Стюарт Вудс - Wild Card

He drove around slowly for a half hour, then found the perfect vehicle: an elderly but serviceable Honda van with a homemade, stick-on household repairs sign on the rear. He drove around the corner, parked the motorcycle, then returned to the van, and jump-started it. He drove around the corner, past the motorcycle, and into the parking garage of H. Thomas & Son, taking a ticket from the automated machine.

Once inside, he found a parking place, tucked away behind an elevator shaft, looked around to be sure he wouldn’t be observed, then went to work. He got out of the van, walked to the rear, and made sure the doors there were unlocked, then he opened them, got inside, and closed them behind him.

Once inside, he took an object the size of a piece of fruit — say a pear — taped it to the rear of the passenger seat, then secured a thin strand of wire from a ring on the object to the rear door of the van, the one that had to be opened first. He tightened it slightly, clipped the end, and put it in his pocket. Then he went forward and got out of the van.

He left the garage and walked around the corner to where the motorcycle was parked, started it, and sat on it as it idled. He took his throwaway cell phone from a pocket and speed-dialed Damien.

Damien sat in Henry’s office, with Hank next to him, sipping a cup of mid-morning coffee. He glance at the cell phone, recognized the number, and picked it up. “Just a moment,” he said to his companions, “this may be news.” He pressed a button. “Yes?”

“You know who this is?”

“Of course.”

“You made a request last evening?”

“I did.”

“That has been accomplished. Would you like to visit, briefly, with the gentleman?”

“Of course. Where are you?”

“Downstairs in your garage.”

“Just a moment.” Damien covered the phone. “My man has taken Mr. Barrington,” he said. “Would you like to see him for a moment?”

“I certainly would,” Henry said.

“Why not?” Hank asked. “Where is he?”

“Conveniently located,” Damien replied. “Downstairs, in our garage. We should go now.” Everybody got to their feet.

He spoke into the phone again. “We’re on our way down. Where, exactly, in the garage?”

“Take the elevator down, get off, turn right, and there’s a white van parked in the corner. Don’t speak to me. Open the rear door, and you’ll find the gentleman waiting for you. Remove the tape over his mouth, if you wish him to speak, then replace it when you are done, close the door, and return to your office.”

“Fine,” Damien said.

“We will not speak again for a while,” Tigner said, then hung up.

“Let’s go downstairs,” Damien said to his companions. They went to the elevator and rode down to the garage. Damien led the way. “It should be right around the corner,” he said.

The van was there, and the three gathered around the rear door. “Henry,” Damien said, “would you like the honors?”

Henry reached out, worked the handles, and opened both doors. There was nothing inside.

Damien heard the tiny noise of a metal ring striking the floor of the van. “Grenade...” he began to say.

Tigner sat on the motorcycle around the corner and heard the sound of the explosion through the garage ventilator next to him. He put the motorcycle in gear, kicked up the stand, and drove slowly away. “There we go,” he said aloud, “all accounts settled.” He drove a few blocks away to a small wharf he knew on the East River, got out of his jumpsuit, took a length of duct tape from a roll, then stuffed it, along with the jumpsuit, into a saddlebag. He revved the engine to about fifty percent, kicked up the stand, kicked the engine into gear, and released the clutch. The machine shot straight ahead along the little wharf, then sailed out over the water and plunged into its depths.

Tigner found a cab, and when he got back to his apartment, armed with a bag of hot bagels, Karen was still asleep. He kissed her on the ear, and she stirred.

“Wake up, love,” he said. “Breakfast is ready, and the day is ours.”

Stone was having lunch with Dino at their club when his phone buzzed. He saw that it was Jamie, so he got up from the table, walked through a door, and answered it.

“Hi, there,” Jamie said. “I hope I’m not interrupting your lunch.”

“You are, but not unpleasantly,” he replied.

“Somebody on the police desk just got a report that sounds like a message from Rasheed.”

“Yes?”

“There has just been an explosion in the parking garage of H. Thomas & Son. Three men are dead.”

“And this is a message from Rasheed?”

“The three have been identified as Henry Thomas, Hank Thomas, and Lawrance Damien.”

“That sounds more like a gift,” Stone said.

“And a perfect ending to my story,” Jamie said, “which I have to go and write now. See you later.” She hung up.

Stone walked back to his table and sat down.

“Why do you look so happy?” Dino asked.

“We just got a gift from Jamie’s contact, Rasheed.” Stone told him what she had said.

Dino smiled.