“Would you send that to the gentleman with my apologies for the inconvenience?”

“Of course,” Stone said, “but I’m sure he has already convinced his insurance company that he is covered for falling objects.”

“Nevertheless,” Pablo said.

Stone turned onto I-84 and drove east. Past the Southbury exit he got off the interstate and drove on surface roads toward Oxford-Waterbury Airport. The Range Rover kept pace. Stone made the final turn into the airport road and looked up. “Look,” he said, “Gulfstream landing; that’s very good timing.” The big airplane settled behind the trees.

Stone drove up the hill to the little terminal building. He didn’t try to drive through the gate, figuring it would take too much time to get it opened, but pulled into a parking space. “Let’s go,” he said, getting out of the car. The Range Rover had pulled in beside them, and three men got out.

Stone grabbed the two duffels in the front seat. “Follow me,” he said. He trotted through the little lobby and was buzzed out through the doors to the ramp, where the Gulfstream sat, its engines running, its door open. He shook Pablo’s hand and hustled the party aboard, and as the door closed, Stone turned back toward the building and saw a gray van come to a halt at the locked gate to the ramp.

Stone grabbed the butler’s arm and hustled him back through the building. “There’s a van at the gate to the ramp,” Stone called to the receptionist. “Don’t open it or there will be trouble.” He hustled the butler outside. “Get out of here,” he said, getting into his own car. As he waited for the man to back the Range Rover out, he looked toward the van and saw a bearded man arguing with the intercom at the gate, and then he saw the Gulfstream turn onto a taxiway and head for the runway.

Stone got the car started, then got out his cell phone and called Lance.

“This is Cabot,” Lance said.

“It’s Stone. I’m at the Oxford-Waterbury Airport in Oxford, Connecticut, and I’ve just put our friend on an airplane, which is about to take off. There is a van with four men inside trying to get out onto the ramp.” As he looked toward them he saw the Gulfstream race down the runway and lift off. “Pablo is gone, but I see a firearm on the belt of the van’s driver. Can you get anybody up here?”

“I’ll call the Connecticut State Police,” Lance said. “That will be the fastest help I can get to you. Whatever you do, don’t mix it up with those people, just get out of there.”

“Believe me, that is my intention,” Stone said. “Goodbye.”

The Range Rover had backed into the drive very slowly and was now beginning to roll down the hill toward the highway.