The man went to his desk and removed a folder from a drawer. “This is very out of the ordinary,” he said, reading from the folder. “The car has a five-and-a-half-liter V8 that’s more powerful than the one in the S500, at three hundred fifty-four horsepower, and with the S500 transmission. The body is lowered, and the suspension has upgraded shock absorbers, antiroll bars, and springs. It’s got eighteen-inch wheels, Z-rated tires, and the brakes from the SL600.”

Stone sucked in a breath.

“The windows are tinted darkly enough to make the occupants unrecognizable, and, after it arrived in this country, we sent it to a specialist to be lightly armored.”

“What, exactly, does ‘lightly armored’ mean?”

The salesman opened a door, pressed a button, and a window rolled down halfway. “As you can see, the glass is a lot thicker than standard—half an inch thick, in fact—and the roof, all the door panels, and the floorpan have been reinforced with lightweight, but very tough materials like Kevlar. The car will repel small-weapons fire, even heavy machine-gun fire, but it won’t, of course, stop a bazooka or a land mine. You’d need the fully armored version for that level of protection.”

Stone got into the car and looked around.

“You’ve got sport seats and special trim; there’s also a concealed radar scrambler on board,” he said, looking around to see that no one was listening. “It detects, then makes police radar useless; it’s legal in most states.”

“It’s very nice,” Stone said. “How much?”

“It doesn’t belong to us, actually,” the salesman replied. “It’s the property of the widow of a former client, a South American gentleman.”

“And why is she a widow?”

“The car was delivered a couple of days too late to serve the purpose the gentleman had intended.”

“You mean he was in another car when…”

“When he needed the extra protection that this car affords.”

“How much does the widow want for it?”

“Something in the region of…” He named a figure. “But I believe she is a highly motivated seller.”

“I see,” Stone said, feeling to be sure he had his checkbook with him.

“The car has only eighty-one miles on it, and it has every option ordinarily available on the S600,” the salesman said, “including the portable telephone and the separate rear-seat air-conditioning. Even with the extra weight of the options and the armoring, the car will do zero to sixty in six seconds flat,” the salesman said, “and the top speed is no longer limited to the standard, electronically controlled one hundred thirty miles per hour.”

“What is the top speed?” Stone asked, trying to breathe deeply and slowly.

“Nobody knows,” the salesman replied.

“Ask the widow if she will accept an offer of…” Stone named a number. “And please tell her it will be my only offer.”