Dugan received the jewelry bag, then made a cell call. “Start your engines,” he said. “Okay, everybody, back down the stairs and move according to plan. Don’t shoot anybody, if you can avoid it.” He watched them go, then walked slowly down the hallway, feigning a limp, to the fire door and walked upstairs to the roof. He could hear the helicopter engines turning.
Dino watched from the cracked door of a linen closet as the fake SWAT team assembled and headed for the stairs. As soon as they were through the door, he ran over and locked it behind them. Out of the corner of an eye he saw a tall but stooped Hasid limping slowly down the hall, carrying a bag. He was about to call to him when Stone burst out of the room where he had been held. “Got ’em?” he asked Dino.
“All of them. They’re trapped in the stairwell being disarmed.”
“What’s that noise?” Stone asked, looking up.
“Sounds like a helicopter arriving,” Dino said. “Don’t worry, we’ve got it covered.”
Dugan walked across the roof, set his bag inside the helicopter, and got inside. He took off his hat and ringlets and put on a headset. “Go,” he said to the pilot over the intercom. The chopper rose, then banked and headed west.
A minute later, Dino burst onto the roof, followed closely by Stone. “SWAT team!” he yelled.
A cop stuck his head out the utility shack on the roof. “Yes, Chief?”
“Who’s in that helicopter?” Dino demanded, pointing at the fast-disappearing aircraft.
“One Hasidic guy,” the team leader said.
“Why was he leaving? The sale hasn’t even started!”
“When he landed he said he was delivering, and I called it in,” the team leader said.
Dino’s radio crackled. “This is Bacchetti.”
“We bagged them all,” a voice said. “They’re stripped of the uniforms and cuffed.”
“Did you get the jewelry bag?”
There was a brief silence. “Negative, Chief. No bag.”
Dino turned to the team leader. “Did the guy in the chopper take a bag with him?”
“Yes, Chief, one of those things on wheels.”
“Oh, shit,” Dino said.
63
D
ino pressed a button on his cell phone.
“This is Monte.”
“Have you got Jake Sutton covered?”
“Yes, Chief, he arrived at eight a.m. and hasn’t left his office.”
“Is there another way out of his office?”
“There’s a staircase to the roof—nowhere to go from there.”
“Dugan just left the hotel in a chopper, and he has the loot with him. Get up on that roof and make sure Sutton doesn’t join him!”
“Got it, Chief! Stand by!”
Dino waited patiently until the man came back.
“Chief?”
“Yeah?”
“Jake is still in his office. I’ve got a man posted to keep him off the roof.”
“Call me if a chopper shows up.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dino had a sudden thought. “Monte, does Jake have any kids?”
“Yeah, Chief, he’s got a son, Isaac, called Ike. He works in an office across the street.”
“Get a couple of men over there, and don’t let him leave the building! He may be meeting Dugan! And call me back when you have him contained!” Dino hung up.
“What’s happening?” Stone asked.
“Our only shot at Dugan now is if he meets Jacob Sutton with the jewelry.” Dino barked into his radio. “Chopper, chopper, you there?”
“Yes, Chief,” the pilot replied.
“Pick me up on the Creighton roof, now!”
“Yes, sir! Coming in.”
—
D
ugan watched the city slide beneath him as he headed west. He took out his cell phone and pressed a button. It rang three times before being answered.
“Hello?”
“It’s Don.”
“Where are you?”
“In a helicopter, headed for the meet with Sutton.”
“Where?”
“West Side Heliport. Listen, baby, if you want to be with me, use that ticket for Mexico tomorrow. I’m headed for Fort Lauderdale after the meet, and then to the Bahamas. I’ll do some banking in the Caymans tomorrow, then head for Mexico City. I want you there when I arrive.”
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
“See you then. Gotta go!” He hung up. “How long?” he asked the pilot.
“Air Traffic Control is holding us off—too much traffic on the West Side.”
“How long?”
“Five, six minutes.”
“Shit!”
—
A
s Dino and Stone watched the helicopter’s approach, both their cell phones went off.
“Yeah?” Dino shouted.
“Chief, it’s Monte. Ike Sutton didn’t show up at his office this morning.”
Stone answered his phone. “Yes?”
“It’s Crane.”
“What do you want?”
“Don just called from a helicopter. He’s meeting somebody at the West Side Heliport, then he’s headed for Fort Lauderdale and the Bahamas, then the Caymans. He wants me to meet him in Mexico City tomorrow.”
“Thanks!” Stone hung up at the same time Dino did. The chopper was setting down, and Dino was starting to move toward it. Stone grabbed his sleeve. “Crane just called me. Dugan is headed for the West Side Heliport to meet Sutton, then he’s headed south.”
Dino nodded and jumped into the chopper, and Stone followed. “West Side Heliport!” he yelled at the pilot, then he put on a headset. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes, sir, on our way.” The machine lifted off to the south, then banked west.
Dino got on his radio and asked for four patrol cars at the heliport. “Nobody leaves that place until I say so!”
Stone spoke up. “Crane says Dugan’s plan is to get to the Bahamas, then the Caymans, then to Mexico City tomorrow.”
Dino nodded. The pilot came on. “There are delays getting into the West Side Heliport,” he said. “Heavy traffic.”
“Fuck that!” Dino said. “You tell ATC we’re going straight in on a police emergency and to get everybody else the hell out of the way!”
“Yes, Chief!” The pilot began a descent.
—
W
e’re cleared in,” Dugan’s pilot said.
“There’ll be a black Lincoln Town Car waiting for me,” he said. “Can he pull up to the chopper?”
