung up.

Stone was at his desk the following morning when his secretary, Joan, rapped on his door.

“Yes?”

“A walk-in, says Bill Eggers sent him.”

Bill Eggers was Stone’s managing partner at Woodman & Weld.

“Better send him in,” Stone said.

The young man who entered his office was all too familiar from the night before, when he had abandoned Matilda Martin at Clarke’s.

“My name is Trench Molder,” the man said, not offering a hand but taking a seat, unasked.

“I’m happy to know your name, Mr. Molder. How is it you know Bill Eggers?”

“I don’t,” Molder replied, “but I thought his name might get me in here.”

“And now that you have accomplished that goal, how can I help you?”

“Simple. Just stay away from Matilda Martin, and we will have no further business.”

“I’m afraid we already have no further business,” Stone said. “But I can tell you that neither do you and Ms. Martin have any further business.”

“That’s presumptuous of you,” Molder said

“Not really, since it reflects the wishes of the young lady.”

“I presume she slept here last night,” Molder said.

“She did not,” Stone said. “Where did you sleep?”

Molder apparently did not wish to say. “Wherever I wanted to,” he managed, finally.

“Good. Now, will you kindly leave these premises?”

“Or what?”

“That’s the last time I’ll ask you politely.”

“Who gives a shit?”

Stone saw Joan appear behind Molder, her Colt .45 half-concealed in her skirt.

Stone shook his head. “It won’t be necessary to shoot him,” he said. “He’s leaving right now.” Stone stood up and walked around his desk. Molder stood, turned, and stalked out.

“Aw, shucks,” Joan said. “I was looking forward to it.”

“Maybe later,” Stone said, “if he returns.”

“I’ll count on it,” Joan replied, then went back to her desk.

Stone’s cell rang. Dino. “Hello?”

“I just had a strong feeling that you might need me.”

“That’s very psychic of you, but fortunately the threat you imagined has vanished.”

“Someone about our Matilda?”

“Yes, the cad from last evening. He has suddenly developed a proprietary interest in her.”

“Did you tell him that ship has sailed?”

“I didn’t bother. I just threw him out.”

“Literally?”

“I was ready to, but he sensed that and fled.”

“Did Joan want to shoot him?”

“Of course, but I stayed her hand. No blood on the carpet, and all that.”

“A pity.”

“He’ll be back,” Stone said, “as soon as he finds somebody to do the dirty work for him.”

“Well, then Joan will get another crack at him.”

“No doubt.”

“Can I interest you in some tickets to the policeman’s ball?” Dino asked.

“You mean they’re still using that dodge to raise drinking money?”

“No, it’s now a charity.”

“Put me down for two,” Stone said.

“Good. I’ll bill you the thousand dollars.”

“You’re getting five hundred dollars a ticket? That’s a little steep, isn’t it?”

“It includes a corned beef and cabbage dinner.”

“So, it’s the Irish policeman’s ball?”

“Right. You want tickets to the Italian one, too?”

“Take the grand and do with it as you will. And before you ask, I am not actually attending either of them.”

“Got it.” Dino hung up.

Joan buzzed. “Matilda Martin on two.”

Stone pressed the button. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. I just wanted to thank you for rescuing me last night.”

“You’re welcome. The young man, Molder, called on me this morning and ordered me not to molest you further.”

“Further? You haven’t even started!”

“I didn’t want to tell him that. He seemed to want it to be true.”

“One point: Trench is a coward, but he can still be dangerous.”

“I rather thought so. That means he’ll hire somebody else to beat me up.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“I’ll try and be ready.”

“He’ll choose a time when he thinks you’re vulnerable and he’s not.”

“Of course. Dinner tonight, here?”

“Love to.”

“Six-thirty?”

“Perfect, then you can molest me further.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Trench Molder spent the afternoon at his athletic club, toning up. His trainer, Howard Keegan, a retired Marine known as Huff, helped him with the weights, then sat down next to Molder at his invitation. “Something I can do for you, Trench?”

“No, Huff, but there’s someone you can do for me.”

“It would be my pleasure. How dead do you want him?”

“Not dead, just crippled a bit. I don’t want to have skinned knuckles if the police should take an interest.”

“Understood. That’s my work, not yours.”

“Five hundred?”

“That’s generous, especially if I enjoy myself.”

“You can enjoy yourself as much as you like,” Molder said.

“Who is he, and where do I find him?”

“His name is Stone Barrington. He’s an uptown lawyer who’s messing with a girl of mine. He lives in Turtle Bay.”

“I know the area. Security?”

Molder handed him Barrington’s business card. “I was there this morning, and if he has security, I couldn’t find it. Still, I think it would be best to take him away from home. I asked around and he travels in a green Bentley and has a small man as his driver.”

“You want the small one hurt, too?”

“Don’t bother. Just put Barrington in a hospital for a few days.”

“As you wish. Description?”

“Over six feet, fairly solid build. Seems to think he’s bulletproof.”

“They’re the best kind,” Huff said, “the ones who think they can’t be hurt.”

“Something else. He has a friend who’s the police commissioner, so don’t get caught doing it. You should wear a mask. I don’t want you ID’d by some passerby.”

“Regular haunts?”

“P. J. Clarke’s, Patroon. I don’t know if he has a club.”

“No matter. I’ll do my research. Is he likely to fight back?”

“If he’s conscious,” Molder said.

Huff laughed. “I’ll take him out with the first punch, then work on him at my leisure.”

“That sounds like the way to go.”

“Is there a message to deliver?”

“You can just say, ‘Compliments of a friend,’ before you knock him out.”

“You want your name mentioned?”

“No, but you can say that your visit is a message from Matilda.”

“Is that a real name?”

“It is. A bit old-fashioned, but it suits her.”

“Should she be present to witness the beating?”

“Why not.”

“Would you like anything done to her?”

“Whatever you feel like,” Molder said, grinning.

“She can be the punctuation mark on delivery.”

“Don’t mark her face. I want her presentable.”

“It’s your dime. If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get.”

“Pick your own methods,” Molder said. “I’ll leave an envelope in your box, as soon as I hear the work is done.”

“Fine by me. Does Barrington have any skills I should know about? Karate or boxing?”

“Nah, he’s a ladies’ man.”

“Well, I’ll see that he doesn’t have anything to work with for a while. Final question: Is he likely to be armed?”

“I don’t see any reason why he should be. He won’t be expecting you.”

“I’ll do my due diligence, then.” Huff left the locker room happy. He could use the unexpected five hundred.

The next day Stone had a business meeting uptown with a client, and when he came back to the car, he saw a man looking at him. The man quickly looked away, and Stone filed the memory of the shape and heft of the figure as he crossed the street and strode away. He thought the man very confident, sure of himself. He wondered why the man felt that way.

Stone lunched with Dino at their mutual club in the East Sixties, a place so anonymous that it didn’t have a proper name. Its members referred to it as “the club” or “the place uptown,” and the membership was thick with men and women of influence.

“A threat?” Dino asked.

“Not exactly, but he looked as though he could be, if he chose to.”

“Description?”

“Six three or four, wearing a blue suit. Thick neck, long arms, mostly bald.”

“Did you get a look at his face?”

“No, he was more of just a shape. It was hulking, I suppose you’d say.”

“I didn’t know you were such a quick judge, Stone.”

“When we leave here today, we’ll see if he’s hanging about.”

“Okay.”

After lunch, they left the club by its front door. Normally, they’d have driven away from the garage, which was more discreet, but Stone wanted a look around.

“There,” he said, “just turning the corner.”

“I only caught a glimpse,” Dino said, “but your description was accurate.”

“How would you classify him?” Stone asked.

“I think he’s capable of being a threat,” Dino said. “That’s not necessarily an accurate assessment of his intentions, but it’s troubling that you’ve seen him twice today already. I think you should treat him as a threat, until we know more. If you see him coming, cross the street. Then, let’s see if he crosses with you. I don’t suppose you’re carrying.”

“Maybe I should be,” Stone replied.

“You’ll live longer if you follow my advice,” Dino said. “Carry a fucking gun.”

“You think my guns are too light. I’m not going to carry a .45 just to make you happy.”

“Then carry one of those dear little .380s you’re so fond of. You’re more interested in your suit hanging right than protecting your life.”

“That’s a dirty communist lie,” Stone said. “I’m very fond of my life.”

“Well, you can always shoot them in the head,” Dino said. “Even a .380 will make an attacker think twice, if he can still think. Have you seen any more of that girl who has the same name as your mother?”

“Yes, and again tonight,” Stone said. “Herbie Fisher is throwing a soiree, and we’re going there.”

“I got that invitation, too, and Viv gets back today, so maybe we’ll see you there.”

They parted. Stone got into the Bentley, which Fred, his driver and factotum, had pulled up beside them. Dino got into his own, city-supplied vehicle. As he was driven away, Stone heard a growl from the police car’s siren, which made him laugh.

“Home, Fred,” Stone said, “and I’ll need you at six-thirty this evening.”

“Yes, sir,” Fred replied.

“Fred, have you seen anyone suspicious hanging about?”

“You mean the big fellow?”

“That’s the one. I’ve seen him twice today, and that’s too many times.”

“I’ll keep a sharp eye out,” Fred said, and Stone knew he meant it. He also knew that Fred habitually packed.

“Will we be picking up a young lady, sir?” Fred asked.

“She’s coming to the house, directly from her work.”

“Got it, sir. The car will be ready at six-thirty.”

Trench Molder snapped the padlock on his locker shut, then walked into the weight room at the East Side Athletic Club and immediately saw Huff across the room, helping another member. Huff saw him, too, and quickly looked away. Trench didn’t like that. Huff had no reason to be furtive with him.

Trench worked his way slowly through his routine. Eventually, Huff got around to him. “Hey, Huff.”

“Hey, Trench.”

“What’s wrong?”

Huff heaved a deep sigh.

“Did you make any progress on the Barrington matter?”

“I’m sorry, Trench. Barrington made me, and so did his pal, Bacchetti.”

“C’mon, Huff, you’re slicker than that.”

“I usually am,” Huff said, “but not today.”

“What happened?”

“I walked into his line of sight.”

“So?”

“Twice. Now he’s curious, and I can’t approach if I’m on his mind.”

“It could happen to anybody, Huff.”

“Not to me. Not ever before. He’s smarter than I thought.”

“Smarter than I thought, too,” Trench said. “So now, what’s your plan?”

“Cool it down for a while. Otherwise, when he sees me on the street again, he’ll approach, and then I’m useless to you.”

“Cool it for how long?”

“Say a couple of weeks. I’ll stick close to home. No contact at all. He’ll eventually forget about me, and then I can do my work. I know you wanted immediate action, but at least you’re not out any money.”

“Let’s leave it like this, Huff,” Trench said. “You do your work in your own good time, and I’ll be satisfied with that. On the other hand, I won’t forget, either.”

“That’s good of you,” Huff said.

“Just let me know when you’re ready.”

Trench Molder stepped out of the living room in Herb Fisher’s apartment and into the guest room where coats were piled on the bed. He called a number on his burner phone.

“Yes?” Huff said.

“I’m at a party in a building a few blocks from you,” Trench said, giving him the address and location. “Barrington is here with Matilda, and it looks like they’re dug in for a while. I was thinking you might not need to wait a few weeks after all. What say you?”

“I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“The green Bentley with the driver is parked across the street from the front door. You might have to deal with that, too.”

“I can handle it,” Huff said.

“Hurry up, then.” Trench hung up his burner and returned to the party. The room had heated up, and someone had opened a sliding door to the large terrace on the front of the building. Trench took his date’s elbow and steered her outside. “Let’s get some air.”

They walked to the front of the terrace and sat down on a padded bench next to the parapet.

“It’s chilly out here,” she complained.

Trench, annoyed, shucked off his jacket and handed it to her.

She put it on, then pointed at his shoulder holster. “Why are you wearing a gun?”

“Because I don’t like being at the mercy of others,” Trench replied, “and I’d rather defend myself up front than wait for somebody else to make the first move.” He leaned over the parapet and saw the waiting Bentley. “You’d be surprised if all the men at this party removed their jackets.”

“I didn’t know paranoia ran that deep,” she said.

Trench resisted the temptation to slap her across the face. He didn’t need a scene that would cement his location at this hour into other guests’ minds.

Stone approached the Bentley with Matilda on his arm and motioned for Fred to get back in the car. He put Matilda into the back seat and walked around the car to enter from the other side. He opened the car door and lifted a foot to enter. As he did, he saw a blur of motion in the corner of his left eye, and something solid struck him across the back of his neck. As he descended into unconsciousness, he heard what he thought was a single gunshot, which echoed in his head.

Stone was home in time for lunch the next day. Bob greeted him enthusiastically, and Stone found him a cookie to reward his adoring opinion of his master.

“Want some good news?” Joan asked.

“Always,” Stone replied.

“I’m closing on my house soon.” Joan had inherited a very large town house off Fifth Avenue, and it had been too much for her.

“What did you end up getting for it?”

“Twenty-three and a half million, mostly furnished. I took some pictures and a few pieces of furniture.”

“Good move. Where will you live now?”

“Back in my apartment next door. It’s all the house I need for me and, when you’re gone, Bob.”

Bob wagged all over at the mention of his name, and Stone scratched his back.

Dino walked into the house. “I came to see if you were dead yet.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not disappointed; I’m elated to see you breathing on your own.”

“Well, if you’ll forgive me, I’m going to lie down for a few minutes.” He stretched out on the sofa. “Have you arrested Trench what’s-his-name yet?”

“On what charge? Knowing a guy who hit you with a blackjack?”

“Isn’t that a crime?”

“It is to you, of course. But a sober judge would take a different view, and the DA would yell at me for hauling him in.”

“Where’s Matilda?”

“She stopped by her place to pick up some clean clothes,” Joan said. “I expect she’ll be along soon.”

“We need to find out absolutely everything she knows about Trench,” Stone said.

“You want to buy him a present?” Dino asked.

“I want to buy him a prison term.”

“Well, you’re going to have to wait until he does something provable to you.”

“I would have thought that blackjacking me was probable cause.”

“It would be, if we could prove he was involved. Fred erased the only guy who could have testified against him.”

“Was Fred, ah, a little hasty in his judgment?”

“No, Huff’s hand — the one without the blackjack — held a .25 automatic, just the thing for putting your lights out permanently, if the blackjack failed to operate as intended.”

“Well, at least Fred is free and clear. Has he still got his carry license?”

“I saw to that.”

“Good, in case he has to shoot somebody else. Did Huff have a sheet?”

“A couple of bar fights. I guess he was staying in practice.”

“How about Trench?”

“About two hundred parking tickets. I handed that off to a guy in the DA’s office who makes life hell for people who tear up their tickets.”

“I’d like to see him in something more permanent than parking ticket hell.”

“Maybe he’ll give us another shot at him,” Dino said. “Of course, that would mean he’d have to take another shot at you first.”

“I know, I know, you want me to carry all the time.”

“Everywhere but on the tennis court.”

“They’ve probably got a holster made for that. It would be intimidating to your opponents, too. Nobody would want to play with you.”

Stone’s secure cell phone rang.

“One guess who that is,” Dino said.

Stone pressed the button. “Hello, Lance.” Lance Cabot was director of the Central Intelligence Agency, for whom Stone and Dino performed consulting duties.

“I’m delighted to hear that you can still speak,” Lance said, not sounding delighted.

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t a matter of national security.”

“Are you quite sure about that?”

“I don’t have any reason to believe that was the case.”

“You’re pretty hopeful for a man who’s just spent a night in the hospital.”

“It was sort of a high school playground fight that got out of hand.”

“Really? I heard your assailant was a professional hit man.”

“If he was, the NYPD doesn’t know about it.”

“There is a great deal that they don’t know.”

“Not so loud. Dino will hear you and take offense.”

“Put him on, and I’ll offend him directly.”

“I’m going to take a nap now,” Stone said.

“Sweet dreams.” Lance hung up.

Matilda turned up as Stone was waking from his nap. Dino was still there, making an occasional call to his office.

“Aha! Matilda!” Dino said, loudly enough to bring Stone to full consciousness.

“Dino! Stone!” she cried, imitating Dino’s enthusiasm.

“Sit down, Matilda,” Dino said. “We want to interrogate you.”

“On what subject?” Matilda asked, looking alarmed.

“On the subject of Trench Molder,” Stone said, sitting up. “We need to know everything about him, especially how often he hires assassins to kill people he doesn’t like, such as my own self.”

“Okay, let’s see,” Matilda said. “I met him at a party at somebody’s house on the Upper East Side.”

“Whose party?”

“I don’t remember the name. A girlfriend had been invited, and she took me along. I do remember the host had a grand piano, because somebody was playing it, and somebody else was singing.”

“Was either of them Trench?”

“No. Trench was sitting on a stool at the piano, next to me.”

“Doing what?”

“Trying to sing along, until the piano player told him he couldn’t carry a tune and to shut up.”

“Did he have the pianist beaten up or killed?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, since I never saw him again.”

“What were your first impressions of Trench?”

“A little drunk, funny, cute.”

“Did he introduce himself?”

“He did. And he gave me a card, which I have since discarded, before you ask for it.”

“What kind of work does he do?”

“I believe work is what he would call a four-letter word. He lives the life of luxury, thanks to a relative. An uncle, I think.”

“Do you know this uncle’s name?”

“He never mentioned it.”

“Was there anything threatening or sinister about Trench?”

“No, except that once he learned my name, he seemed to think he had taken possession of me. If another man tried to enter our conversation, he became surly. That proved to be a reliable indicator of his future attitude toward me.”

“Did he ever mention having committed a crime?” Dino asked.

“He mentioned having beaten up a couple of people who intruded on his company with a woman.”

“Did he say if he hired someone to do that for him?”

“Sort of, but I don’t remember what words he used.”

“Did it surprise you to learn, when you learned, that he would hire someone for that purpose?”

“It surprised me that the man he hired had a gun, which indicated that he planned to shoot somebody, probably Stone or me.”

“Was Trench mad enough at you to have you killed?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t see inside his head.”

“Did he mention ever having done that before?”

“He managed to give me the impression that he did not suffer competition gladly.”

“And Stone was the competition?”

“That’s my guess, given what ensued.”

“Was Trench watching what happened?”

“He was still upstairs at Herb Fisher’s party, so there is a chance he could have been looking down on us. I didn’t catch him doing it. I was already inside the car when the trouble started.”

“After the police arrived and people were swarming around the crime scene, did you see Trench among them?”

“No, I didn’t get out of the car until we reached Lenox Hill.”

“Did you see Trench hanging around Lenox Hill?”

“No, but I wasn’t looking for him.”

Dino paused in his questioning.

“Dino,” Matilda said. “I think you’ve pumped me dry on the subject of Trench. Is there something else you’d like to question me about?”

“Ah, no,” Dino said. “I grant you bail. But I may want to talk to you more later.”

“Gee, I hope I can make the bail.”

“You’ll have to forgive Dino,” Stone said. “When he gets excited about an interrogation, he tends to hyperventilate and has to breathe into a paper bag for a while. He’s almost at that point now.”

“I remain at your beck and call, Commissioner,” Matilda said.

“That’s how I like my witnesses,” Dino said. “No paper bag necessary.”

Trench Molder walked into the weight room of the East Side Athletic Club and looked around. He hoped to give the appearance that he was looking for Huff to help him with the weights. Huff’s assistant manager, known as Bozo, approached.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Molder.”

“Good afternoon, Bozo. Is Huff off today?”

“I take it you have not watched the morning news or read the Post.”

“You are correct, but why are you concerned with my viewing and reading habits?”

“Because, if you had been viewing — or reading, for that matter — you would know that Huff was shot dead on Park Avenue last evening.”

Trench’s eyes widen. “Surely, you jest.”

“I do not,” Bozo said. “All we know is that he seems to have hit someone with a blackjack — I know he had one, because he showed it to me, once — and the man’s driver pulled a gun and shot him dead.”

Trench sat down heavily on the bench and put the back of a hand to his forehead.

Bozo lowered his voice, and said, “I know, I know. This was nothing to do with the club. This was freelance work that Huff sometimes took on. I assisted him, once or twice.”

“Was his killer arrested?” Trench asked.

“Apparently not. According to the Post, he was questioned at the scene, then released to drive his employer — who had suffered the blackjack attack — to the ER. Then he was questioned again and released again. The police judgment was that the shooting was legal and justified, in the circumstances.”

“Who was the man Huff attacked?”

“Someone named Barrington, a lawyer.”

“I’ve heard the name.”

“Apparently, Huff knew him well enough to hate him.”

“Do you know why?”

“No, sir, I don’t.” Bozo looked around to be sure no one was within earshot. “I would like you to know, though, that should you require the kind of assistance you once received from Huff, I would be glad to step into the breach.”

“Good to know, Bozo,” Trench said. “I think I’ll skip my workout today and just hit the showers.”

“I understand, sir,” Bozo said.

Stone took longer to fully recover from his blow to the head than he had imagined he would. After three days of being dizzy and unsteady on his feet, he called the doctor, who told him to stay off his feet for the rest of the week, unless he used a cane or a walker. Stone flinched at the mention of those two implements. He was also told not to go out for dinner or any other reason.

“It’s this way, Stone,” the doctor said. “If you start strolling around too soon, you’ll fall down. And a fall could do more damage than the blackjack did. Just be a happy invalid until you’re steady again.”

Stone found that his libido suffered, too. Or, rather, Matilda discovered that fact. “You’ve gone off me,” she said, when he failed to salute on demand.

“No, no, no,” Stone said quickly. “I’ve gone off my rocker, but it is only temporarily. I had a talk with my doctor today, and he told me to stay off my feet.”

“What about your back? Are you to stay off that, too?”

“I’m not supposed to exert myself, and you are a walking, talking exertion.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “You see this? It’s not hot in here, but I’m sweating from the effort of just chatting.”

“You want me to leave you alone, then?”

“No. You could give me a back rub, though.”

“I was a masseuse in my extreme youth,” she said.

“There’s a table in my dressing room.” He pointed.

Soon she was kneading away.

“Not my neck,” he said. “That’s still too sore.”

“Turn over on your back,” she said, half an hour later.

Stone managed to get flipped, but he held a pillow over his crotch.

“What’s the matter, is it cold?” she asked.

