6 Stone Barrington Novels (197 page)

THE HEAT
from the explosion caused a huge thermal, and the helicopter rode it upward, threatening to roll again. Stone got hold of himself and got hold of the stick. The airspeed had bled off to sixty knots, and he was afraid of stalling again. He shoved the throttle forward, and held the stick centered between his legs, hoping aerodynamics would do the rest. But now there was something new—a thumping vibration that rhythmically shook the chopper.

The instrument panel was a vibrating blur, so he looked outside to orient himself. He was flying up the river toward the George Washington Bridge, and he didn't have enough altitude to clear it. He pushed the stick down, and a moment later, the bridge passed over him. He eased back the stick, trying to gain altitude without advancing the throttle. He thought he must have lost a rotor tip in the explosion, and he didn't want to put any more strain on the machine.

Finally, he was at the top of the Palisades, the high cliffs overlooking the Hudson, then he managed to gain another couple of hundred feet. He remembered that Teterboro was southwest of the bridge, and he eased the chopper into a shallow left turn. The vibration increased, but soon, he was on the right heading. Then he saw a big business jet
a few miles ahead, making an approach, and he followed its line of flight toward the runway. He had the airfield in sight.

He found a radio in the panel, but he couldn't for the life of him remember the frequency for Teterboro tower, so he tuned in 121.5 mhz, the emergency frequency, and pressed the push-to-talk switch. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday,” he said. “Helicopter approaching Teterboro from the northeast for emergency landing. Teterboro tower, if you can hear me, clear the way, because I've never landed a helicopter, and I think I have a broken rotor tip.”

“Stone?” A familiar voice

“Dino?”

“Right behind you, pal.”

“Helicopter, Teterboro tower,” an urgent voice said. “We have you in sight; cleared to land anyplace you want to put her down. Suggest runway one niner, if able.”

“I'll do the best I can,” Stone replied. “Dino?”

“Shut up and fly the chopper,” Dino said.

Stone took his advice. He began trying to slow the helicopter; he was too hot, and he pulled back on the throttle and held his altitude to bleed off airspeed, the way he would do in an airplane. He could see the runway, now, and he was about two hundred feet above it. He pulled the throttle back to idle, and the thing began dropping like a rock. He added power, but he was still high and hot. He chopped the throttle again and yanked back on the stick. The sky filled the windshield, and with his peripheral vision he could see the ground coming up fast. He passed over the runway, losing altitude, in a nose-up position.

The helicopter struck tail first, and still Stone held the stick back. Then it slammed into the ground, and strangely, there was water everywhere. Stone, who was not wearing a seat belt, was thrown forward, striking his head on the windshield. The last thing he heard was the noise of the rotor chewing up the ground, then everything went quiet.
THE VOICE
came from a distance: “Stone?” A small voice. “Stone?” Somebody shook him and pulled him back into his seat. Stone opened his eyes and looked around.

“Peter?”

“Here I am, Stone.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, and I did what you said.”

“What?”

“I got behind the seat and stayed there. It was sort of like a ride at the carnival in Charlottesville, but not as much fun.”

The air was filled with approaching sirens, and Stone was aware that a helicopter was landing a few yards away. He looked out the window and saw that they had come to rest in shallow water, a swampy area between a runway and a taxiway. Twenty yards away he saw his own airplane, parked with others in the infield. Then he passed out.

HIS DREAMS
were not good: They were a montage of Billy Bob, Arrington, Peter and Tiffany Baldwin, who always seemed to be screaming at him. Then, slowly, they faded and he found himself in a darkened room. Sunlight peeked from behind venetian blinds. Someone was holding his hand.

“Stone?” A woman's voice.

“Go away, Tiff,” he said wearily. He had had enough of her.

“It's Arrington.”

Stone turned his head and looked at her. “It is, isn't it?” he said, relieved.

“You're all right; you just had a couple of bumps on the head. You
lost a little hair, and you have a few stitches, and your head is sort of swollen, but you'll be just fine. All you have to do is rest.”

“I'm hungry,” Stone said. “Am I on drugs?”

“The doctor gave you something when they stitched your head up yesterday. He wanted you to rest.”

“Yesterday? And now it's today?”

“That's how it works, Stone: yesterday, then today.”

“Can I have a bacon cheeseburger?”

“I'm not sure that's on the menu, but I'll get you something.” She picked up the call buzzer and pressed it. A moment later a nurse came in, followed by Dino and Lance.