“No, sir, he’ll have to wait outside the gate. How long will you be?”
“Five minutes. I’ll pick up one piece of luggage, then we’ll head for Teterboro, to Atlantic Aviation. There’ll be a Citation CJ-4 on the ramp, November one, two, three, Tango Foxtrot, so set down as close to it as you can.”
“Yes, sir!”
The nose was low as they approached, and Dugan could see another helicopter on the ramp, its blades turning. “Can we land?” he asked the pilot.
“Yes, sir, the pad will take two. We’ll be landing on the downtown side. The gate’s only about thirty yards away, and I see a black Lincoln just outside the gate.” He pointed.
“Great! Get us on the ground!”
“Thirty seconds, sir!”
Dugan sat back as the machine slowed, then settled lightly onto the tarmac. “Keep the engines running!” he shouted.
“Yes, sir!”
Dugan picked up his bag and opened the door, then went out, bag first. Somebody reached for the handle. “Let me get that for you!” a man shouted over the noise.
Dugan tried to snatch it back, but the man already had it. Then he noticed something in the man’s other hand: a black pistol pointed at Dugan’s chest.
“You’re under arrest, Dugan!” Dino shouted as he handed the bag to Stone Barrington. “Get on the ground right now!” Stone held the bag and the gun while Dino cuffed him, then got him on his feet and started for the gate. There were cops everywhere, and two of them were taking a man out of the rear seat of a Town Car. They ordered the driver to pop the trunk, then took a large suitcase out of it.
“It was almost payday, wasn’t it, Dugan?”
“I haven’t done anything,” Dugan said. “What are the charges against me?”
“A list as long as your arm,” Dino said as he stuffed the big man into the backseat of a patrol car. “Don’t worry, we’ve got your luggage.”
64
T
hey were all at the Four Seasons—the Bacchettis, Stone and Ann Keaton and Mike Freeman. It was a celebratory dinner, and they were in the beautiful pool room.
Stone raised his champagne flute. “I give you Chief of Detectives Dino Bacchetti, soon to be—”
“Stop it,” Dino said. “I told you, I’m cautious.”
Their first course arrived.
“I have news,” Ann said. “I’m not staying with the Lees during the convention, so I’ll stay with you.”
“Great news,” Stone said. “Are you traveling on Air Force One with them?”
“No, they’re leaving from Washington. I’ll take the campaign plane.”
“Don’t bother,” Stone said. “Strategic Services has a very nice Gulfstream 650, so all of us will ride with Mike.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“For an airplane, it’s as good as it gets.”
“Dino,” Mike said, “what did you do with Crane Hart?”
“She’s confined to her apartment until we figure it all out,” Dino said.
Stone spoke up. “And what did you do with Bill Murphy and Anita Mays?”
“We cut them loose until the trial,” Dino said. “Don’t worry, I’ll see that you get your hundred grand back. You won’t have to make another insurance claim.”
“Now that I think about it, it was an insurance claim that started all this,” Stone said. “I’ll think twice before I file another one.”
—
For a complete list of this author’s books click here or visit www.penguin.com/woodschecklist
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I am happy to hear from readers, but you should know that if you write to me in care of my publisher, three to six months will pass before I receive your letter, and when it finally arrives it will be one among many, and I will not be able to reply.
However, if you have access to the Internet, you may visit my website, at www.stuartwoods.com, where there is a button for sending me e-mail. So far, I have been able to reply to all my e-mail, and I will continue to try to do so.
If you send me an e-mail and do not receive a reply, it is probably because you are among an alarming number of people who have entered their e-mail address incorrectly in their mail software. I have many of my replies returned as undeliverable.
Remember: e-mail, reply; snail mail, no reply.
When you e-mail, please do not send attachments, as I never open these. They can take twenty minutes to download, and they often contain viruses.
Please do not place me on your mailing lists for funny stories, prayers, political causes, charitable fund-raising, petitions
or sentimental claptrap. I get enough of that from people I already know. Generally speaking, when I get e-mail addressed to a large number of people, I immediately delete it without reading it.
Please do not send me your ideas for a book, as I have a policy of writing only what I myself invent. If you send me story ideas, I will immediately delete them without reading them. If you have a good idea for a book, write it yourself, but I will not be able to advise you on how to get it published. Buy a copy of
Writer’s Market
at any bookstore; that will tell you how.
Anyone with a request concerning events or appearances may e-mail it to me or send it to: Publicity Department, Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.
Those ambitious folk who wish to buy film, dramatic, or television rights to my books should contact Matthew Snyder, Creative Artists Agency, 9830 Wilshire Boulevard, Beverly Hills, CA 98212-1825.
Those who wish to make offers for rights of a literary nature should contact Anne Sibbald, Janklow & Nesbit, 445 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10022. (Note: This is not an invitation for you to send her your manuscript or to solicit her to be your agent.)
If you want to know if I will be signing books in your city, please visit my website, www.stuartwoods.com, where the tour schedule will be published a month or so in advance. If you wish me to do a book signing in your locality, ask your favorite bookseller to contact his Penguin representative or the Penguin publicity department with the request.
If you find typographical or editorial errors in my book and feel an irresistible urge to tell someone, please write to Sara
Minnich at Penguin’s address above. Do not e-mail your discoveries to me, as I will already have learned about them from others.
A list of my published works appears in the front of this book and on my website. All the novels are still in print in paperback and can be found at or ordered from any bookstore. If you wish to obtain hardcover copies of earlier novels or of the two nonfiction books, a good used-book store or one of the online bookstores can help you find them. Otherwise, you will have to go to a great many garage sales.