“It’s cool, and I want it to stay that way. I’ll owe you.”

“You’re going to get so deeply in debt, you’ll never get out from under,” she said, pinching a nipple.

“You stay away from what a friend of mine used to call, ‘the erroneous zones.’ ”

She laughed. “Oh, all right. I’ll wait until you’re fully recovered, then look out!”

“I’ll look forward,” he said.

Stone nodded off over brandy and had to be taken upstairs by Dino, using the elevator. There he delivered Stone to the tender mercies of Matilda, who got him into a nightshirt, his favorite mode of dress at bedtime when he wasn’t naked for a good reason.

Matilda slept next to him, checking his inert form every time she rolled over. He was always the same.

Matilda’s carry license turned up, hand-delivered, two days later, and Stone took her downtown to a gun store frequented by cops.

“This is a wonderland of mayhem,” she said, looking around at the showcases and wall display of weapons.

“You need to choose only one,” Stone said, leading her to a showcase. “Let me see your hand.”

She spread her fingers.

“Not unusually long,” he said. “Let’s try gripping this one.” He pointed at a Sig Sauer .380. A salesman unlocked the case, cleared the weapon, and handed it to her.

She held it in front of her and look down the barrel. “It’s a nice size,” she said, “but it’s a little too heavy.”

Stone turned to the salesman. “Do you have a Colt Government .380?”

“Colt doesn’t make it anymore, but I’ve got a couple of nice used ones.” He went to another case and came back with two small pistols, which were, to the eye, like miniature Colt Model 1911 .45s. One was nickel-plated.

“The other one,” she said, pointing at the blued pistol. The salesman cleared it and handed it to her; she hefted it in her hand and pointed it at a target across the room. “Perfect.”

Stone paid for the weapon and a box of cartridges, the salesman put it in a box, and they left. Back at his house, they went down to his one-lane shooting station in the basement, and she fired some rounds. Soon, she was hitting the paper outline of a man in the chest, with a nice grouping.

Stone showed her how to disassemble the weapon and clean it. “Must be done every time you fire it.” He wiped it clean with a cloth and dropped it into the zippered leather envelope that the pistol had come in. “Okay. You’re officially dangerous.”

They went back upstairs, where he gave her the license, and she tucked it into her purse.

“Always carry it,” Stone said.

Fred knocked and entered the room. “I delivered the pistol to the address indicated, and the doorman signed for it,” he said, handing Matilda a receipt.

“Hang on to that,” Stone said. “Now, if Trench uses the pistol in a crime, you can prove you were not in possession of it.”

“I thought Ms. Matilda might like to see this,” Fred said, handing her a catalog. It was full of holsters and other carry items.

“You can strap it to your thigh or hide it in your Thunderwear,” Stone said, pointing at the item.

“Thunderwear,” she said. “I like the name.”

“Or you can hide it in this bra, although yours is already pretty fully packed. There are various handbags designed to conceal the gun, too.”

“I’ll decide later,” she said, putting the catalog in her handbag.

“Now, having done all that, I have to give you a stern lecture,” Stone said.

“I’ll brace myself.”

“Now that you are fully licensed and armed, there’s something you must never do.”

“What is that?”

“Never shoot anybody.”

“What? What’s the gun for then?”

“To keep you from having to shoot anybody.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If you shoot someone, even if you don’t kill him, your life will change forever, and not for the good.”

“How so?”

“You will find yourself suddenly surrounded by policemen and technicians, all trying to prove you have broken the law.”

“Even if I haven’t?”

“That’s how they prove that you haven’t broken the law,” Stone said, “by trying and failing to prove that you have. Your name will appear in a nationwide computer database of people who have been investigated for a weapons charge, and sometimes they forget to mention that you were innocent of any crime. Every time someone is shot with a weapon of your caliber, your name will be printed out on a list of people who own one, and you will be investigated all over again. They will confiscate your pistol and test it against the available evidence, and you will be without it for weeks, perhaps months. Then the legal stuff will begin.”

“What legal stuff?”

“The person you shot will sue you for grievous bodily harm, and the costs of being sued will mount rapidly — again, never mind that you have done no wrong. There will be lawyers out there who find you a tempting target. Even if you win your case, everyone will know that you were charged, and they will forget that you were innocent. Are you getting the picture?”

“Never shoot anybody,” she said, solemnly.

“Engrave that on your frontal lobe.”

Trench Molder received the package from the doorman as he walked into his building. He took it upstairs and unwrapped it.

“Shit,” he said. “What is she up to?” He picked up the phone and called Matilda.

“Hello?”

“Hello, yourself. It’s Trench.”

“I wasn’t expecting your call.”

“Why did you send the gun back to me?”

“It belongs to you.”

“I gave it to you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know where it’s been or who it has been used to kill.”

“It’s brand-new; a virgin weapon.”

“I have obtained another weapon, and a license to use it.”

“They gave you a carry license? It took months for me to get one, and cost ten thousand dollars.”

“Funny, mine didn’t cost anything.”

“How did you do that?”

“I filled out a form and got fingerprinted. I didn’t bribe anybody.”

“Is this conversation being recorded?” he demanded.

“Only if you’re recording it. And let me say this for the record: don’t call me again, because next time you do it will be recorded, if you incriminate yourself.”

“You bloody bitch!”

“I don’t know about the bloody part. But I’m happy for you to consider me to be a bitch, because that’s what I will be, if you reach out to me again.”

She hung up. “How’d I do?”

“You made your point,” Stone said. “I wish we could have learned who he paid ten thousand dollars to get the carry permit for him. I would have liked for Dino to nail that bastard.”

“How much did you pay Dino to get mine?”

“Listen to me very carefully,” Stone said. “All Dino did was to move you up in the line and write a letter swearing to your good character. You’re ungrateful to insinuate that he broke the law by doing you a favor.”

She looked away, abashed. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Just as long as you know the truth. Tell me, did you ever have occasion to sniff the barrel of the pistol Trench gave you?”

“You mean, like, take cocaine off it?”

“No, I mean to ask what it smelled like, if you smelled it.”

“I didn’t smell it. I didn’t know I should have.”

“It was not a requirement, just a precaution.”

“Against what?”

“If the gun smelled of oil, it would not have been fired recently. If it smelled of gunpowder, then it would have been fired.”

“What does gunpowder smell like?”

Stone thought about that. “Like gunpowder, I guess. I don’t know what compares.”

“Now am I safe from being accused of a crime?”

“No, but nobody can prove that you committed one — not with that pistol, anyway. Do you think that Trench is capable of using it to murder someone, then giving it to you?”

That stopped her. “I don’t know, but after his attitude in that conversation, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Give me the receipt that Fred gave you, and I’ll put it in my safe.”

She dug it out of her handbag and handed it over, and he put it into an envelope, wrote her name on it, and put it into his safe. “There,” he said, “that problem solved.”

She sat down in his lap and snuggled. “Are you going to solve all my problems?”

“That depends on what problems you have. If you want to tell all, go ahead, and I’ll do what I can.”

“Let me think about it,” she said.

Matilda went upstairs, and Joan buzzed Stone. “Carly Riggs on one for you.”

Carly had been a graduating law student at Yale, number one in her class, when Stone first met her. He had been so impressed that he recommended her to Woodman & Weld for a job as an associate.

Stone pressed the button. “Carly? How are you?”

“I’m terrific,” she replied, “as always.”

She made him laugh, too. “How’s life at Woodman & Weld?”

“Interesting. I took the bar exam this morning.”

“So soon? I thought new associates spent a couple weeks cramming for it.”

“Nah, I read the cram book once, and I think I aced it.”

That she would say that out loud was typical Carly. She did not have the same social filters as others.

“When do you get the results?” he asked.

“They say in a week.”

“I think it’s likely that somebody at Woodman & Weld will whisper the results in your shell-like ear before that. Somebody told me when I had taken it that I’d finished in the ninety-something percentile, and only the next day.”

Someone spoke to her at the other end. “Can I call you back?” she asked.

“Sure. The law comes first.”

She hung up.

Stone’s phone rang again. It was Carly.

“It’s me again. You were right, somebody told me I did very, very well on the bar, but they didn’t have a percentile.”

“Then you’ve got nothing to sweat. Relax and learn how to practice law.”

“Oh, I already know how to do that — the criminal part, I mean.”

“Yes?”

“Sure, I’ve seen every episode of Law & Order at least twice, and I never forget anything.”

“You’ll find there’s more than that to learn, and don’t forget the civil side — that’s where most of the money is made, year in and year out.”

“Well, they’ve got me working for Herb Fisher, and he practices whatever law walks in the door, so a year or so of him, and I’ll be ready for a partnership.”

“Carly, take my advice: never even whisper those words to any person at Woodman & Weld, or you’ll discover you have a big target on your back. You must try, as hard as it may be, to display a becoming amount of modesty, even though that is not in your nature.”

“Okay, sure.”

“I know it won’t be easy for you, but know that it will make life easier for you in a big law firm. And handle Bill Eggers, in particular, with kid gloves. He’s your managing partner, and your career rests in his hands, not yours.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Forget it at your peril. You’re going to have to acquire some editorial skills when wagging your tongue. A slip can come back to haunt you, when you least expect it.”

“I understand.”

“I hope to God you do, or you’ll find yourself hanging out a shingle at an office in the cheapest neighborhood in the city. Remember, there are two words that can damn any young lawyer to hell in a handbasket. The words are ‘private practice.’ At cocktail parties, especially ones where there are a lot of lawyers present, hearing those words will cause eyes to glaze over.”

“You sound as if you want me to be afraid,” Carly said.

“Just a little fear can go a long way to make life in the law easier. And don’t talk to Herb Fisher the way you talk to me. He’s in a position to cut you off at the knees, if you annoy him or insult his intelligence. Remember, he’s almost as smart as you are, and he has a lot more political savvy — in office politics — so shut up, listen, and learn.”

“Oh, all right.”

“And no matter what you do, don’t let him get you into bed. He won’t tell anyone, but everybody in the office will know immediately.”

“If I don’t tell anybody, and he doesn’t tell anybody, how will they know?”

“They can smell it on the breeze,” Stone said. “Trust me.” He paused. “You haven’t slept with him already, have you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“But you were thinking about it, weren’t you?”

“Oh, stop it.”

“Here’s how to handle this: pretend that everybody in the office thinks the two of you have slept together, so spend all your time convincing them you have not.”

“That makes a weird kind of sense.”

“Would you like to have dinner with Dino and me this evening? Bill Eggers will be joining us, too. It would be good for you to get some face time with him.”

“Sure.”

“You know P. J. Clarke’s?”

“Of course.”

“Meet us at the bar at six-thirty. Oh, and Dino’s a fount of information on everything cop, so listen to him!”

“Got it.”

They both hung up.

Carly, characteristically, got to Clarke’s first. She was perched on a barstool, showing a lot of leg, sipping a martini, when Stone walked in with Matilda.

The two women sized each other up as introductions were made.

“How long have you been here?” Stone asked Carly.

“Five, ten minutes.”

“How many offers have you had?”

“About that many.”

“I hope you turned down all of them.”

“Well, not all of them. There were one or two acceptable applicants.”

“Be careful.”

“That’s all you ever say to me.”

“It’s all the words I can get in edgewise when you’re talking, which is all of the time.”

“Stone,” Matilda said. “I’m sure Carly can handle herself. I doubt this is the first time she’s been approached.”

“Oh, no,” Carly said. “Not even close. Would you like an exact number?”

Matilda chuckled as if Carly were joking.

“She’s not joking,” Stone said, then turned to Carly. “Perhaps you should save that information for another time.”

“If you think that’s best.”

“I do.”

Dino joined them.

“Hi, Dino,” Carly said.

“Hey, Carly. Congrats on your graduation, your new job, and whatever you got on the bar exam.”

“I can see that Stone is keeping you up to date.”

“It’s his job,” Dino said, “on those rare occasions when he knows more than I do about something — in this case, you.”

“Where are you living?” Stone asked her.

“On a leather sofa in Murray Hill,” she replied.

“I can do better than that. I’ve got an empty flat next door to my house, where my staff lives. There’s even room for your BMW convertible.”

“Oh, I negotiated for twenty-four-hour parking with Woodman & Weld,” she said.

“Smart move.”

“So, when can I make the smart move to your place?”

“Anytime you like.”

“My suitcase is in the cloakroom, as I was about to jump couches this evening,” she said. “How about after dinner?”

“That will be convenient.”

“Then my life will be complete.”

“You’re even more generous than I thought,” Matilda said to Stone. Though she smiled, there was no hiding her discomfort with the turn the conversation had taken.

“Only to those who’ve earned my generosity.”

“Like me?” She wrapped her arm through his, staking her claim.

“That goes without saying.”

“Please, do say it.”

“Like you.”

Bill Eggers walked in, and they used his arrival as an excuse to sit down at their table.

“What’s new, Bill?” Stone asked.

Eggers looked uncomfortable. “This can’t get out,” Eggers said. “I mean, it’ll be published next week, but it can’t get out until then.”

Stone thought Eggers looked about to bust. “You’ll have to trust us,” Stone said. “Otherwise, you’ll explode.”

Eggers flicked a glance at Matilda.

“Don’t worry, Bill. I vouch for her character. Not a whisper will escape her lips.”

Matilda mimed zipping her mouth closed.

Satisfied, Eggers turned to face Carly. “It’s about you.”

“Oh,” she said. “You’ve found out already?”

“Found out about what?” Eggers asked.

“You, first.”

“All right. You aced the bar exam.”

“I told you I would,” Carly said to Stone.

“I mean,” Eggers said, “that you got every answer right.”

“That’s what I meant, too,” she said.

“The president of the New York State Bar Association called me at the end of the workday. He said that the people who administer the exam said that this has never happened before.”

“Wow,” Dino muttered.

“Is that true?” Carly said.

“It’s true.”

“Oh, well,” she said. “I guess I’ll just have to learn to live with being unique in my perfection.”

Stone winced. “Can’t you think of some way to bring her down a notch or two?” he asked Eggers. “She’s nearly impossible to live with as it is.”

“Don’t worry,” Eggers said. “That will happen eventually, just not tonight.”

“Okay,” Stone said to Carly, “you get to have one free evening, then it’s the real world again. What do you want?”

“Look, I was first in my class at Yale Law, I got a job at the most prestigious firm in town, I drive a snappy car, and as of tonight, I have my own apartment. What else could I possibly want?”

“Well, that was easy,” Eggers said.

“Come to think of it, there is something I’d like,” Carly said.

“Uh-oh,” Stone said.

“If it’s within your gift.”

“Try me,” Eggers replied.

“I’d like a larger office with a leather sofa and a TV.”

“A TV?” Eggers said.

“A big one, that disappears into a cabinet when clients are around.”

“Why do you need a TV in the office?”

“So I can learn when I’m not working. I like to keep it tuned to a news channel.”

“Which one?”

“CNN or, sometimes, MSNBC, when Rachel Maddow or Lawrence O’Donnell are on.”

Eggers chewed on an ice cube for a moment. “Is that it? No afterthoughts?”

“That’s it, no afterthoughts.”

“Okay, you’ll get the office two doors down from Herb Fisher. The guy who sits there is being moved to Estate Planning next week.”

“The poor bastard,” Carly said. “Okay, deal!” She put out her hand and Eggers reluctantly shook it.

Dino turned to Eggers. “Next, she’ll want your office.”

“Not just yet,” Carly said.

“You’re going to have to make a lot of rain before you think about that,” Eggers said.

“Oh,” she replied, “I made a little rain today.”

“What rain?”

“A liquor distributer, Jones & Jones. That’s what I thought you were talking about earlier.”

“Do you know someone there?” Eggers asked.

“I’ve been sleeping on Jones’s sofa,” she replied. “By the way, they spent two million on legal fees last year.”

“Gee,” Eggers said. “Maybe you ought to come and sit next door to me.”

“All in good time,” she said. “Let’s frighten Herb Fisher first.”

“Okay, one more thing,” Eggers said. “It’s traditional that when an associate passes the bar exam on the first try, we give them a ten percent raise.”

“How generous!” she said.

“Because you aced it, and because you’re already making rain, I’m going to give you a twenty-five percent raise.”

“Thank you! I accept with gratitude.”

“You just keep showing me what you’ve got, kiddo.”

“I’ll make a point of it,” she said.

Carly’s suitcase turned out to be two large ones, but Fred got them into the Bentley without trouble.

“Where were you going to sleep tonight?” Stone asked, when they were on the way home.

“In a hotel, but I didn’t know the name of one,” she said. “That’s why I brought my bags.”

“How convenient,” Matilda said.

“It is, isn’t it? Things always seem to work out.”

“I bet they do.”

Fred turned into the garage, and, while Fred got Carly’s luggage, Stone took her and Matilda to the house next door and showed them the vacant apartment.

“It’s charming,” Carly said. “How did I get so lucky?”

“I’ve never seen anyone impress Bill Eggers so much or so fast,” Stone said. “Come on, I’ll show you the house.”

He gave Carly the ten-cent tour, with Matilda tagging along, then sat them down for a cognac in the study. “Is all this going to your head?” he asked Carly.

“Of course, it is,” she replied. “I’m impressed with myself.”

“Honestly, I’m a bit impressed with you, too,” Matilda said.

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to remember everything I’ve told you?” Stone asked. “All my advice?”

“I have a photographic memory,” she said, “and it doesn’t have to be written down.”

“There’s a wrinkle I haven’t told you about,” Stone said.

“What’s that?”

“Somebody is trying to kill Matilda and me, and you have to be careful not to get in the way.”

“When I met you last, two people were trying to kill you, and we managed to handle that.”

Matilda looked at Stone, surprised. “How often do people want you dead?”

“Too often.”

“Well,” Carly said, “your present status sounds like an improvement over last time.”

“I suppose it is, in some ways, but the would-be killer employs a number of people to do his killing for him.”

“Why don’t you get Ed Rawls to shoot them for you? It worked in Maine.”

“It may come to that,” Stone said, “but we don’t want a lot of people being shot in Dino’s jurisdiction. He has to live with the statistics.”

“Are you able to arm me?”

“I don’t know. Can you restrain yourself?”

“I’m a model of self-restraint,” she said.

“First, we’ll have to get Dino to get you a license to carry.”

“He can do that?”

“He’s the police commissioner. He can hurry the process without breaking any laws. We just did so for Matilda here. I’ll get you an application to fill out.”

“In the meantime, I can kill with a single blow.” She held up a thumb. “I took a self-defense course.”

“That makes you doubly dangerous,” Stone said. “Be careful what you do with that thumb while we’re waiting for your license to come through.”

“I’ll practice thumb restraint,” she said.

Fred drove Stone to Woodman & Weld that morning, then picked him up again right before lunch, and headed for home. They’d only gone a few blocks when he said, “I don’t mean to alarm you, but we appear to have picked up a tail.”

Stone didn’t look back. “Anyone we know?”

“I noticed him when I was waiting for you, but that was the first time I’d seen him.”

“Describe him.”

Fred did so.

“That sounds like Bozo.”

“The clown?”

“Yes, but not the one you’re thinking of.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a few turns. To make sure I’m right.”

“If it’s Bozo, you are right. But go ahead.”

Three turns later, Fred said, “He’s still there.”

“Is he being obvious?”

“No, but he’s not being as cautious as he thinks he is.”

Stone looked at the road ahead. “We don’t want him to know we’ve made him. Pull over after the next light. I’ll go into that building. I believe we have a couple of clients there.”

Stone entered the lobby and crossed over to the first-floor café, where he ordered a coffee and then called Dino.

“Trench appears to be back at it,” he said. “He’s having us followed.”

“By the man from the other night? Bozo?”

“One and the same.”

“Do you want me to have him pulled over?”

“No. But I wouldn’t mind having someone following him.”

“In case he gets a little frisky?”

“Not the word I would have used, but yes. Call Fred. He’ll give you a description of the vehicle.”

“Consider it done.”

Stone settled down at one of the tables, with a copy of the Times. After twenty minutes, he called Fred. “Is our friend still there?”

“Last I checked.”

“And Dino’s people?”

“They arrived ten minutes ago.”

“Good. Then come pick me up.”

Trench steeled himself before rapping on the door of the restaurant that his uncle sometimes used as an office. The place was located in Little Italy and closed at lunchtime.

A burly thug looked out at him from the other side of the glass, unsmiling.

“Open up,” Trench said.

The thug glanced over his shoulder and said something to someone deeper in the restaurant. When he turned back, he opened the door but stood in the gap, blocking the way.

“What do you want?” the thug asked.

“I’m going to give you a break and guess that you don’t know who I am. I’m here to see your boss, my uncle.”

Instead of stepping to the side, the thug shut the door again, locked it, and disappeared.

“Hey, asshole!” Trench knocked on the glass. “Let me in.”

He raised his palm to slap the entrance again when a new man appeared. This one Trench knew. He was a member of his uncle’s inner circle, Gregor... something or other. It didn’t matter. Everyone called him the Bean Counter.

The man opened the door. “Hello, Trench. I’m sorry, but your uncle’s in the middle of a meeting.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure you can help me instead.”

“What can I do for you?”

Trench looked left and right down the sidewalk. “Can we talk about this inside?”

The Bean Counter waited a beat before he stepped out of the way and let Trench in.

There were a dozen men in the restaurant, most of them enforcer-types. The door to the private dining room behind the bar was closed, so maybe his uncle really was in a meeting. Trench didn’t really care. He’d rather not deal directly with his uncle about this anyway.

“So?” the Bean Counter asked.

“I need money.”

The man did not look surprised. “How much?”

“Ten grand.” Trench subscribed to the belief that it was always better to ask for more than he needed.

“Ten? What do you need ten thousand dollars for?”

“Expenses.”

“What kind of expenses?”

“Personal expenses. Is that a problem?”

“Do you think your uncle has ten thousand in cash just lying around?”

Trench knew he did. He’d seen that much and more on other visits. “Well, maybe I should ask him.”

He walked around the man and headed toward the office door.

“Go ahead,” the Bean Counter said. “But you should know, he’s not in a good mood.”

That stopped Trench. Dealing with his uncle in the best of circumstances was nerve-racking enough, but if the man was in a bad mood, seeing him was the last thing Trench wanted to do.