“Okay, Lance,” he said. “Now you can court-martial me.”

Everybody began laughing.

LANCE AND DINO
took him home that afternoon, in Arrington's chauffeured Bentley.

“Where's Arrington?” Stone asked, as they got into the car.

“She and Peter had something to do,” Dino said. “She didn't say what.”

“Let me tell you where we are,” Lance said. “We recovered thirty-five grenades from the helicopter you crashed.”

“Crashed? I thought that was a pretty good landing, considering.”

“Controlled crash was how the FAA described it,” Dino said. “The helicopter is a total loss.”

“That's what insurance is for.”

“Billy Bob managed to fire one grenade while he was falling from the helicopter,” Lance said.

“Nearly blew the police chopper I was riding in out of the sky,” Dino said.

“The explosion broke a lot of windows along the New York bank of the Hudson, but nobody was seriously injured,” Lance said. “We rolled up Martin Block's operation in Queens, and he's singing like a bird. The feds have put a stop to three or four cons Billy Bob was running out of Block's building, and they found all his bank records there, so they're going after his offshore cash as we speak.”

“Where did he get all the two-dollar bills?” Stone asked.

“Billy Bob bought them at a sharp discount from the grandson of one of the robbers,” Lance said. “He met the kid at Sing-Sing, where he did a five-year stretch for financial fraud. Got out a couple of years ago. That's also where he met your old friend Mitteldorfer, who asked Billy Bob, as a favor, to first ruin you, then kill you, after he got out. Mitteldorfer made him a lot of money with investment advice while he was inside, so he was happy to oblige.”

“Mitteldorfer sure knows how to hold a grudge,” Dino said, shaking his head. “I've asked the people up there to put him in solitary for as close to forever as the rules will allow.”

“Mitteldorfer will think the company is good,” Stone said.

“Tiffany Baldwin is annoyed with you for killing Billy Bob,” Lance said.

“The ungrateful bitch,” Dino muttered.

“She was so looking forward to prosecuting him,” Lance said. “At least she'll have the pleasure of announcing all his operations that she's rolling up. The Attorney General will like that.”

“And what does the Agency get out of it all?” Stone asked.

“We got thirty-five of thirty-six of the stolen grenades back, plus we nailed the guy in New Mexico who sold them to Billy Bob. Unfortunately, the stolen grenade-launching rifle is at the bottom of the Hudson. We've got divers looking for it.”

“How's Corey?”

“Antsy, because she can't work for a couple of weeks,” Lance said, “but she's on the mend.”

“I'm sorry about McGonigle.”

“It wasn't your fault; these things happen in my line of work.”

“Is that how you think of it? As a ‘line of work'?”

“It's as good a description as any. Oh, by the way, Holly Barker is joining us; I'm expecting her signed contract tomorrow. She drove a hard bargain, though.”

“I'll bet she wouldn't leave the dog behind.”

“Good guess. Daisy will be joining the team, too.”

The car pulled up in front of Stone's house, and he got out. “Lance, what happened to you on the rooftop when Billy Bob showed up?”

“Oh, I happened to see the FBI man take a bullet, so I lay low. By the time it was safe for me to come out, you were already in the chopper, and I felt I shouldn't shoot it down.”

“Thanks,” Stone said drily. “You fellows want to come in for a drink?”

“Thank you, no,” Lance said. “I have a very long report to write.”

“Me, too,” Dino said. “You feel up to dinner at Elaine's tonight?”

“Sure,” Stone said. “See you at nine.” He turned to go, but the chauffeur spoke.

“Excuse me, Mr. Barrington, but Mrs. Calder asked me to give you this.” He handed Stone a sealed envelope.

Stone went inside and upstairs to his bedroom; he wanted a nap before dinnertime. He sat on his bed and opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of heavy, cream-colored stationery.

My Dear Stone,

First, I want to thank you for protecting Peter. I would have gone crazy, if anything had happened to him. Thank you, too, for taking such good care of me, something you have always done so well.

I'm afraid that New York is just a little too exciting for Peter and me right now, so we've headed back to Virginia. Peter misses his pony, and I miss the peace. Of course, I'll miss you, too.

I don't think you'd transplant very well to Albemarle County, so I won't even suggest that. But perhaps you'd like to come for a visit now and then. I think your son would like that.

Love, Arrington

Stone lay back on the bed and tried not to cry.

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