Stone Barrington 06-11

Billy Bob arranged for you to think,” Stone said. “I told you there would be some sort of switch. Has anything at all happened at Block’s place?”
    Lance shook his head. “I sent Sandy back in there to buy some more stuff, and he reports that all was normal. Block is working in his office, and nobody seems suspicious.”
    “Billy Bob is going to be in touch with him at some point. As far as we know, Block is all he’s got in New York.”
    “We’ve tapped the phone lines; now all we can do is wait.”
    They sat silently for a while.
    “Waiting is not fun,” Stone said.

53
    DINO’S CELL PHONE rang first. “Bacchetti. Yeah… yeah… yeah… shit! Keep me posted.” Dino stood up. “A patrol car spotted the Navigator trying to get into the Lincoln Tunnel, tried to stop him, but couldn’t. A pursuit is under way as we speak.”
    Then Lance’s phone rang. “Yes? Where? Good. Hold it there, and… wait a minute.” He looked at Dino. “Which way is Billy Bob headed?”
    “He was on Forty-second Street, headed east.”
    Lance turned back to his phone. “Stand by there, and start questioning the pilot.” He snapped the phone shut.
    “What?” Stone asked.
    “My people caught up with Billy Bob’s chopper at the East Side Heliport five minutes ago.”
    Dino’s phone rang again. “Bacchetti.” He listened, then covered the phone. “Billy Bob turned into a parking garage off Times Square, and he’s being pursued upward, level by level.
    “Why would he corner himself like that?” Stone asked.
    “What kind of building is it?” Lance wanted to know.
    Dino went back to the cell phone. “What kind of building?” He covered the phone again. “Office tower, big one; the first six floors are parking.”

    “I know what he’s doing,” Lance said.
    “What?” Stone asked.
    But Lance was already on his cell phone. “Look inside the chopper,” he said. “Is there a handheld radio there?” He waited impatiently. “Right,” he said. “Get the radio to the pilot; if Billy Bob calls him, make him answer, even if you have to put a gun to his head. I’m on my way.”
    Dino was back on his cell phone. “Billy Bob made a run for the elevators and made it. He’s handcuffed to Peter, and he’s carrying a large, metal suitcase.”
    “I knew it,” Lance said. “Stone, you come with me. Dino, you join your people in Times Square.”
    “Okay,” Dino said.
    “And I want you to empty Times Square immediately.”
    “Jesus, I don’t have the authority to do that,” Dino said.
    “Find somebody who does. Tell them that Billy Bob very probably has a suitcase containing thirty-six very powerful grenades and a rifle launcher. Are you getting the picture?”
    “Holy shit,” Dino said.
    “Stone, let’s get going.”
    Dino was calling for his own car as Stone and Lance ran for the garage.
    When Stone had made the street, he turned to Lance. “Now, tell me what is going on.”
    “Billy Bob is headed for the top of that office tower,” Lance said. “He’s probably already there by now, and from the top of that building he can…”
    “Threaten Times Square with the grenades,” Stone said, completing his sentence. “It’s what you predicted a while back.”
    “I meant it as an illustration, not a prediction,” Lance said. “My people have Billy Bob’s helicopter at the East Side Heliport, and his driver, too. That’s got to be Billy Bob’s way out. I seriously doubt if he has two choppers at his disposal.
    “What’s your plan?”
    “ Plan? I don’t have a plan; no plan will work. All we can do is react to what Billy Bob does and try to predict his next move. Right now he’s on top of a tall building with Arrington’s child and all those grenades. As crazy as he may be, nothing so far has indicated that he’s suicidal. He expects to get out of there, and how else but by helicopter?”
    They turned into the heliport and abandoned Stone’s car in some executive’s parking space. Stone brought Billy Bob’s radio. He followed Lance into the building, and they were waved into a back office by one of his people.
    The helicopter pilot, dressed neatly in his uniform of black trousers and white shirt with epaulets was sitting in an office chair, surrounded by Lance’s people. “I’m telling you that’s all I know about it,” he was saying.
    “Tell me, ” Lance said.
    “Are you in charge here?” the pilot demanded.
    “Tell me, and do it now.”
    “This guy, Stanford, chartered