The Short Forever(51)

“Is there another entrance to this place?” Stone asked.

“Just around the corner, there, in the King’s Road,” the cabbie said.

Stone got out of the cab and handed the driver a ten-pound note.

“Thanks, guv,” the driver said. “You want me to wait for you? Won’t be easy getting a cab in this weather.”

Stone handed him another tenner. “Wait ten pounds’ worth, and if I haven’t come back, forget it.”

“Righto, guv.”

Stone walked around the corner and into the building. The place was a warren of antique shops, some large and rambling, some no more than a yard or two wide. It was uncrowded, with only a few shoppers wandering about. He had to make an effort not to window-shop; he worked his way quickly through the building, looking for Lance, and then he saw him and his two friends turn a corner down a long corridor and walk toward him. Stone ducked into a shop and pretended to look at a piece of statuary. After a two-minute wait, when they hadn’t passed the shop, he looked down the corridor again; they had disappeared.

Must have gone into a shop, Stone thought. He made his way slowly down the corridor; then he saw a small sign, hung at right angles to a shopfront: A&S ANTIQUITIES—MIDDLE EASTERN SPECIALISTS. Ali and Sheila? Stone stopped and peered through a corner of a window. The woman was sitting at a desk writing on a pad. He could see the back of Lance’s head in a small office behind her. Stone wondered how long it would take for the two men to find them and what would happen when they did. It wouldn’t be good, he thought.

He stood back from the window and read the phone number painted on the shop window, then went back the way he had come. When he was at the King’s Road entrance, he called the number on his satellite phone.

“A&S Antiquities,” the woman’s voice said.

“Let me speak to Lance at once,” Stone said.

“I beg your pardon? There’s no one here by that name.”

“He’s in the back room with Ali, and this is an emergency. Put him on and quickly!”

“Yes?” Lance’s voice said, warily.

“It’s Stone Barrington. Two very large Middle Eastern gentlemen are in the building looking for you at this moment. I’ve met them before, and they are not friendly.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If I were you, I’d get out of there right now. I have a cab waiting at the corner, near the King’s Road entrance to the building. You don’t have much time.”

Lance’s voice could be heard, but muffled, as if his hand were over the receiver, then he came back on. “We’ll be right there,” he said.

Stone put the phone in his pocket and ran through the rain to the cab, not bothering with his umbrella.

“Where to, guv?” the cabbie asked.

“Just wait. We’re being joined by some other people.”

“Whatever you say, guv.”

A moment later, Lance and his two friends dived into the cab. “Get us out of here,” Lance said to the driver. He turned to Stone. “Now,” he said, “what’s going on?”

They drove past the black limousine. “You recognize that car?” Stone asked.

“No.”

“The two gentlemen I described were in it; they followed you from your house.”

“How do you know that?”

“I was on my way to see you when you came out of the house; they followed you, so I followed them.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I had a rather unpleasant encounter with them and some friends of theirs earlier today,” Stone said. “I wanted to spare you the same experience, or worse.”

“Who are they?”

“I had hoped you could tell me. The man they work for is bald, with a bullet-shaped head.”

“Does that sound familiar?” Lance asked Ali and Sheila.

Both shook their heads.

They had driven around the block and were now on the opposite side of the antiques market building. As they drove toward the King’s Road, a section of the building exploded outward, followed a split second later by a huge roar. The cabbie, without a word, executed a speedy U-turn.

“I believe that was your shop,” Stone said to Ali and Sheila.

Lance was suddenly on a cellphone, punching in a number and waiting impatiently for an answer. “Erica,” he said, “I want you to leave the house right this minute; go to Monica’s gallery; take nothing with you. Do you understand? I’ll explain later; just get out of there immediately!” He ended the call and turned to Stone. “Thank you,” he said.

“Not at all,” Stone replied. “But now perhaps you’ll tell me what the hell is going on.”