“Oh, God,” Stone said. He spoke into the mike. “Bride and groom detail. Where are you?”

“On the main stairs,” a voice replied. “We’ll have them secured in a minute.”

“Oh, no,” he said to Dino, “we’ve been suckered. Let’s get up there.” They started to run. “Don’t take the bride and groom upstairs!” he said into the microphone. He raced into the house and headed for the stairs. From the bottom, he could just see the wedding party disappearing down the upstairs hallway. “Wedding group,” he said into the mike. “Stop, and come downstairs.” No one came down. He ran up the stairs.

At the top he came to a sudden halt because the stairs were blocked by the bride, the groom, several guests and four Palm Beach police officers. They were standing there, rigidly, and Stone couldn’t see past them. He stopped a few steps from the top and listened.

“Step away from the bride and groom,” a man’s deep voice said.

Manning. Stone tiptoed up the remaining stairs. Then, blocked from Manning’s view by the group above him, he clambered onto the stair handrail and grabbed the banister built around the stairwell. He was holding onto the banister’s vertical risers, trying to pull himself up, and it wasn’t working very well.

“I said, clear away from the bride and groom,” Manning’s voice commanded.

Stone could see a couple of guests peel off from the group, but the cops stood their ground.

“Listen, Mr. Manning,” a cop said. “There’s more of us than you. More firepower, too. Why don’t you—”

“If any of you touches a gun, I’ll start firing,” Manning said, “and I’ve got thirteen rounds left. The happy couple will be the first to go.”

Stone swung his legs sideways and got a toe on the landing. Slowly, painfully, he muscled his way up until he could get a grip on the handrail. Then, as silently as he could, he pulled himself to the top of the railing and let himself down on the other side, striking the floor with a muffled thud.

“What was that?” Manning demanded.

“What was what?” the cop said. “Come on, Mr. Manning, you’re not getting out of here. Just drop the gun.”

“For the last time, step away from the couple, or I’m going to start shooting.”

Stone had the 9mm automatic in his hand by now, and he slowly pumped the first round into the chamber. On his hands and knees, he crawled to the edge of the group and, very quickly, stuck his head out and withdrew it. What he remembered seeing was a white-haired man in a dinner jacket who had assumed the combat position, pistol in both hands, at arm’s length.

The odds were not good on hitting Manning before he could fire, Stone reflected. He crouched, ready to leap to one side of the group and start firing.