46

Joan came into Stone’s office as he was inserting the little .45 back into its nest under his arm. “What the hell was that all about?” she asked. “You should excuse the expression.”

“Should those two return,” Stone said, “you have my permission to shoot them.” Joan kept a .45 of her own in her desk drawer.

“It would be my pleasure,” she replied. “I hate rudeness in a man.”

“Should you decide to do so, shoot first and think about it later,” Stone said. “And I wouldn’t be shocked if we received another such visit from a man named Owaki.”

“Selwyn Owaki?” Joan asked, as if he were someone she had met at a bar.

“How is it that you know that name?” Stone asked.

“I read the New York Post,” she said. “On occasion.”

“And from your deep research, what is your impression of Mr. Owaki?”

“That he has an enormous amount of money, none of it honestly earned, that he is personally responsible for roughly half of everyone on the planet who dies of a gunshot wound, that he eats innocent babies for breakfast.” She thought about it. “Have I left out anything?”

“A great deal,” Stone replied. “For instance, you failed to mention that he uses the Russians’ UN mission as sort of a branch office, which is the rock from under which our two recent visitors crawled, and that he derives a great deal of personal pleasure from the deaths of those whom he considers to be his enemies, which is pretty much everybody.”

“Why hasn’t someone killed him?”

“Because he makes that work almost impossibly difficult. He dwells in an aerie of a building he owns, not all that far from here, that no one can enter without a full body scan and considerable goosing of the private areas.”

“Doesn’t anybody know how to kill with their hands anymore?” she asked.

“Apparently not.”

“I don’t know what the world is coming to,” she said sadly. “In my day select people—secret agents, hired guns, Girl Scouts who expected to sell their cookies without getting raped—were taught to kill with a single thumb.”

“Were you a Girl Scout?” Stone asked.

“Of course. How do you think I know this stuff?”

“Go bolt the front door and guard it with your life,” Stone said, “and tell Fred to be on his guard.” He picked up the phone and called Dino.

“Now what?” Dino asked, sounding exasperated.

“Well, for a start, the Russian gorilla Ivanov has definitely not left the country.”

“And you know this how?”

“He just left my office in the company of Stanislav Beria and four of Mike Freeman’s finest.”

“Why was he in your office?”

“He was supposed to intimidate me into giving Beria what he wants.”

“Which is what?”

“A computer thumb drive containing all of Meg Harmon’s greatest hits.”

“The car without a driver?”

“Indeed.”

“And why does he think you have this thing?”

“Because I got it from Gino Bellini, shortly before he was dispatched by these same two gentlemen.”

“I would get rid of it, if I were you.”

“I have already returned it to its mother.”

“Then I would get her out of town.”

“I tried that once, remember?”

“I remember very well that your leaving town kept that awful thing from happening on my turf.”

“That’s your only concern, isn’t it? Moving it off your turf?”

“You guessed it, pal.”

“You’re not concerned about my personal safety?”

“That’s what Strategic Services is for. It’s not my job to provide you with a personal police force, though you often seem to think it is.”

“I’m hurt.”

“Well, I hope you’re ambulatory, so you can get your ass moving. You do remember who Beria works for, don’t you?”

“If I had forgotten, Beria and Ivanov were anxious to remind me.”

“Why didn’t you have Joan shoot them?”

“I have already given her instructions to that effect, but a little late.”

“Timing is everything,” Dino replied. “That’s why I’m telling you to take Ms. Harmon and visit one of your many residences.”

“For how long?”

“Until somebody offs Selwyn Owaki, or you give him what he wants, whichever comes first.”

“Joan says she could kill him with her thumb.”

“I believe her,” Dino said. “Viv could probably do that, too. She says the Girl Scouts taught her.”

“That’s what Joan says.”

“Enough of this banter,” Dino said. “Pick a house, pack a bag, grab your girl, and get your ass in gear.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Not for too long. I don’t want to have to scrape you off a sidewalk somewhere in my fair city. Call me when you get wherever you’re going.” Dino hung up.

Stone called upstairs, and Meg answered.

“Are you all unpacked?” he asked.

“Pretty much.”

“Well, start packing again, and bring your passport.”

“Why?”

“We have to get out of town all over again.”

“That didn’t work out so well last time, did it?”

“I thought it worked out very well indeed,” Stone said.

“People died.”

“I don’t mind that so much, as long as it isn’t you and me.”

“You have a point. How long do I have to pack, and what sort of climate have you chosen?”

“An hour, cool and damp, with occasional sunshine.”

“I can handle that without major shopping.”

“Oh, and do you still have that thumb drive of Bellini’s?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“In my purse.”

“Don’t you have any pockets?”

“Certainly not, I’m a girl.”

“I forgot.”

“After last night? You’re not very observant, are you?”

“Ah . . .”

“Oh, all right. An hour.” She hung up.