“That’s correct,” Lance said.
The banker laid the documents before the two Middle Easterners. They examined them, and one of them signed.
“I’ll just be a moment,” the banker said. He took the documents and left the room.
Lance sat and looked at the two men, who impassively returned his gaze. No one said anything.
Presently, the banker returned. “Gentlemen, your transaction is complete.”
The two men rose and left the room without a word.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” the banker asked Lance.
Lance thought for a moment. “Yes,” he replied.
Ted Cricket stood in a light rain outside the Guinea pub and restaurant, in a mews off Berkeley Square. It was nearly eleven o’clock. The door to the restaurant opened, and Cricket stepped back into the shadows and looked around. The mews was empty.
Hedger left the restaurant alone, weaving a little, and started up the mews toward Berkeley Square. He walked right past Cricket, no more than six feet away.
Cricket stepped from the shadows, reached out, cupped a hand over Hedger’s mouth, and ran the slim blade into his back, thrusting upward. Hedger’s knees gave way, and when Cricket released him, he collapsed onto the wet cobblestones.
Cricket looked up and down the mews again; empty. He rolled Hedger over, switched on a tiny flashlight, and shone it into Hedger’s face. He was still alive. “This is for Bobby Jones,” Cricket said. He placed the knife point on Hedger’s chest, over the heart, shoved it through the flesh, twisted it ninety degrees, and pulled it out, wiping the blade on Hedger’s fine Savile Row jacket. Hedger coughed up some blood, then was still.
Cricket walked up the mews into Berkeley Square, then around the square and into the warren of streets that was Mayfair. He waited until he reached Park Lane before hailing a taxi.
The telephone was ringing as Stone let himself into the house.
“Hello?”
“It’s Sarah,” she said. “I’m at Monica’s gallery; Erica is here, and she’s very upset.”
“Bring her here for the night,” Stone replied. “Don’t take her back to the Farm Street house for any reason.”
“What’s going on?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t want to tell you on the phone,” Stone said. “Get here as soon as you can; I’ll wait up for you.”
The two women arrived in a rush, carrying Erica’s luggage.
“I moved out of the house,” Erica said. “It seemed very strange with Lance not there, and I was hearing clicking noises on the phone.”
“You did the right thing,” Stone replied. “I think you should fly back to New York tomorrow.”
“It seems the only thing to do,” Erica said.
“Stone, what is going on?” Sarah demanded.
“Lance has been involved in some sort of smuggling, I think, and they’re looking for him.”
“Who’s looking for him?”
“Just about everybody.”
“Good God.”
“I’m going home tomorrow, too,” he said. “Dino, will you call British Airways and book the three of us on the Concorde?” He still had some of Stan Hedger’s money.
Dino went into the kitchen to use the phone.