Stone put the phone in his pocket and ran through the rain to the cab, not bothering with his umbrella.

“Where to, guv?” the cabbie asked.

“Just wait. We’re being joined by some other people.”

“Whatever you say, guv.”

A moment later, Lance and his two friends dived into the cab. “Get us out of here,” Lance said to the driver. He turned to Stone. “Now,” he said, “what’s going on?”

They drove past the black limousine. “You recognize that car?” Stone asked.

“No.”

“The two gentlemen I described were in it; they followed you from your house.”

“How do you know that?”

“I was on my way to see you when you came out of the house; they followed you, so I followed them.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I had a rather unpleasant encounter with them and some friends of theirs earlier today,” Stone said. “I wanted to spare you the same experience, or worse.”

“Who are they?”

“I had hoped you could tell me. The man they work for is bald, with a bullet-shaped head.”

“Does that sound familiar?” Lance asked Ali and Sheila.

Both shook their heads.

They had driven around the block and were now on the opposite side of the antiques market building. As they drove toward the King’s Road, a section of the building exploded outward, followed a split second later by a huge roar. The cabbie, without a word, executed a speedy U-turn.

“I believe that was your shop,” Stone said to Ali and Sheila.

Lance was suddenly on a cellphone, punching in a number and waiting impatiently for an answer. “Erica,” he said, “I want you to leave the house right this minute; go to Monica’s gallery; take nothing with you. Do you understand? I’ll explain later; just get out of there immediately!” He ended the call and turned to Stone. “Thank you,” he said.

“Not at all,” Stone replied. “But now perhaps you’ll tell me what the hell is going on.”

31

LANCE STARED OUT THE CAB WINDOW at the rainy streets. He had not answered Stone’s request. “Tell me about your encounter with these people,” he said.

Stone related his tale of being abducted and interrogated. When he had finished, Lance still said nothing for a long moment. “Sounds like the Mossad to me.”

“We’ve got to get out of the country,” Ali said. “They just proved that to us.”

“No, not yet,” Lance replied, still looking out the window. Once Erica is out of the house, they won’t know where to find us.”

“Where are we going?” Sheila asked.

Lance opened the partition and gave the driver an address. “To Monica’s gallery; we’ll figure it out there.”

The gallery was in Dover Street, off New Bond Street; it was a wide building with a limestone front and had a single word, BURROUGHS, painted on the front window. Stone was impressed; he’d imagined something smaller.