“I can give you five thousand,” the Bean Counter said.

“That’s half of what I asked for.”

“Your math skills are as sharp as ever. Try this calculation out. I could give you half, or, if you keep complaining, I could give you nothing.”

Five grand was more than enough, but Trench didn’t want the son of a bitch to know that. Looking annoyed, he said, “If that’s all you can do, I guess I’ll make that work.”

“I thought you might. Give me a moment.”

The man vanished into a back hallway and returned holding a thick envelope. He handed it to Trench.

“Five thousand in fifties. I hope that works for you.”

“Yeah. Sure. It all spends the same.” Trench shoved the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket and turned to leave.

“Trench?” the Bean Counter called.

“Yeah?”

“So that there’s no misunderstanding, we’ll be deducting that from next month’s allowance.”

Trench’s cheeks flushed. This guy was seriously pissing him off. But he knew it would be a waste of energy to argue the point. Better to talk to his mother and have her take it up with his uncle later.

“Whatever.”

He made a beeline for the exit.

Once he was back in his car, he called Bozo.

“I’ve got your money.”

“Great. Where can I meet you?”

“The gym?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Joan walked into Stone’s office with the New York Post. “Have you seen the legal news on Page Six?”

“That’s the gossip page, not the legal news.”

“It is today,” she said, handing him the paper, folded to the headline.

“They say it’s a guy, see?” Joan giggled. “I can’t wait until they have to correct that.”

“How do you know about this, Joan?”

“I know about everything, didn’t you know?”

“You’ve been eavesdropping, then?”

“You’ve all been shouting it from the rafters. Why do I need to eavesdrop?”

“Oh.”

“I hope they gave her a raise,” Joan said.

“Twenty-five percent, and you may as well know it all. She got a bigger office, a sofa, and a TV that disappears into a cabinet when a client shows up. Now, keep it to yourself, will you?”

“This is the one who’s moved into the flat next to mine?”

“Have you moved back in already? If so, this is the first-known case of somebody moving out of a twenty-room house and into a four-room flat.”

“I couldn’t sleep in that place for another night. It just wasn’t me!”

“Well, before you know it, she’ll be moving into a twenty-room house! She’s that smart.”

“I guess you won’t need me anymore, huh?”

“Not after you’ve briefed her on the security system codes and instructions, but stay on, anyway. I’m used to you.”

“Gee, thanks!” Joan flounced out.

“And don’t flounce!”

Joan slammed the door, for emphasis.

“That’s them.” Bozo pulled to the curb around the corner from Patroon, where two people stood waiting. The man, Reggie Hogan, was another trainer at the gym, and the woman, Candy Parker, was a waitress at a diner Bozo frequented.

Trench eyed the couple. “Are you sure you can trust them?”

“Stop worrying. They’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Now, wait here. I’ll be right back.” Bozo hopped out of the car and approached the couple.

“You two ready?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Hogan held out his hand.

“You get paid after you do the job.”

“How do we know you won’t stiff us?”

Bozo moved into Hogan’s personal space. “What did you say?” They were the same height, but both knew Bozo would wipe the floor with Hogan if blows were exchanged.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

“That’s what I thought.” Bozo stepped back. “I ask again: Are you ready?”

The woman nodded. “I am.”

“Me, too,” Hogan said.

“You need to keep the driver busy for at least ten minutes,” Bozo said to Candy. “Not a second less.”

“I remember.”

“Do you also remember what to do after?”

“I find a seat at the bar and keep an eye on the attorney and his friends. When they’re leaving, I let you know.”

“Perfect. Okay, let’s get this show on the road. Make it look good.”

Stone’s dinner of pan-seared halibut had just been set in front of him when Mike called him again.

“It appears Bozo has ill will toward you. He has attached a car bomb to your Bentley.”

Stone excused himself from the table again. “Can it be removed?”

“I am told it can.”

“Without any harm to your agent?”

“I don’t think she would have suggested it if that was a possibility.”

“I suppose not.”

“Would you like her to remove it?”

“I would,” Stone said. “Very much.”

“I’ll let her know. We’ll get it someplace safe and—”

“Actually, Mike, I have something else in mind.”

He told Mike what he was thinking, then, after they hung up, he messaged Fred with some instructions before heading back to eat.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a bad meal when I’m with you,” Carly said.

Matilda eyed her. “Have you eaten a lot of meals with Stone?”

“That depends on your definition of ‘a lot.’ ”

“More than three?”

“That seems like a low bar, but, yes, more than three.”

Matilda turned to Stone, pressing her softest spots against him. “Do you always treat your junior attorneys so well?”

“Carly is no ordinary junior attorney.”

“Oh, that’s right. The whole acing-the-bar-exam thing.”

“It’s more than a thing,” Stone said.

“Of course. My apologies. I didn’t mean to trivialize it.” She gave Carly a weak smile. “Smart and beautiful. Congratulations again.”

“Thank you.”

Stone’s phone rang. Fred.

“All done here. Ready to go when you are.”

“Thank you, Fred. Were you able to get a positive ID on the driver?”

“It’s Bozo.”

Not a surprise, but it was nice to have it confirmed.

“And he’s not alone,” Fred added.

“Oh?” This was a surprise.

“Trench Molder is with him.”

“Is he now? Not his lucky day, I guess.”

“No, it is not.”

“His bad luck is our good. Thanks again, Fred. We’ll be out in twenty.” Stone hung up.

“Are you going to tell us what’s going on now?” Matilda asked.

“All in good time.”

“I’m curious, too,” Dino said.

Stone gave him a pointed look. “Don’t be.”

“Understood,” Dino said, then looked around the table. “A glass of port before we leave?”

“It would be uncivilized not to,” Stone said.

Matilda held out her empty glass. “Another, please.”

Stone poured her another two fingers of Knob Creek. “If you sip it, it will last longer.”

“Tell me that on a day when someone doesn’t try to blow me up.” She downed the whiskey and held out her glass again.

This time, Stone poured a single finger, which she disposed of in the same manner, then stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go lay down.”

Without another word, she headed up to the master bedroom, leaving Stone and Carly in the study.

“I don’t think she’s taking Trench’s death well,” Carly said.

“It’s not so much his death, but that it could have been hers.”

“Clearly, she hasn’t hung around you long enough, or she would be used to it by now.”

“Are you saying you are used to it?”

“Funny, even when we had that trouble in Maine, the threat of death didn’t bother me. In fact, it was kind of exciting.”

“I’m not sure that’s the right attitude to have.”

Carly shrugged. “I can’t help my attitude. It just is.”

“I suppose, but do yourself a favor, and don’t mention that to anyone else. They might not be as understanding.”

“Again, with the warnings.”

“Believe me, it’s for your own good.”

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“You do.”

Dino entered the study. “I’m glad to see you both in one piece.”

“Technically, we are two pieces,” Carly said.

“Technically, I’m still glad.”

“Any news yet?” Stone asked.

“The car that’s not a car anymore was registered to one Thomas Bozeman, known to his friends as Bozo. I can confirm there was one other clown with him.”

“Trench Molder.”

“That won’t be official until the DNA test is performed. But I can tell you that a singed and partially intact wallet was found containing ID for said individual.”

“Drink?” Stone asked.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Once Dino had a glass in his hand, he said, “Where’s our Matilda?”

“She’s called it an early night,” Stone said. “I’m afraid the bombing has rattled her.”

“Something like that would rattle anyone.”

“Not me,” Carly said.

“Carly, what did I tell you?” Stone said.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” She clamped a hand over her mouth.

“It didn’t scare you?” Dino asked her.

She glanced at Stone, then shook her head.

“You should probably not tell anyone that.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Wait here,” Gregor Dryga, aka the Bean Counter, told his driver. “I won’t be long.”

He entered the building and went to the private elevator that serviced the penthouse. As usual, two men guarded the entrance.

“Is he in?” the Bean Counter asked.

“He is,” one of the men said, “but he left instructions not to be disturbed.”

The Bean Counter knew this meant his boss was not alone. “This is a priority one situation.”

With those magic words, the men stepped to the side, and the Bean Counter entered the elevator.

Stone woke the next morning to find the bed beside him empty and his secure cell phone ringing. From the lack of a caller ID, he knew who it was.

“This is early even for you, Lance,” he answered.

“It’s not every day one of my consultants is almost blown up.”

“Your concern is touching.”

“It’s not you I’m concerned about. It’s the fact that if you died, I’d have to find a replacement.”

“Again, I’m touched. Is there another reason for your call other than to remind me how important I am to you?”

“There is. I’m afraid you might have kicked a hornets’ nest.”

“How so?”

“If my information is correct, last night’s car bomb had been intended for you. But it was relocated before it was set off.”

“Let’s pretend that’s correct. What does that have to do with a hornets’ nest?”

“Do you know who Trench Molder is?”

“I believe you mean ‘was.’ ”

“The question is the same.”

“He was a self-important layabout with too much time on his hands.”

“He may have been that, but he was also related to the Greek.”

That stopped Stone. He’d had an up-close and personal relationship with Serge Gromyko, aka the Greek. The man was the former head of the Russian mob. Former because Stone had ended the Greek’s life with a bullet to the head.

“Trench was a Gromyko?”

“No,” Lance said, “but his uncle is.”

“Again, I think you are confusing your verb tenses. The Greek is dead.”

“I’m talking about the new Greek.”

“The new Greek?”

“Alexei Gromyko.”

“There’s another Gromyko?”

“Serge’s half brother. Took over after you removed Serge from the picture. And before you ask, he’s also half Russian, half Greek. Their mothers are sisters.”

“That’s a disturbing family tree.”

“The important branch to you is that Alexei’s sister is Trench’s mother.”

“And now you’re going to tell me this new Greek and Trench were close.”

“Close or not, he will not be pleased his nephew is dead.”

“The bomb wasn’t mine, and I didn’t set it off. Trench killed himself.”

“Do you think that’s how the Greek will see it?”

“Gee, thanks for being a bright ray of sunshine.”

“I am only the friendly messenger. My suggestion is to take the appropriate precautions.”

The line went dead.

Stone sat up, his mind churning through this new information. It took him several moments before he realized Matilda was standing in the room, fully dressed, and with her travel case beside her.

“Going home for more clothes?” he asked.

“I’m going to visit my sister.”

“Will you be back in time for dinner? Or...”

“She lives in Los Angeles.”

“So that’s a no, then.”

She expelled a breath, then sat on the bed near him. “Thank you for letting me stay here with you. On the whole, it’s been a wonderful time.”

“I sense a but coming.”

A weak smile. “But what happened last night seems to have knocked me off-kilter.”

“Explosions have a way of doing that.”

“My sister has been asking me to visit for a while, and now seems as good a time as any. Better, really.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. Are you going to try to talk me into staying?”

Given the turn of events, Stone thought her leaving town was an excellent idea. But there was no need to increase her anxiety. “Would it work if I did?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No. I need to clear my mind, and I can’t do that here in the city.”

“I understand.”

“Maybe I’ll do some painting. Who knows?” She leaned over and kissed him tenderly. “I’ll miss you. But something tells me you’ll find new companionship soon enough.” She smirked knowingly, then stood. “Well, I’ll be off.”

“Surely, you can have breakfast first.”

“No time, I’m afraid. I’ve already purchased my ticket and need to get to the airport. All I have to do is call a cab.”

“Nonsense. Fred can take you. Let me get dressed, and we’ll get you sorted.”

Ten minutes later they were in the garage, with Matilda’s bag in the trunk of the Bentley.

“Thank you, again. You saved my life,” she said and gave him a hug.

“We’ll see each other soon.”

“Maybe.”

As she pulled away, the sound of someone entering the garage caused them both to look over.

“Hi,” Carly said. She was dressed for a day at the office. “What’s going on here?”

“Matilda’s off to California to visit her sister,” Stone said.

“Oh. Have a good trip.”

“I plan to,” Matilda said. She started to climb into the Bentley, then stopped and glanced back at Carly. “He’s all yours now.”

Before Stone could react, she entered the car and closed the door behind her.

He shrugged and said to Carly, “I have no idea what that was all about.”

“That’s okay. I do.” She got into her car and drove out right behind the Bentley.

Across town, the Bean Counter’s secretary, Lauren, stuck her head into his office. “He’s here.”

“Show him in.”

Moments later, his protégé, Leonid Korolev, entered. A six-foot-four slab of muscle wrapped in a three-thousand-dollar Armani suit, Korolev was an intimidating sight. Worse, at least to those who crossed the family, he was both smart and clever, two things that did not always go together.

“You wished to see me, sir?” he said.

The Bean Counter motioned to the chair on the other side of his desk. “Have a seat.” When he did, the Bean Counter went on, “Are you familiar with Trench Molder?”

“Greek’s nephew? I have met him once or twice.” There was no missing the disdain in Korolev’s voice.

“You won’t have to worry about running into him anymore.”

“Sir?”

“He’s dead.”

Korolev’s only reaction was a slight raise in his eyebrow.

“But as I’m sure you can guess, the Greek is not happy.”

“How did Trench die?”

“Car bomb.”

This time Korolev did not even attempt to hide his surprise.

“I need you to find out who is responsible,” the Bean Counter said. He set a piece of paper in front of his lieutenant that had three phone numbers on it. “Memorize these then destroy this. They are the numbers of friends of the family who work on the police force.” In other words, men on the payroll who could tell Korolev what the police knew. The Bean Counter laid a key on top of the paper. “And this is to Trench’s apartment.”

Korolev picked the items up. “Do we think it was a rival organization?”

“At this point, I know as much as you do. It’s your job to figure it out.” The Bean Counter hoped it wasn’t another family. That kind of conflict was bad for business. “And make sure you get it right. The last thing we want is to go after the wrong people.”

“I understand.”

“If you need any other resources, let Lauren know.”

Korolev took that for the dismissal it was and headed for the door.

“Leonid,” the Bean Counter said.

Korolev turned back.

“The sooner you have the answer, the better. By tomorrow would be best. The day after at the latest. Beyond that...”

The look in his eyes told Korolev exactly what would happen in that instance.

Earlier that day, Joan walked into Stone’s office. “It’s time.”

“Time for what?”

“Your follow-up doctor appointment.”

“Follow-up for what?”

She picked the blackjack up off his desk and mimed hitting herself in the back of the head with it. “Ring any bells.”

“If memory serves, it rang a lot of bells,” he said. “I don’t need to go to the doctor. I feel fine.”

“And we want you to stay that way, don’t we? Now, come on.” She moved around his desk and shooed at him until he got up. “Fred’s waiting for you in the garage.”

“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”

“What do you think?”

“Fine. I’m going. I’m going.”

A few minutes later, he was riding in the back of the Bentley.

“Fred, we haven’t picked up any new friends, have we?”

Fred glanced at Stone, in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry?”

“I mean, like last night.”

“Oh.” Fred used his mirrors to check the road behind them. “No. We are quite alone. Are you expecting more attention?”

“I’m afraid that may be a possibility.”

“Then I will keep an eagle eye out.”

“Thank you, Fred.”

Stone arrived at the hospital right on time and was soon joined in an examination room by Dr. Herbert.

“You look a lot better than you did the last time I saw you,” Dr. Herbert said.

“I feel a lot better than last time.”

“Any more headaches?”

“Not for a few days.”

“Dizziness? Vertigo?”

“Same.”

Dr. Herbert checked the back of Stone’s head, then placed his stethoscope against Stone’s chest. When he finished, he said, “And you haven’t hit your head on anything?”

“Just my pillow when I go to bed.”

“Keep it that way, and you should be fine.” He wrote something on a tablet computer, then said, “I’d like to see you again in another month.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Probably not, but best not to take chances, don’t you think?”

On the way back home, Dino called.

“I got the results from the rapid DNA tests. The bodies officially belonged to Trench and Bozo.”

“Did Lance call you?”

“No, why?”

“Trench was the Greek’s nephew.”

“The old Greek or the new Greek?”

“How do you know about the new one?”

“Word gets around fast in my circles.”

“Well, it’s the new.”

“Shit.”

“My thoughts exactly. Come over for dinner tonight?”

“Can I bring Viv?”

“I would be insulted if you didn’t.”

Korolev woke with his arm draped over Lauren.

Last night, one drink had led to two, two to three, and three to a cab ride back to her place.

Lauren moaned, then stretched her arm and turned so she was facing him. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, yourself.”

She looked at him, a mischievous smile on her lips. “I thought you might disappear during the night.”

“Not a chance.”

She laughed. “Oh, you are different. I thought you might be.”

“What? Did you think I was a love-’em-and-leave-’em type?”

“One can never know.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“I guess I’ll have to test you on that.”

“And what does your test entail?”

Her hand slipped between his legs, and she showed him exactly what that entailed.

Thirty minutes later, they moved to the shower where they gave each other a thorough cleansing.

Back in the bedroom, Korolev pulled on his pants, and then checked his phone for messages. He was pleased when he saw an email from Lauren’s contact, with the information he’d requested. “Your contact came through.”

Lauren straightened the dress she’d just put on and looked at her watch. “Three hours early, too.” She turned her back to him. “Zip me up?”

He did so. “I’ll pick you up for dinner later.”

“Yes, you will.”

Korolev opened the email’s two attachments on the taxi ride back to his apartment. One was the call records for Trench’s phone, and the other for Bozo’s.

The first thing he noted was that there was no direct contact between the phones. At least Trench had had enough sense to use a throwaway.

A number on Bozo’s list did catch Korolev’s attention, though. It had been dialed just hours before the explosion. Korolev was sure he’d seen the number before.

He searched his contacts and found that it belonged to Pike Larson, an area arms dealer. He called the number.

“Hello?” The voice that answered was gruff.

“Mr. Larson, how are you today?”

“Who is this?”

“We’ve met before. Leonid Korolev. I work for the Greek.”

“Mr. Korolev,” Larson said, his tone suddenly solicitous. “What can I do for you?”

“Two days ago, you had a call from a man named Thomas Bozeman. You may know him as Bozo.”

“Uh, yeah. He called. Why?”

“What did you talk about?”

“Hey, I respect you and the Greek and all you guys, but my work depends on confidentiality.”

“I’m sure you’re aware that Bozo is dead.”

“I might have heard that.”

“So, there’s no confidentiality to be kept.”

“Well, I, um...”

“Bozo did not die alone. The Greek’s nephew was in the car with him.”

“Wait! All I did was provide the device. I didn’t set it off.”

“Then it would be in your best interest to talk to me.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

A week had gone by without an attempt on Stone’s life. When there was not even the hint of anyone following him or paying him any undue attention, he called Mike Freeman. “It looks like I may have dodged a bullet. Figuratively speaking.”

“I take it you remain untouched.”

“Indeed. I think you can call off your men.”

“Are you sure?”

“Gromykos have a notoriously hot temper,” Stone said. “If the new Greek suspected I had anything to do with his nephew’s death, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you.”

“Go put your men on a more exciting task.”

“Very well. But if you sense even a hint of a problem, I can have them back in a hurry.”

“Thanks, Mike.”

They had omelets quietly, while Stone tried to figure out what to do with this new information about Peter Greco’s thumb drive.

“Have you figured out what to do with the thumb drive?” Greco asked.

“Whoever you give it to, you should be represented in such a transaction,” Stone replied.

“Will you represent me as my attorney in this matter?”

Stone thought about it for a millisecond. “Yes,” he said. “Normally I would not, since we both have a stake in the outcome.”

“Do we not have the same stake? Our lives?”

“Yes, so there is no conflict of interests.”

“As my lawyer, what do you think we should do?”

“I expect that the Greek has committed crimes in Maine, New York, and, perhaps, in other cities and states. We could pick one, but I think it’s better, in this case, to go federal, if the evidence you have supports a federal crime.”

“How about income tax evasion?”

“Very good. That’s how Eliot Ness got Al Capone, when he couldn’t get him for anything else.”

“So, we go to the FBI?”

“Yes, but the right person at the FBI.”

“And who might that be?”

“I might not trust most of the agents I have dealt with, but there is one who should be a straight enough arrow for this. His name is Thomas Kinder; he’s assistant director for financial crimes.”

“Whoever you wish.”

Stone dug a throwaway cell phone from his desk drawer and dialed a number. “Assistant Director Kinder, please,” he said to the person who answered.

A moment later, another man came on the line. “This is Assistant Director Kinder.”

Stone put the phone on speaker. “Tom, it’s Stone Barrington.”

“Good day, Stone. What a surprise to hear from you.”

“I have something that should go to someone at your level and not to the New York office.”

“Well, I am at my level. Shoot.”

“I have a client who is in possession of sufficient evidence of tax evasion and fraud to put Alexei Gromyko and many members of his organization in prison for a long time.”

“So, you’re playing Eliot Ness?”

“No, you are, if you want this case.”

“In what form is the evidence?”

“It’s on a thumb drive.”

“And over what period of time were these crimes committed?”

“Seven years.”

“And this witness is inside Gromyko’s organization?”

“He was, until recently.”

“And what does he expect for his cooperation?”

“The usual: immunity for any crime he may ever have committed and, very possibly, witness protection.” Stone looked at Greco to confirm, which Greco did with a slight nod.

“And where is this witness now?”

“In New York City.”

“Where in New York City?”

“In a safe place. You will have access to him as soon as you agree, in writing, to a fulsome statement of immunity, and an agreement that you, and only you, will deal with my client.”

“This is an organization. He cannot deal only with me.”

“You or those under your direct supervision,” Stone said.

“Agreed.”

Stone gave him his fax number and email address. “When can we expect you in New York?”

“Are you free for dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Is the witness?”

“As long as dinner is at my house.”

“Is seven o’clock good?”

“Just fine.”

“I’ll bring an associate for dinner, and two other agents will come along to handle video and audio equipment.”

“I can feed them, too, but less sumptuously.”

“They can rough it.”

Stone gave Kinder directions on how to enter his garage from the avenue. “Your men can unload their gear in the garage. Don’t arrive in vehicles with blue lights on top.”

“Got it. We’ll bring body armor, as well.”

“Good. You may need it. I can put up you and your agent in my house. The tech people will have to find a hotel cheap enough to satisfy you.”

“See you at seven.”

“Make it six-thirty, if you want a drink before dinner.”

“Considering who I’m dealing with, I’ll stick to lemonade.”

