Lucid Intervals (2010)

Where’s your houseguest?”
    “Locked in with a gun in her hand,” Stone said. “Don’t worry; she’s a very capable lady.”
    “Isn’t she the British spook I heard about a few years back?”
    “Yes, but I didn’t tell you that.”
    “Of course not. She’s your client, isn’t she?”
    “I didn’t tell you that, either.”
    “Tell me the truth about this Whitestone guy.”
    “It’s Whitestone like the bridge. You know everything I know. Dino ran the photo through the FBI facial comparison computer program and came up with a surveillance photo from a bank on Park Avenue, near the Seagram Building, but it wasn’t as good as what you got.”
    “If he’s going into a bank on Park, maybe he works around there, maybe even in the Seagram Building.”
    Stone nodded. “Or maybe he lives in the neighborhood.”
    “That’s not a residential part of Park. You don’t find apartment buildings until uptown of Fifty-seventh Street.”
    “Good point,” Stone agreed. “Can you round up some more help?”
    “Sure. How many you want?”
    “I want a man in the plaza in front of the Seagram Building, watching who comes and goes, and I want somebody near that bank, doing the same thing. I want cameras and long lenses, and I want to see the guy’s face, preferably without the hat.”
    “I’m on it as soon as I pay Willie’s bill,” Cantor said, “which I’ll forward to you.”
    “Right,” Stone said.
    “There’s Willie,” Cantor said, rising. Willie was on a gurney, being wheeled toward the elevator. Stone, Cantor and Peter intercepted him.
    “How you doing?” Stone asked.
    “I’ve got a headache,” Willie replied, “but they gave me something for it. I’m sorry, Stone. I never saw this coming. Last thing I remember was sitting in your kitchen. Did she come into the house?”
    “No. I called you, and you were following her.”
    “I don’t know how she got behind me, then,” Willie said.
    “You get some rest, and we’ll bail you out of here tomorrow.”
    Stone and Cantor left Peter with his brother and walked outside, where Stone hailed a cab. “You beginning to see what we’re up against with Dolce?” he asked Cantor.
    “I got the picture,” Cantor replied. “I’ll put Peter and another guy in the house; next time, we’ll double-team her.”
    Stone nodded, got in the cab and drove away. He took the elevator upstairs and stepped out into the master suite. As he did, he heard a pffft! noise, and he was showered with plaster fragments.
    “Hey, it’s Stone!” he yelled, flattening himself against the wall.
    “Let me see you!” Felicity shouted.
    “Okay, I’m coming in—don’t shoot.” He walked into the bedroom and found Felicity sitting up in bed, bare breasted, holding a small semiautomatic pistol equipped with a silencer.
    “You were supposed to call,” she said, reprovingly.
    “I’m sorry. I forgot,” Stone said, sitting down on the bed next to her.
    “Is your man all right?”
    “Concussion, held overnight for observation. He was black-jacked.”
    “I could use a woman like that,” Felicity said. “You think she’s job hunting?”
    “Go back to sleep,” Stone said. “It’s three in the morning.” He took the gun from her, made sure the safety was on and put it on her bedside table.
    Felicity fell back onto the pillow, and Stone tucked her in. “Don’t forget our appointment tomorrow morning,” she said, closing her eyes.
    Stone got undressed and joined her in bed, but he had a hard time getting to sleep. He had a feeling Dolce was going to change her tactics now, and he couldn’t fathom what she might do next.

16
    B efore Stone and Felicity left the house, Peter Leahy did a quick jog down the street and back, then returned. “No sign of her,” he said.
    Felicity said to Stone, “We can’t arrive together in the ambassador’s car; people would talk. You get a cab. Did you bring your passport?”
    “Yes,” Stone said, patting his jacket pocket. “But I don’t know why.”
    “Because you will be treading upon British soil,” she said. She gave him the address and then ran down the front steps and into the waiting Rolls.
    Stone hailed a cab and gave the driver the address. Ten minutes later he was deposited in front of a large, elegant town house near Sutton Place. He walked up the front steps and tried the knob. Locked. He found a bell and rang it.
    A few moments later a middle-aged man in a black uniform with silver trim opened the door.