DINO SLOWED DOWN as he turned into Stone’s block, pointing ahead at a cluster of people outside Stone’s house. “You must be dead, because you’re attracting flies.”

Stone groaned. “Stop here.” Dino pulled over. Stone got out his cell phone and called his secretary.

“The Barrington Practice,” Joan Robertson said.

“Joan, it’s me.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m right outside. I want you to go to the garage, count to five, and open the garage door. As soon as we’re inside, close it.”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Slowly,” Stone said. Dino edged his unmarked car up the block and, when he saw the garage door start to move, accelerated. He turned into the drive, crossed the sidewalk, and braked before he could run into the rear wall. The door closed behind them.

Stone had seen at least two television cameras in the mob. “Come on in, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“I can’t get out anyway, without running down a few members of the fourth estate.”

“What happened on the Brooklyn Bridge?” Joan asked. “It’s all over the TV.”

“Come on upstairs, so I won’t have to explain it more than once,” Stone said.

Holly and Ham met them at the top of the stairs. “You okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine, except I just killed two men.”

“That ain’t good,” Ham said.

Stone led them into his study and poured everyone but himself a drink, then he explained what had happened. “Holly, I think we’ve got to get out of town.” He held up a hand. “I know you don’t want to get any farther from Trini than you already have, but that crowd outside makes staying here impossible. We won’t be able to move without them tagging along.”

“Why don’t you go up to Connecticut?” Dino asked.

“Can’t do that. Some of the people who’ve been following us know about the house.”

“Yeah,” Holly said, “but they’re FBI. You think they’re trying to kill us?”

“I doubt it, but somebody on their team may be talking to somebody on Trini’s team, or we may be dealing with another team entirely.”

“And what team would that be?” Dino asked.

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out the hard way.”

“Then let’s go to Florida,” Holly said. “I have a perfectly good house, and if we get rumbled there, we can go to Ham’s place.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ham said. “You two can sleep in the hammock on the porch. Hasn’t been anybody there to feed the mosquitoes.”

“You make it sound irresistible, Ham,” Stone said. “How quickly can you two get packed?”

“Ten minutes,” Holly said.

“Dino, can you give us a ride to Teterboro?”

“Sure.”

Stone picked up a phone and called Atlantic Aviation. “Please top off my inboard and outboard caps,” he said. “Be there in half an hour.” He hung up, then dug out a chart, called Flight Services and got a weather report, then filed a flight plan. He went upstairs, threw some things into a couple of duffels, and came back down to find everybody waiting for him. “Okay,” he said, “let’s run the gauntlet.”

They trooped downstairs and got into Dino’s car while Joan stood by the garage door switch.

“I’ll be on my cell phone,” Stone said. “Hit it.”

Joan opened the door, and Dino started backing up. He switched on his flashing lights and hit the whooper for a minute, and the crowd scattered. As he pulled away from the house, reporters ran alongside the car, shouting questions, while photographers fired their strobes. They lucked their way through the traffic light at the corner and, with the help of the lights and whooper, were soon out of range.

At Teterboro, Dino faked his way through the security gate and pulled up to Stone’s airplane, which had been pulled up front. The fuel truck was finishing the top-off.

Stone stowed everybody’s luggage in the rear compartment, then did a preflight inspection of the airplane.

“Wish I was going with you,” Dino said. “I could use some sun.”

“I’ve got plenty of room for you and your wife,” Holly said.

“I’ll ask her.” He shook Stone’s hand. “Call me in a couple of days, and I’ll let you know if things have cooled off.”

“Will do.”

“By the way, we were followed out here by a black Lincoln Town Car. I wasn’t sure until we made the last turn.”

Stone laughed. “Let them try to follow us now.” He got onto the airplane, showed Holly and Ham how the door worked, then settled in the pilot’s seat, with Holly beside him. “Everybody buckle up.” He worked his way through the checklist, got a clearance from the tower, and taxied to runway 24. He did a run-up, then called the tower and was cleared for takeoff. A moment later they were climbing through a thousand feet, with the setting sun to their right, bright orange through the New Jersey haze.

Stone climbed to flight level 250, switched on the CD player, and, having gone through his cruise checklist, relaxed. He noted that Holly and Ham were both already dozing.

With the autopilot flying the airplane, Stone began to think back over the events of the day, but the scene that kept flashing through his mind was the memory of the motorcycle propelled across the meridian of the Brooklyn Bridge into the path of the cement truck. He tried not to think of the aftermath.

Finally, he checked the airplane’s Garmin AirCell phone to be sure he had a signal, then he called a New York cell phone number, pressing a button on the audio panel to isolate his headset from those of Holly and Ham.

“Yes?” a familiar voice said.

“Lance, it’s Stone.”

“Nice to hear from you,” Lance said smoothly. “I’ve been hearing about you on the news. Are you okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“What’s that noise in the background?” Lance asked.

“Just road noise,” Stone replied. “I’m in the car.”

“Where you headed?”

“Out of town.”

“Where?”

“If I wanted to get Holly and myself killed, I’d tell you.”

There was a long silence before Lance spoke again. “That’s an odd thing to say,” he said finally.

“I suppose it is,” Stone replied, “but you’re the only person in all this who has the resources to make what’s been happening happen.”

Another long silence. “That’s not an outrageous conclusion to come to, but why do you think I would want you dead?”

“I’m still thinking about that,” Stone said. He pressed the end button on the phone and put it back into its cradle. It was dark now, and the lights of the cities and towns of the Atlantic seaboard stretched out before them. He was glad to be leaving them behind.

STONE WOKE, DISORIENTED, with the sun streaming through the windows. He was alone in bed, and he couldn’t hear anyone downstairs.

He found a robe in a closet, put his cell phone in a pocket, and walked downstairs. Nice place, he thought, looking around the living room and the kitchen. He opened the sliding glass doors and stepped outside. Dunes stretched away to his left and right, and the Atlantic Ocean was only yards away. The air was warm and soft, and the small surf made a pleasant noise.

He looked up and down the beach and found himself alone, so he shucked off the robe and ran naked into the sea, running as far as he could, then diving in and swimming away from the shore. Fifty yards out, he turned and swam back in, found his robe, and went back into the house. He found juice, cereal, and milk in the kitchen and made himself some breakfast. He was having coffee when the telephone rang. He let the machine get it.

“Stone, it’s Holly,” she said. “If you’re awake, pick up.”

Stone picked up the phone on the kitchen counter. “Hi.”

“What time did you get up?”

“Just a few minutes ago. I had a swim and some breakfast.”

“Great. Make yourself at home. Daisy and I are at work, and I’ve got a lot of mail to clear up. Did you bring a gun with you?”