Stone called Joan next. “Please call Mike Freeman and tell him my request for his people to stand down was premature.”

“On it,” Joan said.

Stone hung up and turned to Greco. “We’re all set. Will it upset your wife if you sleep here tonight, instead of going to wherever home is at the moment?”

“That will be fine.”

“I can have someone pick up some clothes for you.”

“Suite One, Waldorf Towers. I’ll phone my wife and ask her to pack a bag for me.”

“Okay. I’m going to ask a young woman, a lawyer at my firm, to join us. She has a prodigious memory, so we won’t have to take notes. I’ll get us a copy of whatever the FBI records, too.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything,” Greco said.

“I hope to God that’s true,” Stone replied.

They met again in Stone’s study the following evening, and this time Tom Kinder and his associate had a drink.

“Where’s your U.S. attorney?” Stone asked.

“She will be here shortly,” Kinder replied. “I’m told that when asked to provide a prosecutor, she volunteered herself.”

A distant alarm bell went off in Stone’s brain. But before he had time to identify it, a tall, beautiful blonde walked into the room.

“Stone, may I introduce Tiffany Baldwin, the United States attorney for the Southern District of New York? Tiffany, this is Stone Barrington, attorney for our witness, whom you have already met, and his associate, Carly Riggs.”

Stone’s heart sank. He and Tiffany had had half a dozen rolls in the hay in years past, and she would not let go. He avoided her at all times.

“Oh, yes,” Tiffany replied. “Stone and I are old friends. How do you do, Carly?”

“I do very well, thank you,” Carly replied. She appeared to have immediately sensed the circumstances of Stone’s previous acquaintance with Tiffany.

“Shall we start?” Stone asked. He conducted the meeting without so much as glancing at Tiffany, to Carly’s evident amusement.

When they were done, they all had a nightcap. Then Greco departed with the FBI, while the U.S. attorney didn’t budge from her seat. Neither did Carly.

STAY! Stone mouthed at Carly, who kept a straight face.

“May I have another drink?” Tiffany asked.

Stone poured her a very small Scotch.

“Carly,” Tiffany said. “Stone and I have something to discuss. Would you excuse us, please?”

“I’m sorry, Tiffany,” Stone said, “but Carly goes where I go this evening. I can’t have meetings with opposing counsel without her present.”

“You want a witness, then?”

“I think that will help keep the conversation on track.”

“I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,” Carly said sweetly.

“This is a rather intimate discussion,” Tiffany said.

“I have nothing to hide from Carly,” Stone said quickly.

“Looks like I’m here for the duration,” Carly said, handing Stone her glass.

Stone poured her a hefty drink and handed her back the glass.

“Shall I close my eyes?” Carly asked, innocently.

“No,” Stone said firmly.

Tiffany appeared to be ready to spring at him.

“Do tell me how you and Stone happened to meet,” Carly said.

“It was some years ago,” Tiffany replied through clenched teeth. “We were on opposite sides of the bed, in those days.”

“And still are,” Stone said.

“This is so much fun,” Carly said, laughing.

“I’m prepared to make it less fun, if you don’t leave,” Tiffany said to her.

“Please, Tiffany,” Stone interjected. “Carly is both my business associate and my guest.”

Carly smiled. “While you are simply Stone’s opponent in a case,” she said. “Tell me, how long has it been since you and Stone have, ah, shared each other’s company?”

“Too long,” Tiffany replied.

“Not long enough,” Stone said simultaneously.

Tiffany glared at Stone. “Well, perhaps I should leave and allow you and this, ah, girl, to get on with it.”

“Thank you so much,” Carly said.

Stone pressed a button and, momentarily, Fred appeared at the study door. “Fred,” Stone said, “would you kindly show Ms. Baldwin out?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening, then?” Tiffany said, smoothing her skirt.

“No,” Stone said. “Tom is returning to Washington tomorrow morning, so our business is concluded.”

“Surely, there are things we haven’t covered,” Tiffany said.

“No, we are all done,” Stone said. “Good night, Tiffany.”

“Yes, Tiffany,” Carly said. “Good night.” She waited until she heard the outside door close before she spoke again. “Oh, good. I was afraid I’d have to help you fight her off, Stone.”

“Your fears were well-founded.”

“An old flame? Or perhaps, torch?”

“And one difficult to stanch,” Stone replied. “I made the error once of giving her a key to the house. I had to have the locks changed.”

“Well, that was a mistake.”

“You have no idea.”

“Then I bid you good night,” Carly said, rising. “Call me, if you need reinforcements.” She got up and left.

For several days, Korolev had a team staking out Matilda Martin’s apartment, but she hadn’t shown up. After consultation with the Bean Counter, he had moved his team to Stone Barrington’s neighborhood, in hopes of spotting her. This proved equally unsuccessful.

He had learned the house next to Barrington’s was also owned by the lawyer, and that he often let friends live in its apartments.

“She’s either in one of the apartments or in Barrington’s main house,” he said to the Bean Counter.

“Barrington’s house is off-limits.”

“I understand that, but what about the apartments?”

“Didn’t you say there were security guards?”

“Only the first night. None since then.”

They’d discussed it for a bit before Korolev finally convinced the Bean Counter to let him check the apartments. Tonight was the night.

The lights in the lawyer’s house and the house next door finally went out.

Korolev lifted his radio, and said in Russian, “Standby.”

Waiting down the street were two of his men — Ruddy Antonovich and Theo Malic, Korolev’s best lock picker. They would be the ones searching the apartments while he kept watch from across the block, waiting in the stolen sedan they would use as a getaway car.

He let another five minutes pass, and when the lights in either house remained off, said, “Now.”

His men moved up to the entrance of the apartment building. In a handful of seconds, the door swung inward, and the pair hurried inside to the door of the nearest apartment.

Ruddy pressed his ear against it. All was quiet. He nodded to Malic, and the man once more did his magic.

The apartment was dark. From deeper inside came the soft sound of steady breathing. Ruddy followed it to a bedroom where he found a woman asleep. She didn’t look like either of the women Korolev had described, so he quietly returned to the hallway.

The next apartment was unoccupied, and they quickly moved on to the third.

When Malic eased the door open, they could see a dim light coming from farther inside.

Ruddy pulled out the special spray can Korolev had given him and crept through the flat, following the sound of running water to a bathroom.

Inside, a woman was brushing her teeth at the sink. She matched one of the descriptions; the problem was, he couldn’t remember if it was Matilda Martin or the other one. She was a real looker, though. Just the kind of woman Trench had gone for. So, she had to be Matilda.

Korolev’s voice came over the radio again, shouting in Russian, “Get out of there! Lights are back on in the main house.”

The woman spun toward the door. “Who the hell are you?”

Reflexively, Ruddy raised the can and sprayed her in the face.

She coughed and sputtered, “What the...” then crumpled to the floor.

On the radio, Korolev said, “Did you hear me?”

Ruddy pressed the talk button. “Yes. I found her, boss.”

“Where is she?”

“Lying on her bathroom floor. I sprayed her.”

“Okay, okay. Good. Get her out of there. Quick. I’ll bring the car around.”

Ruddy carried her over his shoulder to the building entrance, with Malic right behind him. The moment Korolev drove up, they hurried to the sedan, and got in with the woman.

Once they gone far enough that Korolev felt sure no one had followed them, he parked on a quiet side street, and turned to the back seat.

“Let me see her face,” he said.

Ruddy moved away her hair, and Korolev stared in disbelief. “That’s not her!”

“What?” Ruddy said.

“Did I stutter?”

Ruddy looked at the unconscious woman. “She fits the description.”

“Yeah. Of the other woman. That’s not Matilda Martin. Fuck, Ruddy. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry. I–I got mixed up, I guess.”

“You think?” Korolev ran his fingers through his hair.

“What should we do with her, then?” Ruddy asked.

“Good question.” Korolev glared at him. “What do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know. I guess we could kill her and dump her somewhere.”

“That all depends. Did she see you before you sprayed her?”

Ruddy realized if he said yes, he’d be in more trouble than he already was. “Uh, no. She... she never saw me.”

Korolev studied him. “You’d better be telling me the truth.”

“I am,” Ruddy said.

“So,” Malic said, “what are we going to do with her?”

“Not make this an even bigger mess than it already is,” Korolev said, then pulled the car from the curb.

The Times and the Post arrived with breakfast the following morning. Both hinted that a big-time arrest by the feds was in the offing. Tomorrow, it would be headlines, Stone thought.

Joan buzzed. “Alexei Gromyko on one for you.”

Stone picked up, trying to sound casual. “Hello?”

“Have you done something that can’t be undone?” the Greek asked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Stone said, keeping his voice steady. He wasn’t sure if Gromyko was talking about Trench or Greco or both.

“I believe you do.”

“Mr. Gromyko,” Stone said wearily, “do you have a point to make?”

“When I do, you’ll know it,” Gromyko said, then hung up.

Stone immediately called the Waldorf Towers and asked for Peter Greco.

“I’m sorry,” the operator said. “That party checked out early this morning.”

“Thank you.” Stone hung up and called Tom Kinder.

“Assistant Director Kinder.”

“It’s Stone. Have you heard from Peter Greco this morning?”

“No, we dropped him off at his suite door last evening. I had intended on leaving agents to guard his room, but Greco worried that would bring more attention to his presence. We compromised with leaving a couple agents in the lobby.”

“Then I take it your agents didn’t see him check out early this morning.”

“No, they did not,” Kinder said. “I’ll send my agents up to have a look at his suite. I’ll get back to you.” He hung up.

Joan buzzed again. “Herb Fisher on one for you.”

Stone picked up. “Good morning, Herb.”

“Not yet. What have you done with my associate?”

“Nothing at all.”

“She hasn’t shown up for work this morning, and she didn’t call. Normally, she’s meticulous in her work habits.”

“I saw her last evening when we finished work. That was about nine pm. I’ll see what I can find out.”

He buzzed Joan.

“Yes?”

“Carly is MIA. See if you can find her.”

“Righty-o.” Joan hung up.

Stone buzzed Fred.

“Yes, sir?”

“Have you seen Carly this morning?”

“No, I didn’t drive her anywhere.”

“Is her car still in the garage?”

“It is,” Fred said.

Stone played at working for another hour, then the phone rang.

“Assistant Director Kinder on one.”

Stone picked up. “Tom?”

“My guys went through Greco’s suite with a fine-tooth comb. Nothing to indicate foul play, or anything else.”

“Carly Riggs is out of pocket, too. She should be at Woodman & Weld, but she’s not. If either she or Greco were missing, I’d be concerned. Right now, I’m starting to feel panicky.”

“I’ll put out an APB for our New York office, but that’s not a lot of people on the street.”

“I’ll get back to you,” Stone said. He hung up and dialed Dino.

“Bacchetti.”

“I’ve got two missing persons on my hands,” Stone said.

“Anybody I know?”

“Peter Greco and Carly Riggs. Greco is turning state’s evidence against Gromyko, so I doubt the Greek is happy the FBI is looking for him. That bit is confidential.”

“I heard nothing. You want an APB on both?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll call you back.” He hung up.

Joan was standing in the door. “I haven’t been able to locate Carly anywhere.”

“Go through her apartment and see if you can find any sort of communication with us — notes, lipstick on the mirrors, anything.”

Joan walked in fifteen minutes later. “Nothing,” she said. “But Carly has four very nice handbags; I saw them when she moved in. They’re all in the apartment, and she wouldn’t have left the building without one of them.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s a woman, and women don’t go anywhere without a handbag. Oh, and one of them had her wallet in it, and some money. That’s likely the one she intended to take with her.”

“Dino is on it,” Stone said. “He’s the best we can do.”

“I’ll wait for his call,” Joan said.

An hour later, Joan buzzed. “Carly on one.”

Stone yanked the receiver off the hook. “Carly, where are you?”

“On the corner of Fifty-Seventh and Third Avenue,” she said. “I had to borrow someone’s phone.”

“How did you get there?”

“A man came into my apartment last night and sprayed something in my face. I woke up about five minutes ago behind a dumpster and went to the street.”

“Do you see any cabs from where you are?”

“Yes! Be there soon.” She hung up.

Stone buzzed Joan. “Carly is on the way here in a cab. Keep watch for her, and go armed, just in case.”

“Gotcha!”

Stone grabbed a weapon from his desk drawer and ran to the front door of the house. He watched through the peephole, in case she got out there. Nothing.

Stone called Joan’s cell.

“No sign of her.”

“Here I am,” Carly said.

Stone turned to find her standing in the door of his office.

“I’m so relieved to see you,” Stone said.

“I’m relieved, too,” she replied.

He buzzed Joan. “Go pay for that cab out front and call everybody off the search for Carly,” he said.

Joan appeared in the doorway, and Stone held up a hand to stop her. “What happened?”

“I was kidnapped,” Carly said. “They hit me with some sort of spray and put me out. I woke up in an alley near Bloomingdale’s.”

“I want some of that spray for my handbag,” Joan said.

“Any idea who they were?” Stone asked.

“I heard a voice over a radio speaking in Russian, right before I was knocked out.”

“Anyway, she’s safe,” Stone said. “Carly, do you feel like going to work at Woodman & Weld or would you like to rest?”

“Work sounds good right now.”

“Joan, call Herb Fisher and tell him Carly is on the way in, and not to give her a hard time about being late.”

“Right.” Joan disappeared.

“All right, listen carefully, Carly. You are not to leave this house or Woodman & Weld, except in my company or that of Fred in the Bentley. Got that?”

“Got it.”

Joan came into the office, waving an envelope. “Carly’s carry license came, delivered by a uniform.” She handed it to Carly.

“Good timing. Find her a .380, a couple of spare magazines, and a box of cartridges.” Joan nodded.

Carly opened the envelope and stared at the license.

“That is a license to carry, not a license to kill,” Stone said. “If you kill somebody who is not shooting at you or strangling you at the time, your life will change forever, and for the worse.”

“I understand all that,” she said. “You’ve told me before. Could I have shot those two guys who took me last night?”

“Only while they were engaged in the taking of you.”

“Okay, point taken.”

“That being said, carry it everywhere. Joan, find her that catalog of holsters, and let her pick out something. Some ladies prefer the Thunderwear.”

“The what?”

“Joan will explain that to you. Joan, call Fred, brief him, and ask him to take Carly to work, but not until her weapon is loaded and available.”

Joan beckoned Carly to follow her, and they left.

The speaker on Lauren’s desk buzzed, followed by the Bean Counter saying, “Send him in.”

She looked at Korolev, not hiding her concern.

He gave her a smile that said everything would be fine and then headed to the door. Everything was not fine. He had been dreading this meeting since Lauren had woken him with a call at nine am, telling him he was expected at eleven.

He entered his boss’s office.

The Bean Counter was standing behind his desk, pulling his suit jacket on. Korolev stopped a respectful distance away and waited.

The Bean Counter checked his computer screen and picked up his briefcase before finally looking at Korolev. “Let’s go.”

“Go? Where, sir?”

“To see the Greek.”

Korolev felt a chill run down his back.

The Bean Counter didn’t say another word until they were in the back seat of his sedan, on the way across town. “I assume you failed.”

“It did not go as hoped.”

“What happened?”

Korolev told him about last night’s attempt to kidnap Matilda Martin, leaving nothing out, knowing to do so would not go unpunished.

“Are you even sure she was there?” the Bean Counter asked.

“I...”

The Bean Counter raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Korolev said. “I’m not sure. She has not been seen for several days.”

“Is it possible she left the city?”

Korolev reluctantly nodded. “It is possible.”

The Bean Counter sighed. “Then I guess I have no choice.”

Joan buzzed Stone. “Lance on one.”

Stone picked up the phone. “Why do you bother being announced?”

“Sometimes it’s convenient.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I want to meet Carly Riggs.”

“Why?”

“She sounds interesting.”

“She is interesting. That’s why you can’t meet her.”

“Don’t be that way, Stone.”

“You’re recruiting, and she’s not currently available.”

“When will she be available?”

“After she’s made partner at Woodman & Weld.”

“That’s too long to wait.”

“She’s done Yale, Yale Law, and she aced the bar exam.”

“That’s why I want to meet her.”

“She has a career in the law planned, and I don’t want you to screw it up for her by shipping her off to the Farm, then to God-knows-where.” The Farm was the CIA’s training facility in Virginia.

“That would be a good career for her.”

“It would be good for you, not her. Carly needs protecting from all that for a while, maybe for a long while.”

“Why don’t we let her be the judge of that?”

“Because I don’t know yet how good her judgment is.”

“We like them when they’re still a little malleable.”

“Lance, I can’t stop you from trying, but I’ll do everything I can to keep her where she is and doing what she’s doing.”

“Can you protect her from the Russians?”

“Yes.” Stone wished he were as confident as he sounded.

“We can protect her at the Farm.”

“We can protect her here, too.”

“You didn’t protect her last night,” Lance said.

Why did Lance know everything? “A minor slipup. It won’t happen again.”

“And how will you prevent that?”

“By shooting everybody who tries.”

“You might be able to trade her for peace with Gromyko,” Lance said.

“I already have peace with Gromyko. He’s being arrested this morning for income tax evasion.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I’m expecting a call momentarily.”

“He’ll just bail out and disappear.”

“He won’t get bail.”

“You think he can’t get bail out of Tiffany Baldwin?”

“Yes.”

“And what happens if Tiffany doesn’t play?”

“I’ll shoot her myself,” Stone said.

“Bravado doesn’t suit you, Stone.”

“It’s courage, not bravado.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Content of character.”

“You don’t have it in you to shoot anybody.”

“I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again.”

“Face-to-face? In the head?”

“Twice.”

“Are you going to shoot me, if I recruit Carly?”

“Not you.”

“Why not?”

“Because, if I shoot you, there are too many people who would care. Nobody cares about Gromyko.”

“That’s true, I suppose. All right, I’ll give you a little more time with Carly.”

“You’ll stay away from her at all times, or you’ll make me mad,” Stone said.

“And why do you think I would fear you mad?”

“Because, if you think about it, you’ll realize how many ways I could screw you.”

“Such as?”

“Do you like your job, Lance?”

“Of course.”

“Would you like to keep it?”

There was a silence. “You’re threatening me with going to the president?”

“If I do, you’ll have a hard time working anywhere, ever again.”

“That’s a serious threat,” Lance said. “Can you back it up?”

“Try me.”

Another long silence, then Lance hung up.

Stone hung up, too, and his hand was trembling. Nobody had ever talked that way to Lance. Maybe he had gone too far.

When Carly came down to the lobby of the Seagram Building, Stone was waiting for her in the Bentley.

“This is unexpected,” she said, sliding in the back seat next to Stone.

“It’s necessary,” Stone said.

“Is Gromyko in jail?” she asked.

“I’m still waiting for that call. In the meantime, there’s another threat to deal with.”

“Now what?”

“Lance Cabot.”

“The head of the CIA?”

“That’s the one.”

“What’s the problem with him?”

“He’s taken an interest in you.”

“What sort of interest are we talking about? Sex?”

“No, nobody’s sure whether Lance does that. He wants to recruit you for the Agency.”

“Well, that’s flattering. Does he always do that personally? I thought he had a nationwide network of recruiters at such places as Ivy League universities.”

“Oh, he does, but he always has an eye out for talent, and when he spots it, he wants it. And he’s spotted you.”

“Is he so hard to say no to?”

“He is, and there’s an element of danger in that.”

“How so?”

“Here’s how it works,” Stone said. “First, he’ll take you to a very good dinner, and he’ll talk the whole time. You won’t even have a chance to ask questions, until he’s finished.”

“Okay, I can handle a good dinner. What then?”

“Then he’ll take you down to a place called the Farm, in Virginia.”

“I’ve read about that; it sounds interesting.”

“Lance thinks you’ll think that, especially when he tells you about the kind of training you’ll get there.”

“For how long?”

“The standard is about twelve weeks, but he would likely pull you out before that.”

“Why?”

“Because he’ll have a special assignment that your training has shaped you for, and it will sound enticing.”

“Okay, then what?”

“From then on, Lance will keep you very busy. You’ll visit exotic places and do work that you feel might just save the planet.”

“Sounds like a dream job.”

“It is, in its way, but it’s dangerous. Survival is a very important part of the work.”

“Why do you know all of this?”

“Because I have attended the Farm, albeit briefly, and I know others who have done so under Lance’s watchful eye.”

“Like who?”

“One of them is currently serving as president of the United States.”

“Holy shit! Sounds like I’d enjoy some of that training.”

“You will, some of it. But you’re no Holly Barker; no one is.”

“I’ll try to hold my ambition in check.”

“Later in your career, it might be worth your while to study under Lance, but not yet. You’re going to have a lot of options in your life, and the Agency is only one of them.”

“Well, that’s flattering.”

“We’re not talking about flattery, here, Carly. We’re talking reality. You’re going to have a lot of fun doing the things you’re still learning to do, but believe me, it’s too early in your young life for you to learn it at the hands of Lance Cabot.”

“Okay, say Lance approaches me. How do I handle it?”

“You give him your undivided attention. Never look bored or inattentive, then while he’s talking, think about why you don’t want to do what he’s suggesting you do. When he’s done, tell him no, in specific, but polite terms. And be firm in your resolve.”

“What if what he’s offering is really, really enticing?” she asked.

“Trust me: you don’t want to do it. You should believe me, because I have your interests at heart, while Lance has only his interests at heart. There’s nothing I want for you but to do well and make good choices.”

“I believe that, Stone,” she said. “And I’ll do as you ask.”

“Good. After Lance has made his pitch, we’ll talk about it, and you’ll see why it’s not a good idea.”

“All right.”

“Home, Fred,” Stone said. “And without getting shot at, if you can manage it.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

Stone was dying to know what had happened in the Gromyko case, but he was afraid to call Tiffany Baldwin and ask her. Finally, he called Thomas Kinder, at the FBI.

“Hello, Stone,” Kinder said.

“Hi, Tom. What’s happening with Gromyko? I was afraid to call Tiffany Baldwin.”

“You’re scared shitless of her, aren’t you?”

“You would be, too, if you’d had my experience with her. And don’t ask! So, is the Greek in jail?”

“Not as of yet.”

“What’s the problem?”

“When my men went to arrest him, he wasn’t there, and we haven’t been able to find him.”

Stone gulped. “Is he still in New York?”

