"You could say that," Tiff replied.

"We are here on a matter of national security," he said, "and I'm afraid that trumps your investigation. I must ask you to stay away from the man. There's a great deal more at stake here than you realize."

"We'll see about that," Tiff said.

"Have your boss call my boss," Lance said. "So good to meet you." He herded Stone and his two men toward an anonymous-looking sedan.

Stone stopped and whispered in Tiff's ear. "Dinner tonight?"

"You're on," she said.

"Elaine's at nine o'clock. See you there."

Lance held the door of the sedan, and Stone climbed in.

He phoned Barbara Stein. "May I bring over my people now?"

"Of course," she said. "I have an appointment at my hairdresser's, but I'll instruct the butler to let you in and give you the run of the place. I won't be back before five this afternoon. I'm leaving a note with the doorman for Whitney."

"Thank you, Barbara; we'll leave the place as neat as possible." He hung up and turned to Lance. "We're on." The car drove away.

"I'm impressed with your resourcefulness, Stone, not to mention your acquaintanceship." Lance said. "I was optimistic about your eventual value to us, but you've surpassed my expectations."

"I'll bill you," Stone said.

"How ever did you learn about the wife and the apartment?"

"I have my methods."

"We must discuss those sometime. You know, I think it might be valuable for you to take a little trip down to rural Virginia for a few weeks sometime, to undergo some useful training."

"Useful to whom?"

"To us and to you. I think you might find the experience entertaining."

"Is this the famous 'Farm' you're talking about?"

"Camp Peary, to be precise."

"Lance, I would not find it entertaining to run around in the woods, being barked at by drill sergeants. I'm a little… mature for that sort of thing."

"Oh, it's not like that at all. You'd enjoy learning some of the dark arts."

"You make it sound like Hogwart's Academy."

"Well, I suppose it is, in its way."

They pulled to a halt in front of Barbara Stein's building and got out of the car.

"You know," Lance said reverentially, "someone once said that, if there is a God, he probably lives at Eleven Eleven Fifth Avenue."

Stone spoke to the doorman, and they were sent upstairs, where the butler greeted them.

"Gentlemen," the man said in a tony British accent, "my name is Smithson. Mrs. Stein has told me that you are to have access to the entire apartment, and that I am to assist you in any way I can."

"Thank you, Smithson," Stone said, "but I don't think we'll need anything."

"There are bells scattered around the three floors, for butler, maid and cook. Should you require my help, please press the 'butler' button."

"Thank you." Stone turned to Lance. "Let's start with our man's dressing room; there's a safe in there."

Stone led them downstairs to the master bedroom and thence to Stanford's dressing room.

"The man does live well, doesn't he?" Lance said, looking around at the racks and cubicles full of expensive clothing.

Stone pushed back some suits, revealing the safe.

"Get started on that," Lance said to one of the men. "The rest of us are going to go through the pockets of every jacket and pair of trousers in this room, collecting every stray piece of paper we find."

Stone took a suit off a rack, hung it on a hook, and started to go through it.

DOWNSTAIRS THE DOORMAN watched as a red Hummer trundled to a stop at the end of the building's awning, and Mr. Whitney Stanford got out.

The doorman stepped directly into the man's path. "Good afternoon, Mr. Stanford," he said, removing an envelope from his pocket and handing it to him.

Stanford accepted the envelope. "I'll read it upstairs," he said, starting to move around the man.

"I'm sorry, sir," the doorman said. "But Mrs. Stein has asked me to tell you that you may not enter the building."

"What?"

"I believe the letter in the envelope will explain."

Stanford ripped open the envelope and read the letter, which was short. He tucked it into an inside pocket. "Please tell Mrs. Stanford that I'll be at my apartment, and ask her to phone me."

"I'll give Mrs. Stein the message, sir. Good day." He opened the rear door of the Hummer. Stanford got in, and the truck drove away.

"ALL RIGHT, what have we got?" Lance asked.

"The contents of the safe are much like those of the one in his own apartment," one of the men said. "Three passports-Irish, South African and British-and about a hundred and twenty thousand in dollars and Euros. And a stack of two-dollar bills."

Stone pointed to a paper on the dresser top. "We've got credit card receipts, one from a tailor and several phone numbers jotted on scrap paper," he said.

"Write everything down and put it all back," Lance said.

"Mrs. Stein is moving all this stuff into a storage facility tomorrow," Stone said.

"In that case, we'll take the paper with us-the passports and cash, too." He turned to Stone. "How do you suppose he's generating all this cash?"

"Various scams, I guess, but he's working with eight million dollars that he claims to be investing for his wife."

"That should keep him going for a while," Lance said. "Does Stanford have a study here?"

"His wife says not."

"Then we're done; let's get out of here."

The went back downstairs, and as they left the building, the doorman spoke.

"Excuse me, Mr. Barrington?"

"Yes?"

"You might like to know that Mr. Stanford was here less than an hour ago."

Lance took an immediate interest. "Do you know where he went?"

"He said that he was going to his apartment, and Mrs. Stein could phone him there."

"Let's go," Lance said, heading for the car.

"Oh, and he was riding in a red Hummer," the doorman called after them.

THEY PILED BACK into the car and drove back to the Stanford apartment building. As they got out, Lance looked at Stone.

"Are you armed?"

"Ah, no."

"Do you recall my advising you that you should be armed at all times, until we catch this man?"

"Ah, yes."

"Then why aren't you armed?"

"I forgot."

"Wait here."

"I'll keep to the rear," Stone said.

"You're vulnerable, and that makes us vulnerable. Stay here." Lance turned and led his two men into the building.

Stone looked up at the top-floor windows. A moment later Billy Bob appeared on the roof, a cell phone clapped to an ear, a briefcase in the other hand. He looked down at the street for a second, saw Stone, then starting running along the rooftops toward Lexington Avenue.

Stone grabbed his cell phone and pressed the speed dial button for Lance's number. Busy. He began jogging toward Lexington, watching the rooflines of the buildings he passed. Once he caught a glimpse of Billy Bob's head, then he didn't see him anymore. As he reached the corner, the light changed, and a flood of traffic started downtown, among the cars and trucks, a red Hummer.

"Shit," Stone said aloud. He tried Lance's number again.

"Yes, Stone?"

"He got out over the roof and made it down to Lex, where the red Hummer was waiting."

"Why didn't you stop him?"

"Stop him? He was five floors up. I don't know how the hell he got from the roof down to the street."

"And you couldn't shoot him, because you weren't armed."

"No, but I wouldn't have had a shot at him, even if I had been armed. I only got a glimpse of him. Anyway, I didn't know we were out to kill the guy."

"We'll be right down," Lance said.

Stone waited by the car, and a minute later, Lance and his two men came out of the building.