Berman already had it started. They got in, and Berman backed down the street to Fifth Avenue, his emergency blinkers on. “Hang on,” he said. “I’m going the wrong way on Fifth.” He turned uptown, dodging oncoming cars, and, two blocks north, turned east.
“Smart move, Bob,” Stone said. “You wouldn’t have been able to get across Madison if you’d gone downtown. The explosion will have traffic backed up for fifty blocks.”
Sarah had stopped crying and was sitting rigidly, clasping Stone’s free hand tightly, saying nothing.
“Sarah, are you sure you’re all right?” Stone asked.
“I’m all right,” she replied in a low voice.
At Lenox Hill, Stone’s jacket and shirt were stripped off, and he was laid facedown on a gurney. Somebody gave him a local anesthetic and began picking glass out of his scalp and back.
“You’re not badly hurt, sir,” a young resident said. “We’ve got more people arriving with similar injuries; what happened?”
“A bomb,” Stone said. Somebody was shaving patches of his hair off, and he put a hand back to feel his head.
“Don’t worry, beautiful,” a nurse said. “I won’t take any more hair than necessary. You’ll still be gorgeous.”
“I’ve got a headache,” Stone said. “Can I have some aspirin?”
“In a minute, after we’ve cleaned these wounds. You’re going to need a stitch here and there, too.”
Stone tried to lie quietly and let them do their work. Finally, they sat him up, and the nurse handed him a white lab coat. “Better put this on to keep out the night,” she said. “Your jacket and shirt aren’t in such good shape.” She handed him the tattered garments. “You can go, now; let’s get you into a wheelchair; hospital policy.”
“Where’s Sarah Buckminster?”
“The lady with you? We patched some small cuts on her legs; she’s in the car with the man who brought you in.” She stopped at the door.
Stone stood up. “Thanks; how long have I been here?”
“I don’t know exactly; something over an hour.”
Stone walked out to the car and got in. “Take us home, Bob.”
The car moved out, and, shortly, they pulled into the garage. Stone held Sarah in the car until the garage door closed. Just before it did, Dino ducked under it.
“Hey, I like the white coat,” he said. “Suits you better than the tuxedo. You okay?”
“I’ve got a headache,” Stone said. “They forgot to give me some aspirin.”
“Let’s get you upstairs,” Dino said, taking his arm.
“Oh, come on, Dino, I’m not hurt; I can walk.” They went up to the master suite.
Sarah went straight to the bathroom. “I’m taking a pill,” she said. “If anybody wants to speak to me while I’m conscious, he’d better do it now.
Stone got her tucked into bed; then he took four aspirin, and he and Dino went into his study, where Dino poured them a drink. “What was the final count on the damage?” Stone asked.
“A few cars,” “Dino said,” “a few shop windows, a few hysterical people, a few pictures; that’s about it. The bomb guys said it was just a bundle of dynamite tossed into the back of the van—no direction to it, no nails or other shrapnel, except the pieces of the van. None of that hit anybody inside the gallery. It blew in every direction. The van took the worst of it, the window, then the armored-glass window slowed it down some more, and the curtains damped some of that. The glass was designed to hold up to a point, then shatter into dull fragments. By the time the bomb blew we had nearly everybody in the back part of the gallery. We were real lucky; it could have been a slaughterhouse. Anderson and Kelly should have run every license plate on the block, but nobody told them to—I blame myself for that—and they weren’t expecting anythin
g like a bomb.”
“I was expecting something,” Stone said, “but not that.”
“It’s a bad business; but at least this will keep my investigation open. This will be all over the news tonight and the papers tomorrow. Why don’t you and Sarah get out of town?”
“We’re already booked on a London flight tomorrow morning,” Stone said. “Think you can handle this without me?”
Dino shot him a withering glance. “Gee, I’ll do my best.”