Стюарт Вудс - Wild Card

“Hi, Lane and Ida,” Jamie said. “It’s good to have you aboard for this tour.”

“A few words of explanation,” Lane said. “We’re both armed.” She patted her large handbag. “And in some circumstances we’re trained to shoot first and think later. If you see either of us pull a gun, drop to the floor on your belly immediately. Is that clear?”

“Clear,” Jamie said.

“It doesn’t matter where we are when it happens, do it at once.”

“Very clear,” Jamie said.

“When we go into a ladies’ room, all three of us go. One stands outside your stall, or in the next one, if she needs to go; the other washes her hands or freshens her makeup. You must never, ever go into a ladies’ room alone in a public place. In the back room of a bookstore or an auditorium, we’ll wait outside until you’re done.”

“Got it.”

“All your hotel accommodations have two large beds in the bedroom. One of us will sleep on one of them, the other on the living room couch, in sight of the door.”

“Tell me something,” Jamie said. “Do you have some special information that warrants this?”

“It’s routine,” Lane said. “All you have to do is learn to trust us.”

“I’m feeling very trusting,” Jamie replied.

They opened a door, and Lane got into the rear seat with Jamie, while Ida rode shotgun, and they headed for LaGuardia.

“We have all your airline tickets and copies of your ID,” Lane said, “so we’ll do all the checking in and, later, luggage retrieval. We’ve arranged it with the airlines that your bags will always be the last on board and the first off. Saves time.”

They arrived at LaGuardia, where a waiting skycap with a cart took charge of the luggage and placed a red tag on each bag, and then they disappeared with him. The women started their journey to the gate. They were admitted to a side lane that took them past the security checkpoint, and when they arrived at the gate they were told that there would be a short delay.

“I’ve got to go to the ladies’,” Jamie said.

“Right this way,” Lane replied and led the way. They went into the room, and Ida put Jamie into the last stall, then stood outside while Lane washed her hands.

The door to the restroom opened. Lane looked in the mirror and saw two men in dark suits enter. One of them stood by the door and wedged his foot against it. Lane turned, smiling, and stuck her hand into a pocket in her large purse. “That’s far enough, gentlemen,” she said.

One of the men unbuttoned his jacket and let it fall open. Lane got her weapon out first. “That’s far enough,” she repeated. “Take your weapons out with two fingers and let them drop to the floor.”

“You can’t get us both,” one of the men said.

“If you want to bet on that, then go for it,” she said quietly. “We’re close enough for head shots. You’ll be dead before you hit the floor. Do it now !”

The two men glanced at each other, and the doorkeeper nodded. They removed two Glocks and set them on the floor.

“Kick them to me,” Lane said, “and do it right, to avoid accidents.”

They kicked their weapons across the tile floor.

Ida joined Lane, picked up the guns, and tossed them into the stainless-steel trash bin built into the wall beside the sink.

“Jamie?” Ida said. “Join us, please.”

“Now,” Lane said to the two men. “Open the door and run. Sprint .”

The two men disappeared out the door, and she followed them to be sure they were running down the corridor.

Ida guarded the outside of the door while Lane made a call. “Baggage? Four red tags to the sidewalk right now,” she said, then dialed a second number. “Plan B,” she said. “Half an hour.”

“How would they know I’d be at LaGuardia?” Jamie asked. “My schedule hasn’t been published.”

“There’s always somebody who can be bought,” Lane said. “Or maybe they’re just checking airports.”

They hustled Jamie down a back hallway to where an electric cart waited, then rode back to the set-down entrance, where their bags were tossed into the waiting SUV.

“Where are we going?” Jamie asked, once the car was moving.

“Teterboro,” Lane replied. “You’ve been upgraded.”

“But there’s no scheduled service from Teterboro, is there?”

“No, but there’s unscheduled service,” Ida replied.

A half hour later, at Teterboro, they drove into a rear door of a hangar marked STRATEGIC SERVICES and stopped next to a small jet. Moments later they were buckled in and being towed onto the ramp, and shortly afterward engines were started.

“This is very nice,” Jamie said, looking around.

“It’s a Citation CJ3-Plus,” Lane said. “We’ll beat the airline to Atlanta.”

“You planned for all this?” Jamie asked.

“There’s always a plan B,” Ida said. “Sometimes a plan C, too. If you’d like some music, put on your headset.”

In Atlanta they landed at Peachtree-DeKalb Airport, where another SUV awaited them. And soon, they were installed in a suite at the St. Regis.

“Surely these people will have my signing schedule, won’t they?” Jamie asked.

“Your schedule is unpublished,” Lane said. “All the promotion is being done at bookstores. I’m told we can expect a crowd tonight. Drink?”

“Oh, please,” Jamie said, getting out her cell phone.

“Hello,” Stone said.

“Well,” Jamie said, “we’ve already dodged the first attempt on my person.”

“What part of your person?”

“My neck, I guess. These women with guns are very, very good.”

“Viv Bacchetti handpicked them.”

“She has a good eye.” She told Stone what had transpired.

“Did you get ruffled?”

“Only in my head. We went to Teterboro and got onto a smaller jet.”

“That’s my old CJ3,” Stone replied. “I did a trade with Strategic Services.”

“I wish you were here.”

“I guess Strategic Services isn’t supplying that service,” he said.

“Not yet,” Jamie replied, “but the women with guns are starting to look pretty good.”

Stone sat and thought after Jamie had hung up. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was too risky for the Thomases to try such a bold move in a public place; the fact that they had worried him. He called Bob Cantor on his throwaway phone, but all he got was a beep.

“Bob,” he said, “this is Stone. Please call me right away. The opposition made a move on Jamie.” He hung up and waited. And waited. He checked his watch. They had had time to get to Brooklyn, even if they had stopped at Bob’s house to pick up some things.

After a couple of turns around the block, Bob pulled into his garage and closed the door behind them. “I need to pick up some clean clothes,” he said to Sherry. “You want to come in?”

“Sure,” she replied.

They left the car and went inside. Bob went upstairs to pack a bag. Fifteen minutes after their arrival, they were back in the car while Bob checked the outside cameras on his iPhone. No threats.

Bob drove to Brooklyn, to the tree-shaded street where he had bought and renovated a house years before. He rented out apartments on the two lower floors, both to cops, and occupied the top two. He drove around the block twice and saw nothing of interest, then he went back to the house and parked in front. They each took two bags from the trunk and started up the front steps.

Bob heard a slight noise, then Sherry collapsed on the stoop while he dove into the doorway and freed a weapon. He reached out, got Sherry by an ankle, and pulled her into the shelter of the doorway. Her head left a bloody trail behind her, and she was unresponsive.