“I don’t know. I said we couldn’t find him, remember?”

“He’s keeping a low profile. That would explain why his people were able to kidnap Carly Riggs yesterday. He grabbed her right out of my house, sprayed something in her face that rendered her unconscious.”

“That’s what happened to her? I’ll see if my people have found anything about where she is yet.”

“Not necessary. She came to behind a dumpster and managed to get away. She’s safe now.”

“Thank God! You gave me a turn there.”

“Imagine the turn I got,” Stone said.

“Well, yes.”

“Have you alerted Dino about Gromyko?” Stone asked. “He can manage a very big net with a phone call.”

“Ah, no. I guess I didn’t want to explain why we hadn’t had an arraignment.”

“I’ll alert him.”

“I’d be grateful, and I will keep you posted, Stone.” He hung up.

Stone called Dino.

“Bacchetti. Don’t tell me, Gromyko hasn’t been arrested.”

“How did you know?”

“Because I run the kind of shop where, when people say to me, ‘I’ll get back to you,’ they get back to me.”

“I just talked to Tom Kinder and heard only discouraging words.”

“Does he want me to put an APB out?”

“He does, but he doesn’t want you asking questions.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“As I knew you would.”

“Shall we take Carly to dinner tonight?”

“I’ll ask. Clarke’s at seven-thirty?”

“Done.” Dino hung up.

First thing the next morning, Stone sat in his study and waited for his newly formed team of assassins — a film producer and a rookie attorney — to join him.

Eventually, they filed in and sat down.

Stone waited for their plot to unfold.

“We’ve talked it over at some length,” Billy said, “and I’ve decided that it’s best to fall back on old habits and experience. Fewer ways to screw up.”

Stone squinted at Billy over his folded fingers and waited. Old habits? he asked himself. “What kind of ‘old habits’?” he asked Billy.

“I’ve put out some feelers. Gromyko’s been moving around a lot, but I found out where he’ll be this afternoon. We wait for him to step out of his nest, then I walk up behind him and put two in his head.” As if it were the easiest thing in the world. “It’s the easiest thing in the world,” Billy said.

“And Carly’s role in this?”

“To walk on the other side of the street and observe. It will be good experience for her.”

“And how do you get your own ass out of there after shooting the guy in the head?”

“You leave that to me,” Billy said, like it was a done deal.

Stone took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I know it’s not the sort of plan you were thinking about,” Billy said. “That’s why it will work. It’s simple. Nobody will be thinking of it.”

“You don’t think Gromyko’s bodyguard will notice when his charge collapses in the street?”

“Oh, I’m sure he will,” Billy said, as if that explained everything.

“Billy, I know your work well enough to know that you will vanish into thin air, but is Carly just supposed to hike up her skirts and sprint away?”

“It’s hard to explain, cold, like this,” Billy said, “but it will go much better in the viewing.”

“This won’t be happening in a screening room, but in a public street, likely a crowded one.”

“The more witnesses, the better,” Billy replied. “They’ll each have their own story to tell, and none of them will match.”

Stone took another deep breath.

“I want there to be no way for Carly to be associated with what happens; that’s the only way I’ll feel comfortable with her participation.” He packed as much finality into that sentence as he could manage.

“No one will be paying her any kind of attention.”

“Is that a promise?”

Billy drew an X across his chest with his finger, and said, “Cross my heart.”

Stone looked at Carly. “And you’re okay with everything?”

Carly shrugged. “Peachy keen. I’ve heard enough from Billy to believe that he knows what he’s doing.”

“The first sign you might be in danger, I want you off the street and unobservable from any point of view,” Stone demanded.

“I promise,” Carly said.

“One more thing,” Stone said to Billy. “I’d like a box seat for the performance.”

“I’m sorry, Stone,” Billy said, “but you’re too likely to be spotted as the pain-in-the-ass uptown lawyer you are. Remember, some of those people on the street will have already attended briefings on how to ‘rub you out,’ as they used to put it. Would a hi-def video feed of the action do it for you?”

“As long as Carly doesn’t star in it,” Stone said. “I don’t want the Greek’s buddies to come looking for her.”

“Hey,” Carly interjected, “me, neither.”

“Nor I, either,” Billy said.

“Sorry. I sometimes forget that Billy is my new high-school English teacher.”

“We all learn from Billy,” Stone said. “When does the curtain go up on this little drama?”

“This afternoon at five, more-or-less, sharp. I have it on good authority Gromyko will be having an early dinner only a couple blocks from where he is staying.”

Stone threw up his hands. “I surrender, Billy. You always best me.”

Billy excused himself and left, but Carly held back for a moment.

“What?” Stone asked.

“Any advice?”

“Any advice I give you would run along the lines of taking the next bus out of town, and I sense that’s not what you have in mind.”

“Nope,” she said, confirming his judgment. Then she was out of there.

Stone sat in his study alone, trying to picture how this thing could work without getting both Billy and Carly killed, instead of the guy who was supposed to get killed. It didn’t work.

Carly sat in her bus seat and watched the back of Billy Barnett’s head, but not too closely. She didn’t want to get caught doing that. The bus stopped, and she got off. Billy stayed with the bus and rode away.

She started up the street in the direction she had been told to walk and looked for a shop. It had been left to her to choose what kind. Krispy Kreme looked pretty good to her. It was busy, but not too busy.

Keeping her back to the street, she entered and waited for the woman ahead of her to conclude her business, which seemed to include feeding a large birthday party. Carly pressed the button in her brain that said, Calm, and she instantly was. She read the overhead menu a couple times, then stepped up when the woman left with her purchase.

“Yes, ma’am?” the woman behind the counter said.

“A dozen chocolate glazed and two dozen original glazed,” Carly replied.

Her order was filled, and a price mentioned. Carly handed her a fifty.

There was a flash of green being counted, and the jingle of change. Carly dropped the coins into the charity collection jar and stuffed the bills into her pocket. The handle of a shopping bag emblazoned with the product name was thrust at her, and she accepted it and turned toward the street.

As she reached the door and opened it, a Vespa motor scooter flashed past her, and a moment later, two crisp pops sounded. She turned right and began to walk unhurriedly up the crowded street, swinging her shopping bag.

Then there was a kind of collective gasp, and a small girl screamed. People fell away from a man lying facedown in the gutter. Carly stopped and stared at the inert form.

“Somebody call 911,” she said to no one in particular. People moved around the man like leaves in a stream around a rock, so she made the call herself, using a throwaway Billy had given her.

“911, what is your emergency.”

“It looks like a man got shot in the street,” Carly said. She gave the approximate address, but not her name. “He seems to have bullet holes in his head.” She hung up, put the phone away, and walked around the seeping form in the gutter.

Half a block behind her there was a low moan, repeated, from a police car, and a crowd began to encircle the man and stop. A police car nosed its way into the circle, and two cops got out. One of them was talking into a handheld radio.

“Man down in the street,” he said, then bent and examined the man. “What appears to be a pair of gunshots to the back of the head.” He felt the man’s neck. “Unresponsive. I can’t find a pulse.”

The other cop walked in Carly’s direction. “Lady, what did you see?”

“What you see now,” Carly replied. “That’s it.”

The cop looked for a more responsive customer, and an old lady accommodated him, talking rapidly.

Carly turned and walked away. She reached into the bag and pulled out a donut and took a big bite. Ahead of her, a woman got out of a cab, and Carly got in.

“The Strand Bookstore,” she said and gave the address on Broadway and East Twelfth Street.

Shortly, the cab stopped, Carly got out, leaving the Krispy Kremes behind, and Billy got in, giving the driver an uptown address. Carly walked into the huge bookstore and shopped around, choosing two biographies, Eleanor Roosevelt and Kate Lee. She paid in cash and left the store, having shed her raincoat, and with a new shopping bag.

In the wake of Gromyko’s murder, the council meeting was delayed until one am. Two members of the family’s inner circle were in Boston and had to fly back. A third was in the hospital, recovering from a gallbladder operation, and had to be transported to the location via ambulance.

The Bean Counter was in attendance, though word of his earlier meeting with the Greek, and its antagonistic nature, had made the rounds, and few of the others would even make eye contact with him.

The gathering was chaired by Igor Krupin, the senior member of the council and the person who oversaw operations near the docks. “For the third time in less than a year we are meeting because our leader has been murdered. I know you all are as angry as I am. And that—”

“Do we know who did it?” The question came from Dmitri Asimov, the man who oversaw the family’s distribution business.

“I was getting to that.”

“Get to it faster.”

While the question of who was responsible for the Greek’s death needed to be answered, the Bean Counter knew the more important question was who would lead the family now. Because until that was decided, the tension between not just Krupin and Asimov but every man sitting around the table would only escalate.

Krupin glared at Asimov. “At this point, it’s too early to know who is behind it.”

A chorus of upset voices broke out.

Krupin held up a hand. “Quiet. Quiet!”

“Of course, we know who did it,” Asimov said. “Gromyko himself was sure if he were killed, it would be at the hands of the lawyer, Barrington.”

“Barrington?” another man at the table asked, incredulous. “The same Barrington who was responsible for the death of the elder Pentkovsky brother?”

“And the first Greek.”

Everyone turned to Krupin.

“Why hasn’t he been killed yet?” a man sitting next to the Bean Counter asked.

“We can’t afford to make a mistake in this,” Krupin said. “We must make sure before we take action. Trust me when I say I am doing all I can to resolve this quickly.”

“You say that like you’re in charge,” Asimov said. “I don’t recall us making that decision.”

“Someone needs to—”

More shouting broke out, all of them trying to drown out each other. All but the Bean Counter. Once he felt the cacophony had gone on long enough, he stood and looked around the table, without saying a word.

One by one, the men fell silent.

“Mr. Asimov has a point,” the Bean Counter said. “Our first priority should be deciding who will take over the family. Only when we have a new leader can we discuss dealing with whoever is responsible for the Greek’s death.”

One of the men scoffed. “I suppose you’re going to suggest you should be given the job.”

The Bean Counter absolutely thought he was best suited, but he was smart enough to know now was not the time. “You would be wrong. I do have a suggestion, but it is not me.”

“Who?” Asimov asked.

“There is really only one choice,” the Bean Counter said, then smiled.

Stone decided to spend the next day at home. Given the Greek’s death, it seemed a reasonable precaution.

He had suggested the same to Carly.

“Why should I worry? I didn’t do anything,” she said.

“You did help plan his execution.”

“They don’t know that, do they?”

“Probably not, but look at it this way. You are a known associate of mine, and I am someone Gromyko very much wanted dead. If they can’t get to me, they may try to get to my friends. Have you forgotten they already kidnapped you once?”

“That’s one more thing I’ll never forget.”

“I thought not,” Stone said. “If you stay here, you are under the protection of Mike Freeman’s people, the best in the business.”

“I suddenly have the desire to work from home today.”

“I thought you might.”

Stone had just finished a mid-afternoon video conference when Dino called.

“Everyone still breathing over there?”

“Last I checked.”

“That’s good to hear. Dinner?”

“Always.”

“Clarke’s or Patroon?”

“Here, I think. No sense in tempting fate.”

“Works for me. What time should we be there?”

“Sixty-thirty for drinks?”

“See you then.”

Peter Greco sat in a row of chairs in a thick forest of headstones in a Queens cemetery and listened to a priest drone on in Russian, which he understood only poorly. The Greek’s wife, Olga, who was twenty-odd years the junior of her late husband, sat at Peter’s elbow and made snuffling noises while clutching his arm. Peter was conscious of the breast pressed against him and of her cleavage, which looked good in black.

He had not planned on attending the Greek’s funeral. He had assumed he and his family would have been preparing to move across the country, where they would be under the protection of the FBI. But yesterday he had received a call from the Bean Counter, who had asked him as a personal favor to attend and had guaranteed his safety. So, with some reluctance, he had come.

The service ended, and Olga turned to him. “I would like you to come to my house for a glass of tea,” she said, “and there are those of our community who wish to speak to you.”

“I’ve already attended one funeral this week,” he said. “I would rather not star in another.”

“No one wants you dead. Quite the opposite.”

Intrigued, he followed her to a black limousine and took note of her shapely buttocks as she bent to enter the car. When he seated himself, he was surprised that she occupied her seat in such a way as to keep herself thigh-to-thigh with him.

“Who wishes to speak to me?” he asked her.

“People,” she replied, then spoke no more for the remainder of the ride. They entered the old, but well-kept house, and she pointed to the dining room door. “In there,” she said. “I will wait for you upstairs.”

Peter opened the door and peered into the room. A group of men rose as he entered, then settled themselves in the chairs around the table.

“Shall we speak Russian?” an elderly man asked him.

“Please, no. I haven’t spoken it since I was very young. Just English.” What the hell was this about?

“Very well,” the man said. “We are here to remind you of your duties.”

“My duties?” Peter asked. “What duties?”

“The first is revenge,” the man said, and there was a positive rumble from the group.

“Revenge toward whom?” Peter asked.

“Toward the man who killed the Greek, or rather, who ordered his death.”

“And who might that be?”

“This person, Barrington, the lawyer.”

“And how did you come by this information?”

“Alexei predicted his death by Barrington’s hand or on his order.”

“That’s not evidence enough to suspect Barrington in his death,” Peter said.

“Is the Greek’s word not sufficient for you?”

“No,” Peter said, “but I don’t see why it even matters what I think.”

“It matters,” the main said, “because as our new leader, you must take charge of the effort against Barrington.”

“Leader of what?” Peter asked, baffled.

“Why of our family and its businesses,” the man said. “The Gromykos did not work out. It’s time for a Pentkovsky to lead the family again.”

“I cannot accept that,” Peter protested. “I had already expressed to the Greek my intention of leaving the group and governing my own existence. That has not changed. Besides, I do not believe Barrington capable of ordering a murder.”

“You are naive,” the man said.

“Perhaps so. But I am Peter Greco now, not Egon Pentkovsky. And I must decline any participation in the family’s affairs, and certainly anything to do with revenge against someone who has been wrongly accused.”

“We shall see,” the man said.

“We shall not see,” Peter said. “And I will not be pressed into replacing the Greek in the family, whose activities I wish to have nothing to do with.”

The man sighed, ignoring Peter’s protests. “And then there is the matter of the Greek’s widow,” he said.

“I’m sure he has provided for her generously.”

“He has provided money and the house,” the man said, “but those are not all the woman needs. She is young and beautiful, and she must be attended to.”

“I have a wife and family, and I attend to those,” Peter said. “She will have to look elsewhere for attention.”

“Then you must explain that to her personally.”

“Please explain to her on my behalf.”

“She is waiting upstairs to speak to you of this. It is ceremonial, on such an occasion. Go to her now. You will not be disturbed.”

Peter stood up. “Gentlemen, I thank you for your interest in me, but I have quite another life to live, so I must leave you now.”

“As you wish,” the man said. “We will speak further.”

Peter left the room, closing the door behind him. As he walked toward the front door, wondering how he was going to transport himself back to the city, he heard a voice from upstairs.

“Peter?” Olga called.

He stopped. “Yes?”

“Please come upstairs.”

He was going to have to explain his position to her and be done with this foolishness. He climbed the stairs and came to a half-opened door.

“Please come in,” she said.

Peter pushed the door further open and entered the room. The door closed behind him.

“I knew you would come,” she said. “I knew it in the car.”

He turned and saw her standing next to the door, and she was entirely naked.

She quickly closed the distance between them and pressed her body against his. Peter instinctively put his arms around her in a gesture of comfort, but what he felt against him had nothing to do with comfort, and everything to do with lust.

Peter’s relationship with his wife had cooled over the years, and his response was nearly instantaneous. She did something with his belt buckle, and his trousers dropped around his ankles.

“Come,” she said, taking his penis in her hand and leading him toward the bed. His choices were to follow her or to trip over his trousers and fall flat on his face. Before they reached the bed, she had stripped him to the skin, and he fell on the mattress with Olga on top of him. From there, he had only to follow her moves, which he did automatically. She sat on top of him and enveloped him with her thighs.

She was an expert. Again and again she brought him to a near climax, then slowed, until finally, he could hold back no longer, and they climaxed together.

“There,” she said, “that’s so much better, isn’t it?”

Peter called Boris.

“Yes, Mr. Greco?”

“What are the two airplanes at my disposal?”

“A Pilatus and a Dassault.”

“I want to be flown to Islesboro, Maine, in the Pilatus, to land a four pm. The runway is 2,450 feet.”

“I’ll call you back.” Boris hung up. A few minutes later, he called back.

“Yes?”

“We must leave the apartment at two-fifteen. Your flight will depart at three pm, and you will land at four.”

“See you at two-fifteen.” Peter hung up, then called Stone Barrington’s cell.

“Yes?”

“It’s Peter.”

“Hello, are you in the new house?”

“My wife is, and she thanks you for the roses. I should arrive at the airstrip at four. Are you in New York?”

“Just departing Teterboro. I’ll be at Islesboro myself in an hour.”

“May we meet at the new house at, say, five? I have business to discuss with you.”

“All right,” Stone said. “I was surprised to see you on a report on the morning shows about the Greek’s funeral.”

“Not as surprised as I was to be asked to attend. Things are... never mind. We can talk more about that later. See you at five.”

Stone returned to his own house, where he found his guests — the Bacchettis and Carly — settled in the living room before a big fire. “It’s starting to rain,” he said to nobody in particular.

“Raining in Maine?” Dino said. “No kidding?”

“We’re not in Scotland, Dino,” Stone replied. “It doesn’t rain constantly here. There are often sunny days.”

“Whatever you say,” Dino replied, gazing at the rain beating against the windows on the seaward side of the house.

“It’s nice weather for the fire,” Carly pointed out.

“Thank you for that,” Stone said. He poured himself a drink and sat down. “I have news from my meeting with Peter Greco.”

“Did he shoot you twice in the head?” Dino asked.

“You will note that my head has only the usual number of holes.”

“Did he miss?”

“This morning, after the Greek’s funeral, Greco was appointed the new head of the family.”

“You should be wearing full body armor,” Dino counseled.

“On the contrary, he is meeting with his council on Monday, and at that time he will give them instructions that neither I nor mine — which includes you lot — are to be touched.”

“I’m happy to be included in your lot,” Dino said.

“We are still to be careful until word has filtered down to the soldier level.”

“Careful?” Carly asked. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t go out alone,” Dino said, “and when you do, go armed.”

“That’s what we were doing anyway, wasn’t it?” she asked.

“Then just keep on doing it. Peter says he’s taking all the family businesses fully legal.”

“Does that include the murder and mayhem part?” Viv asked.

“Apparently, Gromyko incorporated most everything and started paying taxes.”

“You can do that with murder and mayhem?”

“Businesses have been doing that for centuries. But I do believe he intends to divest himself of that particular avenue.”

“Will wonders never cease?” Viv asked.

“Wonders remain to be seen,” Stone replied. “I will say that I am encouraged by what he told me.”

“You are easily encouraged,” Dino said.

“Perhaps, but I am not credulous. I’ve gotten to know him a bit, and I appreciate what he’s trying to do.”

“Does that mean you’re his lawyer now?”

“No, it doesn’t. I’ve explained to Peter that Woodman & Weld deals only with upright clients.”

“Some of your clients will be surprised to hear that,” Dino said.

“You won’t find a cleaner, more ethical law firm in the city,” Stone replied.

“Okay,” Dino said. “I suppose I can stretch your credibility that far.”

“I’m so grateful,” Stone said.

“Stretching calls for another drink,” Dino said, waving his glass at Stone.

Stone complied, and Dino sipped.

“What about the meeting with the FBI?” Carly asked. “Did I remember all that for no reason?”

“Your memory was used as intended. What Peter told the FBI didn’t go away just because he switched sides. As for his relationship with the feds, he has requested a grace period from Kinder, to clean things up.”

“And Assistant Director Kinder went for this?” Viv asked.

“That remains to be seen.”

“My money is on a big fat no,” Dino said.

“My money is staying firmly in the bank,” Stone said.

Dino took a drink, then said, “So, what are we going to do with ourselves on this little vacation, besides watch our asses?”

“What you usually do,” Stone said. “Sail or go motorboating, shoot skeet, fish, swim in the sea — like that.”

“At least half of those activities are precluded by the local water temperature,” Dino said.

“Get used to it. It’s not going to change.”

“Something occurs to me concerning safety,” Viv said.

“What is it?” Stone asked.

“You better let Ed Rawls know about this semi-truce you have with Peter G. before he shoots the man’s eye out.”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll bet that’s Ed,” Dino said. “The scent of single-malt Scotch has reached his house.”

Stone peered through the peephole, then opened the door. “Speak of the devil.”

“The devil drinks brown whisky,” Rawls said, handing Stone his shotgun, as another man might hand him his umbrella, which he was also carrying and handed over. “So, you’re talking about me already?”

“We couldn’t help ourselves,” Dino said.

“Take a seat and be briefed,” Stone said. Rawls did so.

“Is the war over?” Rawls asked.

“How prescient of you to ask,” Stone said. “Peter G. has assumed Gromyko’s former position. He is calling off the mob’s dogs and taking his operations legit.”

“Well, shit,” Rawls said. “How am I going to entertain myself?”

“Just keep on doing what you’re doing, until we get the all-clear.”

“You mean keep shooting Russians?”

“No, unless violently provoked.”

Ed took a big swig of his Scotch. “No fun at all, eh?”

As the group chatted on, Stone got up, retrieved an umbrella from the holder near the front door and exited the house onto the back porch. He took a seat in a damp, Weatherend love seat, and was soon joined by Carly.

“Hey, there,” she said.

“Haven’t I seen you someplace before?”

“I’m glad I’m, at least, a familiar face.”

“You’re more than that.” Stone put an arm around her.

She snuggled closer and gave him a little kiss on the neck.

“What was that?”

“That was a little kiss on the neck. Would you like a bigger one, perhaps somewhere else?”

He looked down at her and got a kiss full on the lips, with a little tongue thrown in.

“Hang on,” he said, feeling a stirring.

“Onto what?” she asked, placing a hand on his thigh.

“Didn’t I tell you not to get entangled with anyone at the firm?”

“No. You told me not to let Herb Fisher get me into bed. You said nothing about you.”

“Was that what I said?”

“If you want the exact quote, I can give it to you.”

