“Hang on, sir, we’re getting you to a hospital.” Fred got back behind the wheel and moved with the traffic. He pressed the hands-free button on the steering wheel. “Dial Stone Barrington,” he said, and the phone began to ring.

“Hello?” Stone said.

“Mr. Barrington, it’s Fred. A motorcyclist just got off three rounds into the backseat, and at least one struck the major.”

“Didn’t the glass stop it?”

“The major had rolled down the window. I’m headed to the New York Hospital ER. Will you phone the police, sir?”

“Of course, and I’ll be right over there.”

—

Stone called Dino and found him still at his desk. “Dino, Stone. There’s been an attempt on Ian Rattle’s life. He’s in my car. Somebody on a motorcycle fired three rounds into the backseat. Ian was hit at least once, and Fred is driving him to the ER at New York Hospital.”

“I’ll have somebody there in five minutes,” Dino said, then hung up.

Stone ran out into the street and got lucky with a cab. He was at the ER in ten minutes, and an unmarked police car pulled in at the same time. “Hey!” he called to the cops. “The victim is my houseguest.”

“Are you Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“Follow us.”

The detectives blew past the nurse on guard, flashing badges. One of them jerked a thumb at Stone. “He’s with us.” Then he stopped and called back to her, “You have a patient name Rattle, gunshot wound. Where is he?”

“Treatment room three—that way,” she said, pointing.

A nurse came out the door of room three and held up both hands. “He’s alive, nothing you can do here. Sit down over there.” She pointed at some chairs in the hallway, and they all sat down. Fred had followed them in, and Stone introduced him to the detectives.

Fred told his story. “I’m certain I hit the man,” he said. “I saw him twitch, and the motorcycle wobbled.”

“What color was the bike?”

“Black. The license plate was too small to read.”

“What was he wearing?”

“Black everything, including gloves. I couldn’t even tell you what race he was. He’s bleeding, though, I can promise you that.”

“You got a carry license, Fred?”

Fred produced it.

“Okay, you’re good. We can reach you at Mr. Barrington’s?”

Fred gave them a card. “My cell number.”

Stone called Felicity Devonshire.

“Yes?”

“I sent Ian to you in my car, and there was an assassination attempt. He’s in the New York Hospital ER, and he’s alive, that’s all I know.”

“I’ll be there shortly,” she said, and hung up.

—

Dino arrived first, twenty minutes later. “Any news?”

“He’s alive and being worked on,” Stone said.

Dino sat down beside him. “I thought your car was bulletproof.”

“Ian opened a window.”

“Shit.”

“Felicity will be here shortly. I’ll handle her.”