Stone - 25 - Collateral Damage

said.
    “It certainly is,” the commissioner replied. “They might as well have said ‘Dead or alive.’”

Holly was meeting with a restaurant designer, who was showing her drawings of the way the new station dining room would look, when Scotty buzzed her. “The police commissioner for you.”
    Holly handed the drawings back to the designer. “It looks great. How soon?”
    “All the fixtures are available ready-made. Three days?”
    “Go. Now I have to take a call.” The man left, and Holly pressed the button. “Commissioner?”
    “Holly, I have interesting news.”
    Holly listened with growing excitement to the story of the dead hairdresser. “Any luck finding Habib?”
    “Not yet,” the commissioner said.
    “Will you keep me posted?”
    “Certainly.”
    “Oh, and, Commissioner, please remember that this woman has a history of booby-trapping a premises when abandoning it.”
    “I remember the report from London.”
    “And MI-6 tells us that she probably detonated the bomb from within sight of the house.”
    “That’s scary—makes it more difficult for us to get inside. A booby trap would be easier.”
    “When you find her hiding place, you have to pour officers into the block and check every single person before sending men in.”
    “I’ll do that.” The commissioner said good-bye and hung up.
    Scotty appeared before her. “The chef that was recommended is here for his interview.”
    “Scotty, will you interview him? I’m in over my head here. Take him downstairs and show him the dining room and the kitchen. Show him the drawings the designer brought, too. Tell him we want high-end comfort food on the menu and small portions. I don’t want everybody to start gaining weight, especially me.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Scotty said, and left the room.
    —
    Habib let himself into the apartment and found Jasmine in the living room, pointing a gun at him.
    “You should call first,” she said.
    “I’m afraid to use my cell phone,” he replied. “The police have been to my office and interrogated my employees. They will certainly try to track my cell phone.”
    “How did they get on to you?”
    “I’ve no idea. I’ve been racking my brain about that.”
    Jasmine dug into her bag and produced a throwaway phone. “This is good for a hundred hours,” she said. “When it runs low, buy a couple more.”
    “Right. And now I have to move in here.”
    “That seems sensible,” Jasmine said. “After all, there are three bedrooms. Take the one farthest from mine.”
    “Thank you. I will.”
    “What are you driving?”
    “A rental car.”
    “In your own name?”
    “Yes.”
    “Take it to a neighborhood you don’t frequent, wipe it down, and abandon it.”
    “But the rental car company will—”
    “You don’t get it, do you, Habib? You’re a fugitive—you don’t deal with rental car companies unless you’re using false ID.”
    “I’m sorry, what I meant by my own name was the ID I’m using.”
    “Shred it and manufacture a new one, and make it good.”
    “Right.”
    “Habib, I think we’re both going to have to leave New York soon. We’re getting too hot.”
    “I can do that.”
    “You have cash?”
    “Yes.”
    “Buy a good used car and register it in the name of your new ID. I think we’re going to have to travel by car.”
    “Travel where?”
    “I haven’t decided yet, but we need to hook up with one of the other teams around the country.”
    “Can we go to Los Angeles?”
    “Why?”
    Habib looked sheepish. “I’ve always wanted to see Hollywood.”
    Jasmine laughed. “Sure, why not L.A.? It’s far enough away. We’ll drive a few hundred miles, then take a plane.”
    “I’ll get rid of the car,” he said.
    “Don’t go back to where you live. Consider that place abandoned. Buy some new clothes and a suitcase.”
    “Right. Can I get you anything while I’m out?”
    “Yes. Get me a couple of bottles of Chivas Regal scotch and some soda water.”
    “All right.”
    “I think you’d better shave your beard, too.”
    “Can I keep the mustache?”
    “No. You have a New York driver’s license, don’t you?”
    “Yes.”
    “And your picture is with the beard?”
    “Yes.”
    “They’ll be using that photo,” Jasmine said. “You don’t want to look anything like it. Get a short haircut, too.”
    “All right.”
    “Get going, then.”
    Habib got going.
    Jasmine read the paper for a while, then suddenly she saw herself staring at her own face