“I’m sure you can.”

She lifted her hand. “Are you saying that rule applies to all the lawyers at Woodman & Weld?”

Stone floundered, trying to come up with an answer.

“I mean, you didn’t bring a girl besides me on this trip. I’m inclined to take that as inviting.” Her hand settled back on his thigh. “Am I wrong?”

“I’m not sure there’s a right answer to that question.”

“Of course, there is,” she said. “Tell you what, you think about that for a while, and I’ll wait until you’re in bed for a straight answer, so to speak.”

She kissed him again, even better this time, then got up and went back into the house, leaving him to talk his anatomy down to a non-visible size. He picked up his umbrella, opened it, and walked out into the rain. The wind had dropped, but the rain continued. He kept his back to the windows, until normalcy had returned, then strolled down to the dock and inspected the boats — the Hinckley picnic boat and the Concordia sailing yacht.

Nobody took a shot at him, so he went back into the house. Carly was nowhere in sight.

“Wet enough for you out there?” Viv asked.

Stone shook like a dog. “I think I’m going to need to change clothes.”

“Well, Dino and I are going to repair to the guesthouse for a little nap before dinner,” she said, ogling Dino into action.

“Enjoy,” Stone said.

“You, too,” Viv said.

“Wait. Where’s Ed?”

“I told him we wouldn’t be eating until eight-thirty tonight,” Dino said. “So he went home for a bit and said he’d be back in time to eat.” He and Viv left.

Stone put away his umbrella and headed upstairs to the master bedroom. He walked into the room and found Carly in his bed, apparently naked, but with a sheet covering her breasts. She was reading an old New Yorker by a bedside lamp.

She reached up and switched it off. “Hello again. It took you a little longer than I thought.”

Stone got out of his wet clothes, and she held the sheet up to make room for him, and to give him a better view of her body, the beauty of which exceeded his suppositions.

“I have a feeling I’m going to regret this,” he said, kissing her on a nipple.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” she said, reaching for him.

“That speaks volumes,” Stone said, giving himself to the moment.

A little later, Stone lay on his back, taking deep breaths.

“Are you going to need resuscitation?” Carly asked.

“Whatever that was worked just fine.”

Carly laughed, something she did not do a lot of. “You can have a rest, and we can resume after dinner.”

“No need to wait,” he said, turning toward her. “It’s my turn, anyway.”

“You won’t get an argument from me,” she said, running her fingers through his hair, steering him home.

Stone woke to find Carly gone from the bed, then she emerged from the bathroom, toweling herself.

“Awake at last!” she said.

“Sort of,” he replied, kicking off the covers.

“I like the two of everything idea,” she said, indicating the baths and dressing rooms. “No waiting.”

Stone shaved and showered. And when he had dried his hair and toweled off, he came back to the bedroom and found Carly gone, and her clothes in the female’s dressing room.

So much for staking out her territory, he thought. He changed into fresh khakis and a clean shirt and slipped into a pair of alligator loafers and a blue blazer, with New York Yacht Club brass buttons, then went downstairs. Everyone was there, except Carly.

“Where’s the girl?” Dino asked.

“Beats me,” Stone replied, and it did. “Kidnapped, perhaps?”

“I doubt it,” Viv said.

Stone fixed himself a drink. “Anybody for a refill?” he asked the room.

“We’re good,” Dino said.

Stone sat down and switched on the evening news.

“Reputed Russian mob boss Alexei Gromyko was laid to rest today after being shot on the street in broad daylight,” the news reader said. The camera panned the group at graveside from a distance.

“Hey,” Dino remarked. “Who’s the babe sitting next to Peter?”

“That must be the widow,” Stone replied. “Though I’ve never seen a widow at graveside sporting that sort of cleavage.”

The TV moved on to the next story.

Dino answered a knock at the door and let Ed Rawls in. “You know where the bar is.”

“I have a special, inbuilt range finder that seeks out the bar in every location,” Rawls said, helping himself to the Scotch.

Carly appeared at the top of the stairs and made her way to Rawls’s side. “Me, too, Ed.”

Ed handed her the drink he had poured for himself, then started over.

“Was that really Gromyko’s widow on TV?” she asked.

“As far as we know,” Stone replied.

Stone switched to CNN and found the same graveside cleavage staring at him.

“She’s an all-star,” Viv said.

Mary, the housekeeper, rescued them from the news. “Dinner’s on,” she said.

“That would be lobster,” Stone said. “It’s always lobster the first night back.” He found himself seated next to Carly, with Dino on her other side.

“Did you have a refreshing nap, Carly?” Viv asked sweetly.

“Indeed, I did,” Carly said. “The rain does it for me every time.”

“You know, one of my detectives told me something I didn’t know about Russian crime families,” Dino said.

“That would be just about everything,” Viv said.

“He said that a childless young Russian widow becomes the ward, so to speak, of the succeeding family head, and that he is obligated to give her a child.”

“Well,” said Viv, “that’s useless information, if I ever heard it.”

Dino jerked a thumb at her. “She says that about every bit of news I bring home.”

“I don’t argue sports with you,” Viv said. “Unless Mrs. Gromyko qualifies as a sport.”

Ed Rawls spoke up. “I got a glimpse of Greco’s wife on the island today.”

“How’s her cleavage?” Dino asked.

“Oh, Dino,” Viv said, “shut up.”

“That’s my cue to shut up,” Dino said, and did.

Stone woke at eight am, but thanks to Carly, he did not get out of bed until after ten.

“Join me for a shower?” she asked as she crossed the room.

“Why do I get the feeling there won’t be much showering?”

“I promise, every inch of you will be clean by the time we finish.”

“How can I say no?”

Forty minutes later, Stone was dressed and feeling cleaner than he could ever remember.

“Shall we see about getting something to eat?”

“Please,” Carly said. “I’m starving.”

Dino was reading the Times in the living room when they came downstairs. He folded the paper dramatically in his lap upon seeing them.

“Viv had to stop me from sending out an APB when you didn’t come down for breakfast,” he said.

“A little out of your jurisdiction, isn’t it?” Stone said.

“You forget, I happen to know the local constabulary. One call and the island’s on lockdown.”

“Where’s Viv?” Carly asked.

“Out for a walk.”

“By herself?” Stone asked, concerned.

“She’s armed with one of your shotguns, and two of Strategic Services’ best are trailing her.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Do you really think the Russians will try something here?” Carly asked.

“I’m hoping they don’t even know where we are,” Stone said. “But no need to tempt fate.”

“I suppose.”

“Come on. Let’s see if Mary can whip us up something to eat.”

“Don’t eat too much,” Dino called after them. “Viv wants to have lunch at the golf club and play a round.”

“You hate golfing,” Stone said.

“Not as much as I love my wife.”

The group of Russians met on Islesboro at mid-morning Monday, after sleeping on the mainland the night before, then chartering their own ferry.

Peter received them on the front porch at noon, and after a glass of something, they sat down to a buffet lunch. When that had been consumed, and the house had been cleared of caterers and his wife and children, he sat down at his dining table with the family’s council.

“Once again, welcome to Islesboro,” he said. “It is my understanding that I have been chosen to lead the family. So you all say?” The group made affirmative noises. “Very well, I accept, and I will run things pretty much as the late Greek did, absent the murders.”

This news was greeted by a cold silence. “Anyone with objections to this policy will be murdered,” he said, then paused for them to realize he was joking and laugh a bit. “I’ve spent the weekend catching up with current operations and the books. As you know Alexei initiated the policy of conducting ourselves as legitimate businesses, and that conversion will continue apace. As time passes you will begin to know the advantages of legitimacy, particularly of paying taxes. We will gain more from paying than it costs us.

“I want you all to understand that anyone who violates the legitimacy rule will pay dearly. And murder and other violent methods will no longer be practiced.” Their expressions remained hostile.

“We will begin with the matter of Stone Barrington,” Peter said. “Neither Barrington nor his friends and associates in and outside his law firm will be touched.”

“But we have had multiple generations of leadership with his death as an objective.”

“All that is over,” Peter said.

“What if he provokes us?” someone asked.

“We will not be provoked,” he replied. “If Barrington needs to be spoken to, I shall do the speaking. Does everyone understand this rule?” He looked around the table and waited until he got a nod from every man present before continuing. “Good. It is my wish that everyone at this table reach their own home safely tonight.” He waited for that to sink in.

“Divisions of responsibility for management will continue as envisioned by Alexei. If changes need to be made, I will make them. While the business will be legitimate, it will not be a democracy, and votes on any subject will not be taken. My orders will suffice. Only those who accept these conditions will be welcomed at this table when next we meet. Others may take retirement as outlined in Alexei’s plan. You are all wealthy men and will take salaries from the individual companies. I will award such bonuses as I feel are good for the whole business. It will be expected of all of you to live on the salaries assigned to you. Displays of personal wealth are to be discouraged.” Peter continued for another half hour, then closed the meeting and thanked all for their attendance. He wondered how many he would have to kill before they took him seriously.

Ed Rawls watched the departure of the Russians from the dock next door and did a head count: two missing. He sent Peter Greco a text with this information and confirmed that the two were the same pair Greco had suspected would be the problem.

In short order he received a reply: This should be a straightforward assassination. You may shoot to kill. Don’t forget the cleanup. Payment will be as agreed and placed in your mailbox.

Consider it done, Ed wrote back. He walked over to the newly renovated house next door, which he knew to be unoccupied, carrying only a key and a briefcase.

He assembled the Czech sniper’s rifle, set up a tripod on an upper deck where it could not be seen from the road, and checked the view from the deck, past his house and dock. As the sun set, a dinghy appeared at the dock of the new house, and two men carrying duffels alit on the dock and tied up the dinghy.

Using a 24x monoscope, he followed them up the dock and past his perch, watching as they waited behind shrubbery for the traffic to clear, then crossed the road. Ed went back to his silenced rifle and began to follow their progress with the rifle’s scope. A message came on his radio, through the earpiece. “Anytime now.”

Ed aimed at the second of the two figures sneaking up to the house, and sighted him in. He squeezed off a round, catching the man above the ear and felling him. His companion turned around to discover the source of the sound he had heard, and Ed shot him in the forehead before he could collect himself.

Ed spoke into the radio. “All present, dead, and accounted for,” he said.

“Excellent,” came Greco’s reply. “When will disposal take place?”

“Your part, as soon as the sun goes down,” Rawls said.

“They will be bundled and delivered to you in the craft they arrived on, at that time,” Greco said.

“Good. I will complete my part after dinner, pending receipt of payment.”

“Done.”

Rawls disassembled and packed the rifle. He walked back to his house, put the case in his safe, then got into his car for the drive to the Barrington house. On the way, he stopped at the mailbox to collect the waiting envelope. When he reached his destination, he took a moment to do a fast count of the envelope’s contents, pocketed it, and walked up to the house.

Carly met him at the front door, while the others were just gathering at the table. “Come in, Ed, and take a seat.”

Stone looked at him questioningly for a moment. Rawls nodded.

“Welcome, all,” Stone said, raising a glass of a fine California Chardonnay to them in greeting.

The others joined the toast, then they all took a seat.

Mary began distributing plates, and Seth, her husband, brought in a large serving dish, set it on a trivet at the center of the table, and removed the lid. Stone was handed each plate and, in turn, filled them with roast pork and apples and sent them around the table.

“Bon appétit,” he said, raising his replenished glass. They responded, then dug in.

After dinner and an hour of drinking port and eating Stilton before the fireplace, Rawls excused himself. “Pardon me for leaving a little early, but I forgot to set out the trash.”

He drove back to his house, using his iPhone to work his way through the security system, then he walked down to the dock. Tied up on the opposite side of his own dinghy was the one the failed assassins had left at the neighboring dock. Inside it lay two lumps in separate canvas bags, each properly weighted.

Rawls brought his dinghy alongside and took the other in tow. Some distance out on Penobscot Bay, he checked the depth sounder, found himself in nearly a hundred feet of water. He rolled each bag overboard and waited for it to sink, then he put a few holes in the other dinghy and watched it go under.

Satisfied with his evening’s work, he returned to his dock, secured his boat, and walked to the house. He checked all his security checkpoints, then let himself in. Shortly, he searched his satellite directory for programs he had recorded, then settled in to watch a new season’s debut of Succession.

Who were these people? he wondered of the cast. He wouldn’t have any of them in his house!

Stone received a call from Ed first thing the next morning.

“I thought you’d like to know, everything went as planned,” Ed said.

“Glad to hear it.”

Ed then filled Stone in on the details.

After breakfast, Stone and Dino took the Hinckley picnic boat out into the bay for a little fishing, though neither of them was a fisherman and both despised fish, except steaming on a plate.

Dino took a small device from his jacket pocket and fished for bugs of the electric kind on the boat, finding none. “I take it our friend operated successfully last night,” he said.

“Twice,” Stone replied.

“Is two all the opposition?”

“Let’s hope so. I feel a little safer already, don’t you?”

“If you say so,” Dino replied. “You know, being a sworn police officer and all, I feel an odd satisfaction for the way this was handled. I’ve always had a suspect or two now and then that I wanted to just pop in the head and put them out with the trash. Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Stone said. “I always felt something between satisfaction and guilt when it was that way. It helps a lot that someone else is doing the dirty work.”

“I think Ed enjoys the work,” Dino said.

“It would be tough to train all your life for something, then have your skills wane over the years. This way, he gets to stay sharp.”

“Do you think he has anything like a conscience?”

“I think,” Stone said, “that his conscience gets at him when he sees someone he knows to be a bad, even evil, guy, walking around loose. That seems wrong to him, and he has a cure for it, called marksmanship.”

“As long as he doesn’t employ the cure in my jurisdiction,” Dino said.

“You didn’t seem offended when someone we know assisted an even more evil person into that awful cemetery in Queens.”

“True. Have you had enough of non-fishing, yet?”

“Just about. I’d enjoy the boat ride more if it were a sunny day.”

“Oh, that’s right, you promised me some of those.”

“I did, and you’ll get them.”

“I see Viv helped you into bed with Carly.”

“She did?”

“Who do you think suggested to Carly to go outside and check on you? I hope you appreciate the effort.”

“I do. I had just about put the idea out of my mind, until Carly brought it up.”

“Bringing things up doesn’t seem to be a problem for her.”

“Definitely not. She sees things differently than most. It’s the way she’s wired. For instance, I know she really enjoyed watching Billy take out Alexei Gromyko.”

“I hope getting laid was fun for her, too.”

“I’ve been assured it was.”

Ed Rawls unloaded his groceries from his boat and carted them to the house. Once everything had been put away, he checked the fridge, and it seemed like he had more beef than he could eat in a week. He was about to call Stone and invite his crew to dinner when he stepped out onto the back porch to put away the cart and got a whiff of something on the breeze. Tobacco smoke.

Ed went back into the house and called Stone.

“Hey, Ed. How’s it going?”

“I’ve got a surfeit of porterhouse in the fridge. How about you folks come down here this evening and help me reduce my stock?”

“Count us in,” Stone replied. “Anything going on down there?”

“Funny you should mention that. I just got a whiff of cigarette smoke on the breeze.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah, you’d better be carrying this evening. You bring the handguns, and I’ll supply the long guns.”

“Sounds good. What time?”

“Get here at six and watch the night fall.”

“You’re on.”

Ed hung up the phone and went around the house, closing shutters and bolts and getting ready to receive fire after dark. Most assassins preferred that to daylight.

He leaned a rifle next to every window, and by that time alarm bells were going off. That would be Stone and party letting themselves in through the gates, using Ed’s codes.

Ed Rawls put on an apron and started grilling three three-inch porterhouse steaks, and the evening became convivial. Dino manned the bar.

In the middle of somebody’s long story, Carly raised a hand. Nobody paid attention to her.

“Hello?” she said plaintively. “Does anybody here smoke?”

Ed stopped talking and sniffed the air. “Everybody duck!” he yelled and led the way.

Glass began to break, and everybody ducked.

“There’s more of them out there,” Ed said. “My fault. I intended to leave everybody dead.”

“Uzis,” Dino said.

“Thank God for that,” Ed replied, his cheek pressed to the floor. “Nobody move a hair! Complete silence!”

Carly crept across the floor on her belly toward the rear door.

“Goddammit!” Ed whispered. “I told you to be still!”

“I’ll be still when there’s a rifle in my hands,” Carly whispered back and kept her course. She snagged a rifle and a magazine and rammed it home. “All set.”

There was a small sound from the front deck, and a row of Uzi holes appeared in the door. Carly put four rounds through that door, then there was the sound of a falling body. “One down,” she said. “Anybody joining me?”

“Hold it!” Ed said, then crawled to a front window and looked through a lower corner pane. “Carly, pass out weapons.”

“Pass ’em out yourself,” she replied. “I’m still working on your first order.”

Ed crawled over to the front door, cursing under his breath. He started throwing rifles around the room, followed by magazines.

“Front door,” Stone said, then put a burst in that direction.

“Two down,” Carly said.

“It’s four down, if you count the first two.”

There was a shout from the direction of the dock, and feet could be heard pounding it. A moment later an outboard motor revved, and its sound began to fade.

Ed stopped and listened. “Gone,” he said, finally.

“If you’re that sure,” Dino said, “stand up and look around.”

Ed did so. “Everybody check the nearest window, but carefully,” he ordered.

Somewhat reluctantly, the others stood.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, then walked out the rear door.

“I’m not moving until he doesn’t get shot,” Carly said.

“I’m right behind you,” Dino said.

Ed Rawls burst through the back door, causing everybody to duck again.

“All clear,” he said, “and good news, they took the bodies with them, so there’s no cleaning up, except the glass. Plus, I remembered to pull the hood down on the steaks, so they should be glass-free.”

Eight men gathered around the dining table in a Rockland hotel suite, a few miles from Islesboro — Dmitri Asimov’s inner circle.

Asimov rose from his place at the head of the table and rapped on the mahogany for attention. “I have news,” he said, “of a sort.”

“What does that mean?” someone asked.

“The second team returned two men short, and mission incomplete.”

“They were our best men.”

“No,” said Asimov, “the two in our first team were our best men.”

“How did this happen?”

“We sent the first two to take out Peter,” he said, “but the marksman, Rawls, stopped them.”

“So, we take out Rawls and go again with Greco.”

“The second team was sent to take out Rawls,” Asimov said. “It turns out that Rawls had more firepower at his disposal than we were prepared for. Our problem is that this is more of a military problem than a simple assassination. We need someone with a military background.”

“The Sarge,” someone said.

“Yes!”

“I’ll get in touch and get him up here.”

Asimov squinted into the morning sky and picked up a black dot, which swiftly became an aircraft on final approach. It set down and taxied to the ramp. The airstairs door opened and a large man descended, followed by a smaller man.

Asimov shook the larger man’s hand and said, “Hello, Sarge.”

“Hello, Dimitri. My friend here is the Corporal.”

Asimov shook hands with the smaller man, then the three of them got into an elderly Lincoln town car.

“Okay,” Sarge said, “let’s hear it.”

“First, we get the ferry; we’ve got twelve minutes.” The Lincoln shot forward.

The gates were just starting to close when they drove aboard.

“Is this the only way out here?” Sarge asked.

“For the public, yes. You may have whatever transport you need when the time comes. Right now, this is the best way to look things over, without attracting attention. There’s a ferry back in an hour and a half we can catch. That should be enough time.”

They drove through the village. “Stay out of the store,” Asimov said. “The island grapevine starts there, and you don’t want to be on that radar.”

“Gotcha,” Sarge replied.

Asimov handed him a large-scale map of the island, then they drove on, until they stopped at a point where a driveway was interrupted by a large log.

“What the fuck?” Sarge said.

“This is where Rawls lives.”

“Rawls?”

“He’s their sharpshooter.”

“Dimitri, let’s move our asses out of here. I can already see four cameras. Drive a little farther and stop where you can.”

Asimov followed his instructions.

“Now, Dimitri, what is Rawls’s first name.”

“Ed.”

Sarge grimaced. “If you’d told me that on your first call, you’d have saved me a trip up here and yourself a lot of money.”

“Why? What do you know about Rawls?”

“That he’s the best shot and the smartest asshole the CIA ever produced. How many of yours has he killed already?”

Asimov looked uncomfortable. “Four.”

“Okay, let’s go back to the ferry.”

“Don’t you want to see the rest of the island?”

“No, whatever we do — if we do anything — starts and ends at Rawls’s house. I don’t want to be seen by anybody else on this island. Just park the car and go over the map with me.”

Asimov did so, and Sarge made small marks on the map.

“This guy, Barrington, sounds familiar,” Sarge said.

“He’s an uptown lawyer, and his best friend is the police commissioner, Dino Bacchetti.”

The ferry docked, and they got aboard for the return trip.

“Stay in the car, and keep the windows up,” Sarge said. “Then let’s go back to your hotel and talk there over a drink.

Ed Rawls rang Stone’s doorbell and waited, fidgeting, on the doorstep until it was answered.

Stone ushered him in. “Lunch is soon,” he said.

“I’ll stay, but I’d like a drink, now, please.”

Stone poured him a stiff Laphroaig. He had never seen Rawls so fidgety. “What’s going on, Ed?”

“We’ve got new opposition,” Ed said.

“What opposition?”

“I’m getting ahead of myself. I got a couple of calls this morning from people I take seriously, to say that questions are being asked about me.”

“Okay, what else?”

“You don’t understand, Stone. They know who I am.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Before, I was a ghost, an old man on a pension. Now they know who and what they’re dealing with.”

“I see,” Stone said. “And that will make them more cautious?”

“There’s more. They’ve hired a specialist called the Sergeant.”

“An assassin?”

“A whatever-it-takes guy, and he knows who and what I am.”

Stone nodded, but he really didn’t see what difference that made.

“It means they’ll come after me, first,” Ed said. “They know what I can do, and they won’t want me in the way. They checked out my front gate earlier today.”

“So, what does this mean to how we’re operating?”

“It means I need to stop operating and start working on staying alive. I’ve got to get out of here.”

Stone was speechless.

“I know that comes as a blow,” Ed said, “but I’m no good to you dead.”

Ed had a point. “Have you talked to Peter about this?”

“I sent him an email.”

“When and where are you going?”

“As soon as possible, and I thought about my place in Virginia, then I thought about my girlfriend’s house in England. Sarah’s there now, and that’s her preference.”

