there”.’
‘How can you go visit a telephone number? Wait - it’s a pay phone, isn’t it? He wants to put you in some public place, so he can see if you’ve brought along company before he makes contact.’
‘That’s one possibility,’ Stone said. ‘Another is that he’ll call me and tell me where to go next. In any case, what I need to do now is find the location of the phone the number belongs to.’
‘The local office will have a reverse directory,’ Linda said. ‘I could call them right now—’
‘We’ll go check it out in person,’ Stone said. ‘The fewer people who know about this the better.’
‘And then what?’
‘Then you can take me back to my hotel.’
‘I want to be there when he calls you,’ Linda said. ‘I should be there.’
‘He asked to talk to me, Linda. I’m sorry, but that’s the only way—’
A couple of blocks down the dark street, two white sedans veered around a corner in a squeal of tyres, straightened out, and sped toward the taxi.
‘Friends of yours?’ Stone said.
‘Locals,’ Linda said, squinting into the glare of two sets of headlights. ‘I should call Mr Welch.’
She seemed angry and determined, not at all scared. She was her father’s daughter, all right.
‘Let’s see what they want first,’ Stone said, watching men in suits spill from the sedans, drawing guns as they went left and right, up the steps into the brownstone or across the street to the park. Locals, putting on a show.
A tall man in a brown chalkstripe suit walked up to the taxi, knocked on the window by Stone’s head and spoke his name, stepping back when Stone swung the door wide and climbed out.
‘Ed Lar,’ the man said. ‘We haven’t met, but I bet David Welch mentioned my name. And I surely know who you are. Mind showing me what you found?’
‘Mind showing me some ID?’ Stone’s heart was beating quickly, but he felt calm and cool; he had been half-expecting this.
Lar flipped his badge case in front of Stone’s face. The FBI officer was in his early forties, hair of no particular colour slicked back from a lean face with sharp cheekbones and bright blue eyes. ‘I know you found something up on that roof that my men missed, Mr Stone. I’m impressed. Truly.’
‘How were you keeping watch?’
Lar jerked a thumb at the black sky. ‘Technology borrowed from you guys. A couple of stealthed drones equipped with cameras that can count every hair on your head, parabolic dishes that can hear your every breath.’
‘It would have been easier to bug the taxi.’
‘Not as much fun, though. You can hand over that thing you found directly, or we can waste time downtown. Your call.’
‘In the spirit of cooperation,’ Stone said, and lifted the matchbook cover from his breast pocket with two fingers and held it out. ‘Be careful - there could be fingerprints.’
Lar took the scrap of cardboard from him and held it up in the glare of the headlights of the sedans. ‘I guess we both know who left this little love note.’
‘You’ll notice it’s addressed to me.’
‘Yeah, and you found it so easily I can’t help wondering if you and Waverly have something going on.’
‘He wanted me to find it. That’s why he left it where he did. And I can’t help wondering, Mr Lar, why his daughter is involved in the search for him.’
Lar glanced at Linda Waverly, who was watching them through the taxi’s open door, and said, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Was it David Welch’s idea to use her to try to flush out Tom Waverly, or did you two dream it up together?’
‘As far as I’m concerned, we don’t need either of you to find the son of a bitch,’ Lar said. He called over one of his officers, gave him the matchbook cover, and told him to find out who the phone number belonged to.
Stone said, ‘Tom Waverly wants to talk to me, Mr Lar, no one else. He wants me to be at that phone tomorrow, at nine-thirty. If I don’t answer, he’ll hang up. We’ll lose the
‘How can you go visit a telephone number? Wait - it’s a pay phone, isn’t it? He wants to put you in some public place, so he can see if you’ve brought along company before he makes contact.’
‘That’s one possibility,’ Stone said. ‘Another is that he’ll call me and tell me where to go next. In any case, what I need to do now is find the location of the phone the number belongs to.’
‘The local office will have a reverse directory,’ Linda said. ‘I could call them right now—’
‘We’ll go check it out in person,’ Stone said. ‘The fewer people who know about this the better.’
‘And then what?’
‘Then you can take me back to my hotel.’
‘I want to be there when he calls you,’ Linda said. ‘I should be there.’
‘He asked to talk to me, Linda. I’m sorry, but that’s the only way—’
A couple of blocks down the dark street, two white sedans veered around a corner in a squeal of tyres, straightened out, and sped toward the taxi.
‘Friends of yours?’ Stone said.
‘Locals,’ Linda said, squinting into the glare of two sets of headlights. ‘I should call Mr Welch.’
She seemed angry and determined, not at all scared. She was her father’s daughter, all right.
‘Let’s see what they want first,’ Stone said, watching men in suits spill from the sedans, drawing guns as they went left and right, up the steps into the brownstone or across the street to the park. Locals, putting on a show.
A tall man in a brown chalkstripe suit walked up to the taxi, knocked on the window by Stone’s head and spoke his name, stepping back when Stone swung the door wide and climbed out.
‘Ed Lar,’ the man said. ‘We haven’t met, but I bet David Welch mentioned my name. And I surely know who you are. Mind showing me what you found?’
‘Mind showing me some ID?’ Stone’s heart was beating quickly, but he felt calm and cool; he had been half-expecting this.
Lar flipped his badge case in front of Stone’s face. The FBI officer was in his early forties, hair of no particular colour slicked back from a lean face with sharp cheekbones and bright blue eyes. ‘I know you found something up on that roof that my men missed, Mr Stone. I’m impressed. Truly.’
‘How were you keeping watch?’
Lar jerked a thumb at the black sky. ‘Technology borrowed from you guys. A couple of stealthed drones equipped with cameras that can count every hair on your head, parabolic dishes that can hear your every breath.’
‘It would have been easier to bug the taxi.’
‘Not as much fun, though. You can hand over that thing you found directly, or we can waste time downtown. Your call.’
‘In the spirit of cooperation,’ Stone said, and lifted the matchbook cover from his breast pocket with two fingers and held it out. ‘Be careful - there could be fingerprints.’
Lar took the scrap of cardboard from him and held it up in the glare of the headlights of the sedans. ‘I guess we both know who left this little love note.’
‘You’ll notice it’s addressed to me.’
‘Yeah, and you found it so easily I can’t help wondering if you and Waverly have something going on.’
‘He wanted me to find it. That’s why he left it where he did. And I can’t help wondering, Mr Lar, why his daughter is involved in the search for him.’
Lar glanced at Linda Waverly, who was watching them through the taxi’s open door, and said, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Was it David Welch’s idea to use her to try to flush out Tom Waverly, or did you two dream it up together?’
‘As far as I’m concerned, we don’t need either of you to find the son of a bitch,’ Lar said. He called over one of his officers, gave him the matchbook cover, and told him to find out who the phone number belonged to.
Stone said, ‘Tom Waverly wants to talk to me, Mr Lar, no one else. He wants me to be at that phone tomorrow, at nine-thirty. If I don’t answer, he’ll hang up. We’ll lose the
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