Stone Barrington 06-11

building?”
    “But why didn’t Billy Bob make it to the roof?”
    “I don’t know, but I think we should hang on to his radio; it’s in the helicopter.” Stone retrieved both his and the pilot’s. “What do we do now?”
    Lance was on his phone. “I’m calling my director,” he said. “Perhaps he can free us from this rooftop prison.” He walked away and began speaking into the phone.
    Stone walked over to the edge of the roof and looked over the chest-high parapet into Times Square. The only things moving down there were police cars and policemen. His cell phone vibrated. “Yes?”
    “It’s Dino. Were you in that chopper that landed on the roof?”
    “Yes. We were greeted by the insane U.S. Attorney and her mob of jackbooted thugs. Right now, we’re prisoners on the roof, but Lance is talking with Langley about changing that. Where are you?”
    “I’m on the ground floor of the garage, and I’ve had instructions from the commissioner to start a search of the building. It has sixty-one floors, by the way.”
    “Yes, Lance suggested that—quite sensibly, I thought. The FBI are working their way down, floor by floor. My guess is, the search shouldn’t take more than a month.”
    “That was my estimate, too.”
    Then the radio in Stone’s hand came to life. “Chopper One,” Billy Bob said. “This is Stanford. Do you read?”
    Stone waved the pilot over. “Answer Stanford; find out where he is.”
    “Yes, sir,” the pilot said into the radio. “I’m on the roof; where are you?”
    Stone looked around for Lance, but he had disappeared, presumably behind some of the equipment on the roof.
    “Here are your instructions,” Billy Bob said.

56
    STONE LOOKED AROUND for Lance, but he was nowhere in sight. Billy Bob’s voice came back on the radio.
    “I want you to start your engine and prepare to take off when I instruct you to do so.”
    Stone looked over at the FBI agent guarding the door from the roof. The man was lying on his side, his helmet was next to him with a hole in it, and blood was pooling around his head. “Tell him yes,” Stone said.
    “Yes, sir, will do,” the pilot said.
    “Go and start the engine,” Stone said, “but don’t take off until I’m aboard.”
    “Yes, sir,” the pilot said and strode toward the helicopter.
    Stone ran around the roof, looking behind equipment, but Lance was nowhere to be found. He gave up and sprinted for the helicopter. Its rotor was already turning.
    Stone dove into the back of the helicopter. He was on the floor between two facing rows of seats. He looked aft, found a baggage compartment and rolled over the rear seats into that area. There was a small window in the compartment, and he looked out both sides, wondering what was going to happen. He was looking west when Billy Bob’s head rose above the building’s parapet, followed a moment later by Peter’s head. Billy Bob was holding the boy in his arms.

    As Stone watched, Billy Bob swung a large case over the parapet and dropped it onto the rooftop, then he got a leg over and dropped Peter, who landed on his feet. They were still handcuffed together, and Billy Bob had an assault rifle fitted with a suppressor/silencer slung over one shoulder. Stone was still being amazed by Billy Bob’s feat of levitation when it occurred to him that there must be a window-washer’s platform on that side of the building, one of those things that went up and down like an elevator to allow workers to clean the windows on each floor. The fucking FBI, he thought, had not bothered to look over the parapet when they searched the roof.
    Billy Bob strode toward the chopper, dragging Peter, who was struggling to keep up. Stone unholstered his 9mm, but he knew that, because of Peter, he would not have a shot, until Billy Bob got into the helicopter. Stone ducked behind the seat to avoid being seen.
    He felt a bump when Billy Bob dumped his case and climbed into the machine, but he could not see between the seats, only over them, and he did not want to risk popping up at a time when Billy Bob might be facing him. Also, he didn’t know Peter’s position.
    “Take off now!” Billy Bob shouted over the whine of the engine, and the chopper immediately leaped off the roof.
    The motion cost Stone his balance, and he toppled sideways. By the time he regained his knees they were moving forward. Stone knew they were beyond the help of anyone in the building, and that the NYPD helicopters had been told to