“I’ll call Mike Freeman, and see if he can offer you a ride over.”

Stone went into his little office and called Freeman and made his request.

“Wheels up at eight am tomorrow,” Mike said. “Tell Rawls no weapons.”

“Okay, Mike.”

“You going, too?”

“No, I’m going to deal with it at this end.”

“As you wish.” They hung up.

Stone went back to the living room. “You’re aboard a Strategic Services jet tomorrow morning, wheels up at eight. Mike says don’t bring weapons.”

“Got it,” Ed said.

“Are you going to stay at your house tonight?” Stone asked.

“I haven’t figured that out.”

“I think we’d all better fly back to the city after lunch. I’ll put you up for the night, and Fred can drive you to Teterboro in the morning.”

“Thank you, I’m grateful.”

“Go back and get your stuff after we eat.”

“It’s already in the car,” Ed said.

Stone went down to breakfast the following morning because he wanted to be out of the bedroom before Carly woke and made further demands. Ed Rawls was already at the table.

Stone sat down. “Tell me about this Sergeant guy, Ed. He seems to cause you to become skittish. Why is that?”

“Sarge is an old Marine who got drummed out of the Corps for being too much himself.”

“And what was he that frightened people when he was himself?”

“He was a homicidal maniac who enjoyed killing people. In fact, he almost killed his commanding officer, a man a lot of people would have enjoyed killing, but Sarge didn’t mind telling people about how he had tried to eviscerate the man.”

“I suppose that would cause a certain hesitancy in those who surrounded him.”

“You could say that.”

“Have you had dealings with him?”

“Not yet,” Rawls replied, “and I’d like it to stay that way.”

“Just how good an assassin is he?”

“As good as I am, I hear,” Rawls replied. “But whereas I take satisfaction in doing my work well, Sarge apparently invests his job with a certain glee that is absent from mine. And frankly, that scares the living shit out of me. Which is why I try to be where he ain’t.”

“That seems to be working.”

“Yes, but I can’t tell for how long. I wasn’t even sure that he was aware of my existence until I began hearing from friends who were hearing from their friends. Apparently, I’m no longer a casual target, but an assignment.”

“And who is the assignee?”

“Those Russians who are supposed to be at Peter’s beck and call, but who really want him not to exist. Not to mention me, who acted as his guardian.”

“And me?”

“I don’t know if he is even interested in you, but if I were you, I would behave as if he is. The Russians are not particularly fond of you.”

“Greco is.”

“Every rule has an exception. But it is a small one, in this case, and I wouldn’t count on it saving you.”

“How long do you think it would take Sarge to lose interest in us?”

“I wouldn’t count on that, either.”

“Then how do I stop him?”

“Kill him before he kills you.”

“How?”

“Take your pick of weapons, and never be without one.”

“Have you thought of going after him, Ed?”

“I’ve dreamed about it,” Rawls replied. “I’ll let you know when I come up with a plan.”

“Please do.”

Rawls sighed. “The plan may have to include using you for bait.”

“If it does,” Stone said, “I’d appreciate it if you try not to miss.”

Stone got a call from Bill Eggers, his managing partner. “I need you in my office for lunch with a prospective client,” he said.

“Sure, who’s the client?”

“Name of Peter Greco. He’s the CEO of a conglomerate, made up of half a dozen companies. He reckons they’ll spend about three million a year on legal fees.”

“See you at lunch.” He didn’t mention that he knew Greco and that he had declined to represent his group, something that Greco had said he understood and would respect.

Ed Rawls found his girlfriend Dame Sarah Deerfield waiting for him in living room.

“Ready?” she said and stood.

She had attired herself in a red dress that hugged her in all the right places. Ed took a moment to admire the view before saying, “It might be better if we eat in tonight.”

Her eyebrow crooked. “Problems in New York?”

“Greco is dead.” He didn’t need to tell her the rest as he’d informed her about what had been going on when he’d first arrived.

“Which means you’re next,” she said.

“Me or Stone. Or, depending on how ambitious they are, both of us at the same time.”

“I don’t like the sound of any of that.”

“It doesn’t exactly fill me with joy, either.”

“Shall I call my friends at Scotland Yard? I could have two dozen officers surrounding my house within the half hour.” Sarah was the retired chief of the Metropolitan Police in London.

Ed considered the suggestion, then nodded. “Make the call but let me check the area before you have them show up.”

She pulled out her phone, and he headed upstairs.

Ed checked Sarah’s security cameras on the monitor in the bedroom and saw no obvious signs of trouble. But if the Sarge was as good as his reputation, there wouldn’t be.

Ed opened his suitcase. While he had followed Mike Freeman’s instructions to the tee and had brought no weapons with him on the flight from Teterboro, he had packed a few items typical travelers would not have. Tucked among the stuff in his bag were a pair of binoculars, with both available light and night vision modes.

He grabbed them, made his way onto the roof, and crawled to a position from where he could survey the street. He used available light mode first and scanned as far as he could in either direction. Nothing stood out. He then switched to night vision and paid special attention to the areas where little light reached.

His gaze stopped on a person crouched behind a car near the end of the block, who was leaning out just far enough for a sliver of their body to glow green in the binoculars.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

He watched the figure for a few moments, waiting for the person to move. But whoever it was just peered down the street toward Sarah’s house.

Ed crawled back until there was no chance he’d be seen, and called Sarah.

“The police are all set,” she said, “just waiting for my go ahead.”

He told her what he’d seen.

“I’ll send a few officers in on foot first,” she said.

“Good idea.”

Ed moved back to his former position and trained the binoculars on the lurker. Soon, two of London’s finest came around the corner on the same side of the street the lurker was hiding. A moment after that, two more appeared at the corner on the opposite side.

Hearing the steps, the lurker dropped to the ground and scooted under the car. This did not fool the officers. They surrounded the vehicle, then one of them shouted something Ed couldn’t make out.

After a moment, an arm appeared from under the car, then the lurker’s head and shoulders. As soon as the officers saw that the suspect — who appeared to be a man — was unarmed, they rushed in and yanked him to his feet.

Ed called Sarah. “Send in the rest of the troops.”

When he rejoined her downstairs, a policeman was with her.

“Ed, this is Chief Superintendent Rogers,” Sarah said. “Chief Superintendent, this is Ed Rawls. The Chief Superintendent is in charge of the officers who will be watching the house.”

“Thank you for coming,” Ed said. “What’s happening with the person you apprehended down the street?”

“He is outside,” Rogers said. “Dame Deerfield thought you might wish to speak to him.”

“Very much.”

“This way.”

The lurker was in the back seat of a police car, eyes wide in fear. He was younger than Ed had expected, much younger — no more than eighteen or nineteen.

Rogers nodded at one of the waiting officers, who opened the door, and pulled the lurker out.

“Please, this is some kind of mistake,” the kid said. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Then why did you hide under the car when the police arrived?” Ed asked.

The kid blinked, confused by Ed’s American accent or the fact that he wasn’t wearing a uniform or both. “I–I didn’t know it was the police. I just heard them coming toward me.”

“And your first instinct was to hide. Why?”

The kid looked away, clearly not wanting to answer.

“What’s your name?” Ed asked.

“Christopher. Christopher Bedford.”

“Christopher, the more you cooperate, the easier things will go for you.”

Ed’s words obviously had the opposite effect from what he intended as the blood drained from the kid’s face. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“If that’s the case, then just tell us what—”

“Christopher?” a female voice called from across the street.

A young woman about the same age as Christopher ran to the police car. “What happened?” She turned to Rogers. “Why are you holding him?”

“You know this lad?” Rogers asked.

“Yes. He’s my... my friend.”

Ed instantly understood what was going on here. But before he could say anything, a man stepped out of a house across the street, took in the scene, then called, “Caroline, what’s going on? Why are the police here?”

The girl took a step away from the car. “It’s nothing.” She shot Ed and Rogers a quick look, pleading for them not to say anything, then she turned and jogged across the street.

To Christopher, Ed said, “I take it her parents don’t know about the two of you.”

Christopher shook his head.

“I’ll let you handle this,” Ed said to Rogers and then returned to the house.

He was glad it was a false alarm, but for some reason that made him feel more concerned rather than less.

“How about a drink?” Sarah said.

“How about more than one?”

That evening, in New York City, the family council gathered at the restaurant in Little Italy, in the room that had until recently been Alexei Gromyko’s office.

Asimov arrived first, and purposely took the seat at the head of the table.

When Igor Krupin walked in several minutes later, he was not pleased. As the eldest, the position of chairing the meeting should have been his. “I believe you are in my seat.”

“Your beliefs are not important to me,” Asimov said.

Krupin’s gaze hardened. “Move.”

“I like it here, thank you.” Asimov motioned at the other chairs. “There are plenty of other places for you to choose from.” He turned away, ending the conversation.

The rest began filing in. Those who weren’t part of Asimov’s cabal looked askance at Asimov’s place at the head of the table, but none challenged him. On the other hand, his friends smiled in approval as they filled the chairs nearest him. The only one who looked neither happy nor appalled was the Bean Counter. He was his usual calm, unreadable self, and took a chair midway down the table, right between Asimov’s friends and foes.

“I am sure you have all heard the news,” Asimov said, after everyone had settled, “but in case some haven’t, Egon Pentkovsky — or, as he preferred, Peter Greco — is dead. I know none of us expected to be discussing leadership of the family so soon after we just did, but here we are.”

“Do we know who did it?” one man asked.

“It has to be the same person who had Alexei killed,” another said.

“The lawyer? But I heard Greco was found in Barrington’s office,” a third man said. “Barrington isn’t stupid enough to have killed him there, is he?”

Everyone started talking over each other, asking questions, throwing out theories, and shouting suggestions for retaliation.

Asimov let it go on for a minute, and then slammed his hand on the table. “Enough.”

The room quieted.

“I already have people looking into the circumstances of his death,” Asimov said. “Have no doubt, when the perpetrator is discovered, he will be dealt with in no uncertain terms.”

“Need I remind you how he is dealt with is not your decision to make?” Krupin said. “It is that of the new head of the family.”

Asimov smiled, menacingly. “So it is. Then we should decide who will make that decision.”

“By rights, it should go to Igor,” one of Krupin’s allies said. “He is the senior among us.”

“Is that the will of everyone?” Asimov asked.

A few heads nodded, but from the crease in Krupin’s brow, their number was not as large as he had expected.

A few seats away from Asimov, one of his friends cleared his throat. “I think the job should be yours, Dmitri,” he said, looking at Asimov. “You are a man of action, and that is what’s needed now.”

Several others voiced their agreement. More, Asimov noted, than had for Krupin.

“I’m flattered you think that,” Asimov said.

“We should put it to a vote,” the man said.

“Is there anyone else we should consider?” Asimov asked, wanting to sound egalitarian, when he was anything but.

He looked around the table. The only other name that might be thrown out would be that of the Bean Counter, but the man apparently had no plans to nominate himself, nor did anyone else speak up.

“All right,” Asimov said. “It appears the choice is between Igor and myself.” He turned his attention to the man who’d put Krupin forward. “Kazimir, would you be so kind as to conduct the vote?”

“Of course.”

It came down to a single vote, that of the Bean Counter. Asimov had no idea which way he would go. The man had always been hard to read. When Krupin’s and Asimov’s names had been put forward, the Bean Counter had sat stoically and not displayed support for either man.

If Asimov didn’t win, he and those who supported him had already agreed to take control of the family by force. He inched his hand toward the butt of the pistol hidden under his jacket.

Kazimir said to the Bean Counter, “Mr. Dryga?”

The Bean Counter stared at the table, his lips resting against his clasped hands. Finally, he leaned back, and said, “Dmitri Asimov.”

Though Asimov had known that no matter what happened, he would be in charge at the end of the meeting, achieving his goal was still a shock.

“The council has decided,” Kazimir said. “Dmitri Asimov, the leadership of the family is yours.”

One by one, the members of the council pledged their support, even Krupin, though his face was ashen, like he might drop dead from a heart attack at any moment.

Asimov thought that was probably something he should consider facilitating. Krupin had served the family well, but going forward, the man would be a thorn in Asimov’s side. Best to usher him into permanent retirement. Perhaps in one of the empty plots near where they’d just buried the Greek.

Asimov smiled at the idea.

Stone and Carly were on the way to Clarke’s to meet Dino for dinner when Stone’s secure cell phone rang with a call from Holly Barker.

“I had been thinking about paying you a visit this week,” she said, “but the Secret Service tell me they’d rather I wasn’t around you right now.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” he said.

“Well, what they said was closer to ‘you cannot go anywhere near Stone Barrington until further notice.’ I take it you are under threat of death again.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Who is it this time? Wait. Don’t tell me. If I really want to know, I’ll ask Lance. Can I at least assume it’s not a jealous husband?”

“You can.”

“That’s good to hear, but I’m disappointed you are unavailable to me, and for an indeterminant time. You are a wonderful stress reliever.”

“I hope I’m good for more than that.”

From the seat beside him, Carly gave him a curious look.

“You are, have no doubt about that. It’s just a woman in my position has few chances to get comfortably naked with someone who knows how to please them.”

“You could always try someone who doesn’t know how to please you, and consider it a chance to train them.”

“Who has the time for that? Anyway, I just wanted to tell you to try to stay alive. The mood of your president depends on it.”

“I’ll do what I can, Madam President.”

He hung up.

“Did you just get a booty call from the president of the United States?”

“I plead the Fifth.”

Carly slid her arm through his. “You should call her back and tell her you are currently occupied.”

“No need. She’s not coming. The Secret Service aren’t keen about the Russian mob’s current interest in me.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“It’s just... Is it wrong that I’m suddenly grateful someone wants you dead?”

“Carly, that mind of yours is a dangerous place.”

“You are not the first person to say that, but I can never tell if it’s a compliment or not.”

“Pretend it is, and we’ll all be happy.”

Dino was at the bar when they arrived.

“I thought you were traveling with an entourage,” Dino said.

“We are,” Stone said. “There are at least six of Mike Freeman’s people scattered throughout the restaurant, and four more at the front door, who arrived with the two cars that escorted us.”

“Mike is not messing around.”

“He never does.”

They had one drink and then were shown to their table. During appetizers, Stone’s secure phone rang again.

“I never knew the president was so persistent,” Carly said.

Stone looked at the screen. “She can be, but this isn’t her.” From the lack of an identifying number, he knew it was Lance Cabot. Given that Stone had threatened his job during their last conversation, he wasn’t sure what to expect. He accepted the call. “Good evening, Lance.”

“I heard about the corpse in your office,” Lance said. “Is business that bad?”

“For Peter Greco, it is.”

“Indeed.” Apparently, Lance was taking the pretend-it-didn’t-happen route. “Speaking of Greco, your Russian friends have selected a new leader to replace him. A man named Dmitri Asimov.”

“I don’t think Dino even knows that yet.”

“Of course, he doesn’t. Is he aware the Russians are working with an assassin known as the Sarge?”

“That he does know. We’re assuming he’s responsible for Greco’s demise.”

“You would not be wrong.”

“If you have proof of that, I’m sure Dino would appreciate it if you shared.”

“Enjoy your dinner, and tell Carly I send my greetings.” Lance hung up.

Stone told Dino and Carly what Lance had said, less the greeting for Carly.

“So, the family went with the hothead,” Dino said. “That was my least favorite option.”

“Perhaps if they had consulted with you first, they would have gone in a different direction,” Stone said.

“I’ll give them a call next time.”

That afternoon, someone knocked on Stone’s office doorway. “Mr. Barrington, do you have a moment?”

Stone waved in the specialist Mike Freeman had sent to check out the desk clock.

“You were right to be concerned,” she said. “There are two bugs in the clock and one embedded in the packing material in the box.”

“I’d like to say I’m surprised.”

“Maybe this will do the trick. Whoever sent the clock wasn’t playing around. The bugs employ the latest tech and are not cheap. Their selling point is that they are undetectable. And to most scanners, they would be. Lucky for you, Strategic Services also uses the latest tech. But even then, I almost missed them.”

“I appreciate your efforts.”

“Would you like me to take them with me when I leave?”

Stone ignored the specialist’s question and asked one of his own. “What kind of range do the bugs have?”

“If you’re worried that they might pick up our conversation here from the shed outside, don’t be,” she said. “It’s nowhere near that sensitive. I would avoid having sensitive conversations in your garden, however.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say. Thank you. Let’s leave them in the shed for now. If I change my mind, I’ll call Mike.”

“Understood.” She left.

Joan popped in a moment later. “So?”

“So, be careful what you say in the garden,” he said. “And tell Carly, too.”

“Tell me what?” Carly asked from the doorway.

“To watch what you say.”

“You’ve already told me that, multiple times.”

“This time I mean when around the shed in the garden.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

Stone explained to her about the clock.

“Okay, that makes sense now,” Carly said. “But I don’t understand why you’re keeping it around.”

“Because it could provide us with an opportunity.”

“What kind of opportunity?”

Stone tapped his temple. “I’m working on that.”

“You should work faster.”

Before he could respond, Joan said, “Oh, I almost forgot,” and laid a white envelope on his desk, which had nothing written on the outside.

Stone leaned away from it, as if it were a snake. “Who is it from?”

Joan rolled her eyes. “Stop overreacting. If I didn’t know the sender, I would have told you first. This came from the office.” She handed an identical envelope to Carly. “And this one is for you.”

Carly opened hers first. “A party. How fun.”

Stone pulled the card out of its envelope. It was an invitation to a dinner being thrown by the New York State Bar Association. The fete was occurring the following Friday, and would be honoring a trio of attorneys for their charitable work.

Stone said to Joan, “Send the usual ‘thank you for inviting me, but I will be unable to attend.’ ”

“Perhaps you should read the entire invitation first,” she said.

“One of the celebrants is Bill Eggers,” Carly said.

“Or Carly can tell you,” Joan said.

Stone looked at the invitation again, and Bill’s name was there in black and white. “I guess there’s no way I can get out of this, is there?”

“Not unless you want Bill reminding you of the fact every time you see him.”

“I do not.”

“It can’t possibly be that bad,” Carly said.

“Sitting around listening to a bunch of lawyers talk about lawyering is not my idea of a good time.”

“I know something that should help.”

“What?”

“We can go as each other’s date,” she said.

“I accept.”

Sarge entered the suite at the Four Seasons that was serving as his mission headquarters and headed straight to where Deacon, his sound expert, was set up.

“I got a message that the bugs are working,” Sarge said.

Deacon removed his headphones and smiled. “Oh, yeah.”

“Since when?”

“Around nine am. I didn’t get around to checking until right before I called you.” Deacon’s excitement slipped a little. “Sorry. It’s just we hadn’t—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Since the conversation they’d heard right after the clock had been delivered days earlier, the bug had picked up nothing else. The same was true of the listening devices in the wine basket.

“Do you know why it’s working now?” Sarge asked.

Deacon shrugged. “I guess they got around to finding a place for the clock.”

That had to be it. The Sarge had used the bugs before against more formidable opponents and never once had they been detected. No way an uptown lawyer like Barrington would find them.

“What have you heard?”

“Mostly work calls. Law stuff. But there is one conversation I know you’ll be interested in.”

Sarge leaned over Deacon’s shoulder. “Play it.”

Deacon hit a few buttons, and Barrington’s voice came over the speaker. He was talking with his friend, the police commissioner. Sarge cocked his head at the mention of an event on Friday night that both men would be attending.

“Play it again,” he said.

Deacon did.

The lawyer was finally going to leave his house. This was the break the Sarge had been waiting for.

“This Bill Eggers,” he said. “I’ve heard that name somewhere.”

“He’s one of the partners at Barrington’s law firm.”

“You didn’t hear anything else about the dinner?”

“No. Barrington went to lunch after that. I haven’t heard anything since then.”

Sarge took a step back, intending to go into the bedroom he was using, to make some calls. “Okay. Let me know if you—”

Deacon suddenly pressed his headphones against his ears. He then hit a button, and Barrington’s voice came out of the speaker again.

“Look the file over and let me know if you have any questions.”

“Will do,” a woman’s voice said.

“Is this live?” the Sarge asked.

Deacon nodded.

“Carly,” Barrington said. “Still on for Friday, right?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” the woman said.

“That makes one of us. You know how I hate these bar association dinners.”

“It’ll be fun. You’ll be with me, remember.”

“That is the saving grace.”

“What time do I need to be ready?”

“Fred tells me we’ll need to leave here at six-twenty to make it in time for cocktails.”

If the woman said anything else, the bug didn’t catch it. But that was fine. Sarge had heard more than enough. A bar association dinner on Friday night. The details would be easily obtained.

He clapped Deacon on the shoulder, said “Good work,” and then headed into the bedroom.

“Can I help you?”

The new arrival stepped inside the dingy office, located in a distribution center that looked as if it had been mothballed years ago. He approached the beat-up metal desk the guy who’d spoken sat behind. “I’m looking for someone called the Corporal.”

“Is that right? Who are you?”

“Why? Are you the Corporal?”

“If you don’t want to answer my question, you can just turn around and leave.”

“Hey, no need to get that way. I was just asking, that’s all. My friends call me Dial.”

“Who said we were friends?”

“Fine,” Dial said. “On my birth certificate, it says Henry Sommers. Is that better?”

The guy looked him up and down. “Why do people call you Dial?”

“Because when I’m working, I’m dialed in. You know, focused.”

The guy snorted and rolled his eyes. “Who sent you, Dial?”

“I got a call from a friend. Said you were looking for people.”

“What friend?”

“Dieter Mainz.”

The guy’s eyes narrowed. “You know Dieter Mainz?”

“I just said I did, didn’t I?”

“Hold on.”

The man disappeared into another room, closing the door behind him.

Henry “Dial” Sommers — aka Billy Barnett, aka Teddy Fay — took a seat on the only other chair in the room, and rolled his head over his shoulders, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

The truth was he did not know Dieter Mainz personally, but he knew someone who knew the German mercenary. That someone had made it clear to Mainz that his cooperation would go a long way in keeping him from being turned over to some very bad people he had pissed off.

Ten minutes later, the door opened again, and the man returned. “Come with me.”

He led Teddy through the building and into a large garage. Half a dozen men were hanging around the far corner, not talking to each other and looking like they were waiting for something. Two other men were standing next to a black Suburban that Teddy would bet was armored.

