Storm Front

required to make funding available to the current Armenian owners so that the planks might be brought to the United States.”
    “Gopher wood,” Sewickey said, laughing again. “They really saw you coming that time.” To Virgil, he said, “You know where he took delivery of the gopher wood? At a gas station in Glendale, California. I’m surprised he didn’t wind up as an extra on
Keeping Up with the Kardashians
.”
    For the first time, Bauer seemed disturbed. “Where did you hear that? I did not. That’s a slander, and believe me, I have the legal means . . . I took delivery of them on the shores of the Black Sea, and brought them to America on, first, a lugger out of Vakfikebir, and then on my own boat,
The
Drifter
, out of ’Stanbul.”
    Virgil asked Bauer, “Have you made a bid on the Solomon stone?”
    Bauer said, “Maybe.”
    “Don’t lie,” Virgil said.
    “Well . . . yes. I spoke to Reverend Jones three days ago, and rushed here, on my private plane,
The Wanderer
.”
    “Out of Hoboken,” Sewickey said. “Just like I came here in my Cadillac,
The Holstein
, out of Austin.”
    “I keep
The Wanderer
at Kennedy International,” Bauer said. “I may have to be somewhere at a minute’s notice.”
    Virgil thought,
Okay. The third bidder.
He said, “Listen, you guys. That stone is stolen property. Three people have been shot over it so far, and it’s only been by a ridiculous streak of good luck that we’ve avoided any deaths. Now. If you go after the stone, and get it, I will arrest you for receiving stolen property. If anyone is killed in the pursuit of it, and if you are one of the pursuers, I will see you charged with felony murder—that’s a death in the course of a commission of a crime. You do not have to pull the trigger. All you have to do is commit a felony that’s relevant to the death. That’s thirty years without parole, in Minnesota. I also want you to know that the Mossad is after it, and their agent here has bragged to me about how good a shot she is.”
    “The Mossad,” Bauer said. His eyes flicked back to Sewickey. “I first encountered them in Aswan.”
    Sewickey said, “A rough bunch. They’ve already attacked me here—I might be dead if it weren’t for Virgil and some Zen-based self-disciplinary techniques, to keep from choking to death. Reminded me of the time I ran headfirst into Yaniv ‘Che’ Offer in Jaguaruno, Brazil, in my
Search for Hitler’s Heart
.”
    “I refueled
The Drifter
there, two years ago,” Bauer replied. “I didn’t know you were familiar with the place. Or that Che was hanging out there.”
    “Hey, hey. Listen, guys, let’s try to focus,” Virgil said. “Yaniv ‘Che’ Offer is gonna look good to you if you keep fuckin’ around, chasing this stone. I keep telling people this, but they don’t seem to believe me. I will put your ass in prison. Understand?
Prison.
Look up ‘Stillwater’ in the dictionary, and you’ll find a picture of your ass.”
    “I got that,” Bauer said.
    Sewickey nodded, looked out the window. “You’ll have to excuse us, Virgil. The reporters weren’t finished yet.”
    “No more fighting,” Virgil said. “I’ll—”
    “We know,” Bauer said. “You’ll put our asses in prison.”
    “That’s right,” Virgil said.
    —
    O NE O ’ CLOCK , and Jenkins called. “Ma’s gone back home.”
    “Goddamnit, I’m going over there,” Virgil said. “But I’ve got somebody else for you to watch. Gotta be careful. This guy is a terrorist, or something. Hezbollah. He’s driving around in a red Kia rental car.” He gave Jenkins the tag number, and told him where they could pick him up at Awad’s apartment. “Watch for a meeting with Jones. I don’t care much about this Hezbollah guy, I just want Jones. And the stone.”
    “How much money are we talking?”
    “Maybe a couple million. Maybe five.”
    “I could use some of that,” Jenkins said. “I could put in a new kitchen.”
    —
    O N THE WAY over to Ma Nobles’s, Davenport called. “I saw you on TV one minute ago. A brawl outside some diner.”
    “Yeah, it’s a couple of these stone hunters. They were fighting each other, I was breaking it up. You got a problem with that?”
    “Hell no, I was happy to see that you were actually working, and weren’t towing your boat,” Davenport said. “Keep it up. And keep in touch.”
    “I will.”
    “You’re not hurt?”
    “I’m good.”
    —
    A T M A N OBLES ’ S PLACE , Virgil