“That’s Trini’s name in the Program. I got it from . . . a source.”

“And how long have you known this?”

“Since not long after I came to New York.”

Lance pulled out his cell phone and dialed a three-digit number. “Robert Marshall,” he said. “New listing.” He took out a notebook and wrote down something, then hung up. He ripped the page off the notebook and handed it to Holly. “Eighty-eighth Street,” he said. “Two blocks east of here.”

“You’re kidding,” Holly said.

“Nope.”

“You’ve got a CIA thing that can give you that?”

“No, I called New York City information.”

“Four-one-one?”

“Exactly.”

Holly looked embarrassed. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I don’t know, why didn’t you think of that?”

Stone began laughing. “All this time and trouble, and all we had to do was call information!”

“Well,” Holly said, standing up, “let’s go get him.”

“Not until I’ve had dinner,” Lance said, picking up a menu. “There are preparations to be made.”

They ordered dinner, then Lance got out his cell phone again. “Write this down,” he said when the phone was answered, and he read out the address. “I want a car and two men on the building now. Check the mailboxes for a Robert Marshall and figure out which apartment it is. Check the file on one Trini Rodriguez for a description. Call me back when you’ve got it nailed.” He closed the cell phone. “We don’t want to just go strolling in there, do we?”

“I guess not,” Holly said.

36

AS THE WAITER was taking away their dishes, Lance’s cell phone went off. “Yes?” He listened for a minute or so. “Right. Soon.” He hung up. “Your boy came home five minutes ago. So kind of him not to disturb our dinner.”

Stone waved to a waiter for a check and signed it.

“Is everybody armed?” Lance asked. “Or do I have to think of everything?”

Stone and Holly nodded.

“Do you have cuffs, Holly?”

“Yep, two pair.”

“Then shall we?” Lance pushed back from the table and led them outside to his car. “Take a left,” he said to the driver, “then a block and a half straight ahead. One of our cars is there.”

The driver did as he was told, and they came to a stop beside another black car. Lance rolled down a window and waved at the darkened windows. A man got out and got into the front seat of Lance’s car.

“Tell me,” Lance said.

“Your man came home ten minutes ago. He matched the file photo, ponytail and all. He lives on the top floor front; you can see his lights.”

Lance looked out the window. “Mmmm, yes. The fire escape is on the front of the building. I’ll want your partner at the bottom. Then there’s the roof to deal with.”