“Wait here,” his escort said, then jogged over to the two at the SUV.

A few seconds later, he waved for Teddy to join them.

When Teddy did, the guy said to the others, “This is Dial,” without his previous sarcasm.

“Thanks, Sammy,” the older of the two said. “That’ll be all.”

The escort — Sammy — nodded and left.

“I’m the Corporal,” the older one said. He didn’t introduce his friend. “I talked to Dieter. He said you’re good in a tight spot. Trustworthy.”

“Happy he thinks so.”

“Says you know how to shoot, too.”

Teddy nodded.

“I understand you did some contract work for the Agency?”

“Among others.”

“How long ago was that?”

A shrug. “A few years.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Did my job too well.”

“Dieter mentioned an incident in Rome.”

“That’s the one.”

The Corporal looked at him, waiting for more, and Teddy looked back, making it clear that was all he was going to say.

“Dieter also said you didn’t talk much.”

“Talking is overrated.”

The Corporal huffed then studied him again. “I like you, Dial. The job runs through Friday night. Ten K, flat fee. You interested?”

“What type of job is it?”

“Termination.”

“Opposition?”

“Potentially considerable.”

“You supply the hardware?”

“Yes. If you have special requests, we can try to accommodate that, too, but no promises.”

Teddy acted like he was considering the offer. “All right, I’m interested. When do I start?”

“Right now.” The Corporal held out his hand and Teddy shook it. “Welcome to the team.”

Asimov received a call from the Sarge on Thursday afternoon.

“I’ll bring Barrington to you by midnight tomorrow night,” Sarge told him.

“What’s the plan?”

“That’s not important. All you need to know is that his part of our contract will soon be complete.”

Perhaps Asimov didn’t need to know, but he wanted to. “You can’t tell me anything?”

“If you don’t know, it will be easier for you to deny involvement.”

Though true, Asimov didn’t like the way the Sarge had said it, as if he were teaching Asimov a lesson. “And Rawls? Will he be there, too?”

“He is still in London.”

“Then when will he be dead?”

“When I tell you he will be.”

That was one step too far. Asimov opened his mouth to put the Sarge in his place, then realized the Sarge had hung up.

That son of a bitch.

Asimov took a deep breath. Barrington would soon be dead; that’s what he needed to concentrate on.

The timing could not have been better. A few members of the council who had voted for him had begun to grumble about how long everything was taking. Soon, he knew, they would start having second thoughts about his leadership.

He called his secretary. “Inform everyone we will have a council meeting at nine o’clock tonight, at the usual location.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stone woke up on Friday morning to the touch of Carly’s hand bringing him to attention. He returned the gesture until she could stand it no more and rolled him onto his back to show him how much she appreciated his efforts.

Later, as they lay blissfully beside each other, Stone said, “Is it just my imagination, or was that particularly enjoyable?”

“I hope so,” Carly said. “I put in extra effort.”

He turned on his side to look at her. “Are you saying you don’t usually put in the effort?”

“Not at all. I always put in the effort. This was just extra.” She swung off the bed and stood, giving him a view he appreciated.

“I’m not ungrateful,” he said, “in fact, I’m just the opposite, but is there a reason why?”

She stopped in the doorway to the bathroom, looked back, and said matter-of-factly, “If things don’t go well tonight, this could be our last time.”

She disappeared through the doorway, and Stone rolled onto his back, feeling suddenly less relaxed than he had a moment before.

Yesterday, he had received a short message from Teddy Fay, confirming that their plan had worked, and he was indeed going to be targeted at some point Friday evening. What Teddy hadn’t said was when the attempt would be made. The only other thing in Teddy’s message was: remind Carly that she should be armed. You, too, if you can bring yourself to do it.

Carly walked out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, a towel wrapped around her hair and nowhere else. She tilted her head when she saw him. “What’s wrong? You look unhappy.”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I wasn’t expecting the woman I’d just slept with to remind me that I might die tonight.”

“Oh, should I not have said that?”

“I could have gone without hearing it, especially in the way it was presented.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

“The next time I might die?”

“In my experience, it’s not a rare thing.”

He couldn’t argue her point.

Later that morning, Joan appeared in the doorway of his office, holding up a piece of paper on which was written: Dino on 1. The bugged clock was still on his bookshelf, so caution needed to be taken in its presence.

He relocated to the room Carly was using as her office, where she was engrossed in something on her computer. “I need to use your phone,” he said.

Without looking at him, she waved at it. “Help yourself.”

He picked up the receiver and punched line one. “Hi, Dino.”

“Thought you’d like to know, I had the bomb experts sweep the hotel, and they didn’t find anything.”

“Strike explosions off the list.”

“Don’t be too hasty. He could always fire an RPG at your car.”

“Are you purposely trying to up my anxiety level, or is there some other reason you called?”

“I wanted to remind you to make sure you’re carrying this evening. It’s not a night to forget that kind of thing.”

“So I’ve been told by other sources.”

“Other sources would be correct,” Dino said.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Here’s hoping.”

Stone hung up and noticed Carly was still staring at her computer. He leaned over so he could see the screen. On it was the website for the CIA.

“Carly, did Lance Cabot contact you?”

“No. Was he meant to?”

“Quite the contrary. He promised me he wouldn’t.”

“Then he’s living up to his word.”

“Why are you on the CIA website?”

“Research.”

“What kind of research?”

“You did say Lance would talk to me eventually. I want to be prepared for when that happens.”

“That site will only tell you one side of the story, and not a complete one at that.”

“Which is why I have also read four books and twenty-seven magazine articles, from differing viewpoints.”

“Carly, you are not seriously considering accepting an offer from Lance, are you?”

“No offer has been given, so there is nothing to consider yet.”

“When it is given, what are you supposed to do?”

“Say no, and then talk to you.”

“Please, do not forget that.”

“My brain wouldn’t let me, even if I wanted to.”

Stone checked himself in his mirror. Dinner was a black-tie affair, so he was wearing a Tom Ford tuxedo.

“Wow,” Carly said from behind him.

He turned. She had just exited her dressing room wearing a dark blue floor-length dress, with a neckline that plunged past her chest and a slit that ran up her right leg to her hip.

“Wow, yourself,” he said.

“You like it?” She slowly twirled around. “It’s a Ramy Brook. I realized I had nothing I wanted to wear, so I picked it up at Bloomie’s yesterday.”

“I approve, but only if you took Fred with you.”

“Even if I had tried to go alone, he wouldn’t have let me.”

“Remind me to give him a little something extra in his paycheck this month.”

There was a knock on the bedroom door.

“Come in,” Stone said.

Helene entered. “The man from Strategic Services is downstairs.”

“Thank you, Helene.” He held out his arm to Carly. “Shall we?”

Waiting for them at the base of the stairs was a man who was at least six and a half feet tall and had the body of a linebacker.

“Mr. Barrington, I’m Richard Ray. I will be in charge of your personal detail tonight.”

Stone shook hands with him. “Nice to meet you, Richard. This is Carly Riggs, a fellow attorney at Woodman & Weld, and my date tonight.”

They exchanged greetings.

“Your Bentley and driver are in the garage, along with one of the vehicles that will be escorting you. I will be riding in the latter. I’ve been briefed on the specs of your car, so I know how difficult it would be to breach, but that does not mean someone won’t try.”

“It’s happened before,” Stone agreed.

“So I’ve heard. My goal is to make it as unattractive as possible for anyone to do so tonight. To that end, there will be three vehicles ahead of us, reconning upcoming intersections. We will not pass through any unless we receive an all clear first. Also, we will be coordinating with the police units set up along your route. If they spot something suspicious, we will immediately return here.”

“It sounds like you have all the bases covered.”

“No one ever has all bases covered, but hopefully we will have done enough to dissuade the enemy.”

“I have every faith in you.”

“Thank you. One last thing.”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Freeman wanted me to ask: Are you carrying?”

Stone patted the bulge under his jacket. “Yes, and I prefer it to stay where it is.”

Fred waited for them in the garage, along with a pair of Strategic Services bodyguards in a sedan.

Once everyone was in their respective vehicle, Fred raised a walkie-talkie to his mouth. “This is Fred Flicker. Ready when you are.”

Ray’s voice came over the speaker. “Proceed, Mr. Flicker.”

They drove out of the garage. Waiting on the street were five additional Strategic Services sedans. Three raced ahead to check the intersections. One of the remaining pair pulled in front of Fred to lead the way, and the other fell into place at the back of the motorcade.

“This is exciting,” Carly said.

Stone looked at her.

“What?” she asked.

Stone shook his head. “Nothing.”

The motorcade made it to the hotel without trouble. As Fred pulled the Bentley into the hotel garage, Ray’s voice came over the radio. “The elevators are just ahead. Stop when you reach them. But no one get out until I give you the okay.”

Fred stopped where he’d been told, and the sedans escorting them did the same. Several Strategic Services men piled out of each vehicle. Half took up positions around the Bentley, while the other half spread out through the area.

Finally, Ray knocked on the window beside Stone, signaling for Fred to disengage the locks, which he did.

When Stone and Carly exited the Bentley, four bodyguards fell in around them.

“This way,” Ray said and led the entourage to the elevators.

It was a tight fit, and Stone could feel Carly fidgeting beside him. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Not a fan of crowded elevators,” she said.

“Apologies,” Ray said. “We’ll be there soon.”

“Be thankful you’re not Holly Barker,” Stone said. “It’s like this for her all the time.”

“I can’t be president until I’m thirty-five, so I still have a few years to get used to it.”

“Let no one ever say you lack confidence.”

Soon, the door opened on the seventh floor and revealed four more bodyguards standing outside.

“This might be overkill,” Stone said to Ray.

“Mr. Freeman thought you might say that. He told me to tell you, ‘better overkill than being killed.’ ” Ray guided them through a service corridor to an unmarked door. “The dining room is through here. You are sitting at table number one. It’s center front, near the stage.”

“You’re not coming in with us?” Carly asked.

“No, ma’am,” Ray said. “We have several people inside already. When you want to leave, let one of them know, and I will meet you here with my team.” He opened the door. “Have a wonderful evening.”

In the ballroom, Bill Eggers and Herb Fisher smiled as Stone and Carly walked up to table number one.

“Stone,” Bill said, “we were starting to wonder if we would ever see you again.”

“What?” Stone said. “And deprive you of my charm? Never.” He shook Bill’s hand. “Congratulations on being honored tonight.”

“I think it was the only way they could get me to come to the dinner,” Bill said.

“You and me both.”

“Count me in on that,” Herb Fisher said.

Bill turned to Carly. “And here’s our rising star. Good evening, Carly.”

“Good evening.”

“Carly, don’t you have something to tell Herb?” Stone said.

Bill’s brow creased. “No one’s tried to poach you away from us already, have they?”

“Not officially.”

Her answer did not assuage Bill’s concern.

“Lance Cabot made an inquiry,” Stone said, “but I told him in no uncertain terms she was not available.”

“It’s my understanding he can be tenacious,” Bill said.

“He can be, but so can I. If he does talk to her, Carly and I have already agreed to have a very serious conversation about what a job with Lance would mean.” Stone smiled at Carly. “Isn’t that right?”

“Tell Lance no and talk to you,” she said.

“See,” Stone said to Bill, “nothing to worry about.”

Bill looked appeased.

“You haven’t said what you wanted to tell me yet,” Herb said.

“Oh, right,” Carly said. “I brought in another client. Cabrera Cosmetics.”

“One point five million in billing last year,” Stone said. “And they expect that to go up.”

“That’s fantastic,” Bill said. “At this rate, you’ll be a partner in a year.”

Carly looked at Stone. “See. That’s what I—”

Stone held a finger to his lips, stopping her, and tapped his temple to remind her that was one of those things to keep to herself.

“Right,” she said. “Sorry.”

“Congratulations, Carly,” Herb said. “You know, Stone, you seem to have already taken her under your wing. Maybe we should make it official, and make you her supervisor.”

“If I did that,” Stone said, “I’d miss out on watching your misery.”

They sat down, and a server approached.

“Some sauvignon blanc, sir?” the man asked Stone. “Or, if you prefer, my colleague has pinot noir.”

“Sauvignon blanc will be fine, thank you.”

The server poured, then asked the same of Carly.

“I think I’d like to try the pinot.”

As the last word left her mouth, the room plunged into darkness. Even the emergency lights that should have come on remained unlit. At that same instant, Carly heard the sound of something familiar, but didn’t immediately place it.

Someone grunted and she felt movement next to her. “Stone?” She put a hand where she thought he was, but his chair was empty. “Stone?”

There was no answer. What she did hear was a cacophony of confused voices and the sound of several feet moving across the room.

Here and there flashlights on phones started coming on. Carly pulled her mobile from her clutch and turned on its light. Stone was nowhere to be seen.

She looked around for the Strategic Services bodyguards but didn’t see them anywhere.

“My God!” a woman yelled from the side of the room. “Sir, sir, are you okay?”

Carly swiveled in her chair toward the voice. The woman was crouched over the silhouette of a man on the ground, lying in the exact spot one of the bodyguards had been standing.

Someone else ran up to the woman. “Is he all right?”

“He has a pulse but he’s unconscious.”

Carly quickly glanced to the other places she’d seen Strategic Services personnel and spotted more silhouettes on the ground.

That’s when the identity of the noise she’d heard clicked into place. It had been a spraying sound. The same sound she had heard right before she’d been kidnapped.

She reached under her dress and withdrew the Smith & Wesson Equalizer pistol from her thigh holster and ran.

A voice said, “We have the package.”

To Stone, it sounded like whoever was speaking was right next to him. Which was odd enough, but even stranger, Stone seemed to be moving, but not by his own power. And then there was the fact that something hard was pressing against his chest.

It took him two tries to open his eyes without feeling dizzy.

He appeared to be in a giant empty room, lit by the moving beams of several flashlights. Only the floor was above him, passing quickly under a pair of feet that couldn’t be his. He could hear other footsteps, too, so there had to be multiple people around him.

When he realized his cheek was bouncing off someone’s torso, it all came back to him. He’d been sitting at the table in the ballroom, talking with Bill Eggers, Herb Fisher, and Carly, when all the lights had gone out. Then some kind of liquid spray had hit him in the head, landing more on his ear than his face, and the next thing he knew, he was here, in what was clearly another, albeit unused, ballroom.

Recalling the spray triggered another memory, distant and foggy. He concentrated and then it came to him. The same knockout spray that had been used on Carly when she’d been kidnapped must have been used on him, only the person doing the spraying’s aim had been off. If Stone had been hit square in the face, no telling how long he would have been unconscious.

“Get the door,” the man carrying him said.

A pair of footsteps ran ahead, and moments later, a door opened.

Stone had no idea where the door led, but he was sure he couldn’t let himself be taken through it.

Marshaling as much strength as he could, he swung his elbow upward into the underside of the man’s jaw.

His kidnapper’s head snapped backward, and the guy yelled in pain.

Stone had expected that much, but he hadn’t expected the crack of a gun that echoed across the room at the exact same moment his blow had landed. The boom was quickly followed by the sound of the door that had opened closing again.

Ignoring both, Stone rolled off the man’s shoulder and fell toward the floor, where he landed awkwardly on his hands and feet, almost but not quite like a cat.

A second bang ripped through the air, and one of the people behind Stone dropped lifeless to the floor, the person’s flashlight smacking against the tile, and spinning around and around until coming to rest, pointing at a wall.

“Stone, stay down!” Carly called out.

A third gunshot was accompanied by a flash that briefly lit up Carly’s position, and another body dropped.

The guy who’d carried Stone had recovered enough to rush to a nearby door. He shoved it open and disappeared through it.

Stone reached for his gun, but it wasn’t there. He’d finally followed Dino’s advice to carry, and someone had taken his weapon. Just his luck.

He started crawling toward one of the people Carly had shot to borrow their weapon when a hand grabbed the collar of his jacket and yanked him back.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Stone twisted out of his jacket, sending the guy who’d grabbed him stumbling backward, and scrambled to the nearest downed man.

His hand landed on the butt of a pistol just as Carly yelled, “Stone! Watch out!”

He whirled around, his fingers gripping the gun. In the dim halo of a flashlight, he saw the guy from a moment before barreling toward him.

Stone raised the pistol and fired; the sound was dampened by the attached silencer.

The man staggered backward as a dark spot grew on his chest. He looked at his shirt, confused, then collapsed two feet away from Stone, unmoving.

Stone heard feet running toward him and swung the gun toward the sound.

“It’s me,” Carly said.

Stone lowered his weapon.

“Did we get them all?” she asked.

“No,” he said, nodding at the nearby door, “one of them went through there. Let’s get out of here before he comes back.”

As Stone pushed himself to his feet, the door at the far end of the ballroom banged open.

With no time to hide anywhere else, Stone grabbed Carly by the arm and pulled her to the doorway the man who’d been carrying him had disappeared through.

“Stay low,” he said and pushed the door open.

He expected to find a corridor or another ballroom on the other side, instead they rushed onto an outdoor deck that served as a restaurant dining area. Though it, too, was affected by the blackout, there was enough residual city light for Stone to make out the darkened forms of tables and chairs and a bar. There were also people, too; at least two dozen. Some had phone flashlights on, and all were murmuring excitedly about the loss of power.

“Who’s there?” a voice called from several feet away. Stone instantly recognized it as that of the man who’d been carrying him.

Stone took Carly’s hand and quietly led her away from the door, in the opposite direction from where the voice had come. They found a row of wide urns filled with plants and slipped behind them.

“Adams, is that you?” the man called.

“I’m sorry,” one of the nearby diners said. “Are you talking to me?”

Ignoring him, Sarge’s man said, “Whoever you are, I know you’re here.”

“Hey, this blackout is scary enough without you talking like that,” the diner said.

“Shut up or I’ll show you how scary I can be.”

The diner shot up out of his chair, and he and his companion moved farther into the dining area.

A flashlight flicked on in approximately the same place the mercenary’s voice was coming from. The beam swung to the door then across the floor toward the urns, tracking the path Stone and Carly had taken.

Stone stuck his gun between two urns, aimed at the light, and pulled his trigger.

Two things happened simultaneously. The flashlight beam twisted wildly, before whipping around and pointing back Stone and Carly’s way. And though Stone’s gun had a silencer, the sound of the shot was still loud enough to cause several people in the restaurant to scream. This, in turn, motivated the rest of the diners and the staff to rush toward the main exit, knocking over tables and chairs as they went.

“Nice try, asshole,” the mercenary said over the cacophony, clearly uninjured.

His gun fired, and an urn just to Stone and Carly’s left exploded into a million pieces.

As Stone raised his pistol to try again, Carly whispered, “You’re a terrible shot. Let me.”

Before he could reply, she fired, her unsilenced weapon booming across the deck.

The man grunted, and the flashlight beam arced upward and then went out as both it and the man crashed to the ground.

“Not bad,” Stone said.

“It’s really not that hard.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Stone had expected to hear more screaming, but it appeared everyone had made their escape. Which was exactly what he and Carly needed to do.

“Come on,” Stone said.

He grabbed Carly’s hand again, and they moved into the dining area, weaving through the tables toward the exit.

“The Bean Counter is here to see you,” Asimov’s secretary said over the intercom.

“Tell him I’m busy,” Asimov said. He’d been waiting to hear from the Sarge, and until he did, he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone else.

“He says it’s urgent.”

“I don’t care what—”

The Bean Counter’s voice came over the intercom. “It’s about the Sarge.”

Shit. “I see. Um, come in.”

The Bean Counter entered with another man Asimov had seen around, named Korolev.

Acting like everything was fine, Asimov said, “Have a seat.”

The Bean Counter sat across the desk from him, but Korolev remained standing.

“So, you said this was about the Sarge?”

“I did. More specifically, about his attempt on Stone Barrington at the bar association dinner this evening.”

Asimov momentarily considered denying any knowledge, but he knew the Bean Counter would see through the lie. “What about it?”

“You haven’t heard?”

Asimov kept his expression neutral, while all the other muscles in his body tensed. “Tell me what you’re talking about, and I’ll tell you if I know.”

Right before they’d arrived, the Bean Counter had received an update on the situation at the hotel from a source at the police department. “The Sarge is dead.”

“What?”

“So, you didn’t know.”

“Where are you getting this information?”

“Is that really important?”

“It is if the information is wrong.”

“It’s not.”

“Okay, well. Thank you for telling me. If you’ll excuse me, I have some things to take care of.” Asimov stood to see them out, but the Bean Counter remained in his seat.

“I don’t think you understand the situation,” the Bean Counter said.

“What situation?”

“Your situation.”

The Bean Counter nodded to Korolev, who reached under his jacket, pulled out a pistol with an attached silencer, and shot Asimov twice in the chest.

Stone woke to the sound of his cell phone vibrating on his nightstand. Beside him, Carly groaned and turned away without fully rousing.

He glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly ten am. He seldom slept this late, but last night had been a long one, even with Dino’s help to free him from the investigators.

Speaking of Dino. He pressed accept on his phone.

“Don’t tell me I woke you,” Dino said.

“I’m not sure if you know this,” Stone said, “but I had a rather eventful evening.”

“I was there, remember?”

“Not until after the fireworks.”

“Traffic, what’s a guy gonna do? Speaking of the fireworks, I was given a message to pass on to you.”

“From whom?”

“Gregor Dryga.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He’s also known as the Bean Counter.”

“That name I know. What’s the message?”

“That for the foreseeable future the Russians have no interest in seeing you dead.”

“That is not news I was expecting to hear this morning, welcome as it is. But is he even in a position to tell me that?”

“From my understanding, he is. He is now the head of the family.”

“What happened to Asimov?”

“I was told his services were no longer needed, and that he has been retired.”

“Permanently?”

“If so, do you really think the Bean Counter would have told me that? I am the police commissioner, if you recall.”

“I do remember hearing something about that.”

“You’d do well not to forget,” Dino said.

“I wonder how long the ‘foreseeable future’ is.”

“At least long enough for us to have dinner tonight. Clarke’s at seven?”

“That all depends.”

“On what?”

“If I get out of bed in time.”

Stone hung up, set the phone down, and stretched out next to Carly, who soon made it clear his odds of getting out of bed for dinner were low.