“Let me make a call,” the salesman said. He went to his desk and picked up the phone.

Stone walked around the car, looked in the trunk, then raised the hood. He gave a little gasp. The engine was the most beautiful mechanical object he had ever seen, ingeniously crammed into a car allegedly too small for it and beautifully polished wherever possible. He closed the hood and looked at the wheels. He reckoned they were two inches larger than standard; the rear wheels were wider than the front, and the tires were low profile.

The salesman returned. “The widow accepts your offer,” he said. A film of perspiration covered his face. “Will that be cash, or would you like to finance it?”

“It will be cash,” Stone said, pulling out his checkbook. “How soon can I drive it away?”

“The car’s already been prepped; you can be on your way in half an hour.”

“Can you get me a number for the car phone in that time?”

“You better believe it,” the salesman said, trying not to pant.

20

STONE DROVE MADDENINGLY SLOWLY through the crosstown traffic, two detectives in a car behind him. Sarah was reading through the instruction book that came as a supplement to the owner’s manual.

“It says here that the electric, rear-seat sunscreen is made of a material that is designed to stop any incoming…” She stopped. “Incoming what?”

“Just incoming. It means bullets or shrapnel.”

“Any incoming that penetrates the rear glass.” She found the button under the armrest and watched as the fabric sunscreen went up and down. “Cute,” she said. “Does it have built-in machine guns like James Bond’s car?”

“Of course not. I shouldn’t have told you about the armor.”

“Oh, I’m very glad to hear about the armor,” she said. “Gives one a cozy warm feeling inside. Where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“How long a surprise?”

“Normally less than two hours, but I want to make a brief stop along the way.”

“A brief stop where?”

“Ossining, New York.”

“Yuck; sounds like an awful place.”

“Many of the people who reside there think so.”

“Why are we stopping there?”

“I want to ask a man some questions.” Stone pulled onto the West Side Highway and left the thick traffic behind. He put his foot down and felt himself pressed into his seat as the car accelerated.

“My goodness,” Sarah said.

“Yes, indeed.” Stone looked into the rearview mirror at the small dot that was the detectives’ car. He punched a programmed button on the car telephone.

“Krakauer,” a voice said.

“Thanks, Krakauer,” Stone said. “I’ll take it from here. You can tell Lieutenant Bacchetti that you got me out of town alive.”

“Right,” Krakauer replied. “Try not to come back.”