“It’s a pleasure doing you, Stone.”
Stone hung up and called Dino.
“Bacchetti.”
“Dino, can you take a few days off?”
“For what purpose?”
“To spend a little time on a tropical
island, feeling the warm breeze waft across your bald spot.”
“I don’t have a bald spot; I’m Italian.”
“So’s Rudy Giuliani.”
“On whose nickel am I traveling?”
“Mine, but you’ve got to get me an extradition warrant without logging it in.”
“For who?”
“For Herbie Fisher. He’s jumped bail, and I’m on the hook to Irving Newman for two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“Oh, boy. The warrant can’t be done; new procedures.”
“Then get me a blank warrant and I’ll fill it in.”
“That, I can manage. When do we leave?”
“Go home now and pack, and you might start working on what you’re going to tell Mary Ann.”
“I’ll blame it on you, the way I always do.”
“I’ll call you when I’ve got a flight booked.” Stone hung up and buzzed Joan. “Please get Dino and me on the next flight to Saint Thomas, and I’m going to need an open, one-way ticket back for Herbie Fisher. And find us a decent hotel there.”
“I stayed at Harborview the year before last,” Joan said. “You’ll like it.”
“That will be fine,” Stone said.
Joan came back a few minutes later. “Your flight leaves in an hour and a half, change in San Juan. You’ll be there for dinner.”
“Thank you,” Stone said. He called Dino’s cell phone.
“Bacchetti.”
“We fly in an hour and a half,” Stone said. “Your driver is taking us to the airport, with the siren on.”
“I hope you got first-class seats,” Dino said.
Stone gave him the flight number. “Get on the phone to the airline’s station chief at Kennedy, sound official, and tell them not to let the flight leave without us,” Stone replied. “And for Christ’s sake, don’t forget your badge.”
“I never leave home without it,” Dino said.
18
They sat at the end of the runway in San Juan, the engines of the DC-3 roaring, while the pilot did his runup.