“Stone,” Lance said, “if you know where Pablo is, you’d better get him out of the country, and pronto.”
“Pronto,” Stone repeated tonelessly.
“Yes,” Lance said.
“Excuse me for a minute,” Stone said. He went into the empty dining room next door, the one Elaine used for big parties, and called Pablo.
“Yes?”
“It’s Stone.”
“Good evening.”
“What time can your airplane be at the place we discussed?”
“I’m told by the pilot ten a.m. tomorrow morning.”
“Then I need to pick you up at eight a.m. sharp. Where can we meet?”
Pablo gave him an Upper East Side address. “We will be standing just inside the door of the building promptly at eight. What will you be driving?”
“A black Mercedes E55 sedan,” Stone said.
“You sound very concerned,” Pablo said.
“I am, but I can’t tell you any more now. I’ll explain everything on the way to the place.”
“All right,” Pablo said. “Should I be armed?”
“It couldn’t hurt,” Stone said. They said goodbye and hung up.
Stone returned to the table, where Lance and Dino were ordering dinner. “Spinach salad, chopped; rib eye, medium rare,” Stone said to the waiter.
“Did you manage to make contact?”
“Yes,” Stone replied.
“Did you impress upon him the danger he’s in?”
“No,” Stone said, “it would have just made him nervous, and I don’t want him nervous.”
“Anything I can do to help?” Lance asked.
“Please, Lance,” Stone said, “don’t help any more.”
SIXTY
At a quarter to eight the following morning, Stone opened his garage door, walked out to the sidewalk and looked around. His street was uncharacteristically empty, and he was grateful for that. He backed out of the garage, closing the door with the remote, drove up to Park Avenue and took a right.
He turned left in the East Sixties and saw the awning with Pablo’s street address on it. He did not stop, but drove slowly around the block, checking both sides of the street for loitering men and his rearview mirror for a tail. Nothing.
He circled the block and pulled up in front of Pablo’s building, pressing the button that unlocked the doors. Pablo and his wife hurried from the building, each carrying only a small duffel, and jumped into the rear seat.
“Put your luggage on the front passenger seat,” Stone said, again watching both sides of the street, “and keep an eye out for trouble.”
He turned up Madison Avenue, then left on East Sixty-sixth. A moment later they were crossing Central Park. Stone took the opportunity to check his rearview mirror again, and he did not like what he saw. “Black Range Rover behind us,” he said. “Three men.”
“That’s my car,” Pablo said, “with my two security men and my butler, who will return to the city with the car when we are gone.”