The airplane rose rapidly, and Stone could see the shadowy mountaintops being left behind. He began to breathe again.
The copilot unbuckled and began to walk aft in the airplane. “Come on,” he said, “let’s look for damage.”
Stone unbuckled and followed Todd and Mike aft. Holly was right behind.
“It’s hard to see bullet holes with no sun outside,” Mike said.
“Maybe,” Stone replied, pointing, “but you can see them in the Mercedes.” There were two holes in the left front fender.
Todd jerked open the rear door of the car. “Everybody okay in there?” He apparently heard what he wanted to hear. The driver got out of the car, and Todd helped a man out of the rear seat.
He was a little over six feet tall, about 180, Stone reckoned, with thick, longish salt-and-pepper hair, a straight nose, and a firm jaw-line. He looked very fit, but he was moving in a shuffle, since his hands and feet were shackled to a thick leather belt around his waist.
Todd led him to the trailer, and Stone followed, curious about the man. He was allowed to use the toilet, then he came out and shuffled toward one of the big reclining chairs.
“Okay,” the man said, stopping, “I’m aboard. Can we shed all this hardware now?”
Todd shrugged, came over and removed the shackles.
“Good evening, Mr. Gelbhardt,” Stone said.
The man looked at him with a small smile. “Call me Pablo,” he said. “It has been a long time since anyone called me anything else.”
“Have you had a pleasant journey?” Mike asked.
“There are no involuntary pleasant journeys,” Estancia replied. “I thought my bladder would burst.” He took a seat.
“Tell me, Pablo,” Stone said, “was the shooting directed at us or at you?”
Estancia smiled broadly, revealing excellent dental work. “A good question,” he replied.
TWENTY-FIVE
Pablo Estancia was dressed in tan slacks, a yellow silk shirt, and a nicely tailored dark blue blazer with brass buttons. He seemed perfectly at ease as he surveyed his new companions.
“Now, let’s see,” he said. “The young gentleman is so CIA that he might as well have the letters tattooed on his forehead.”
Todd seemed to blush.
“You, sir,” he said to Mike Freeman, “are too old to be CIA and on this particular mission. I think you are a retired intelligence officer, but considering your accent, not from the United States.” He turned to Holly. “This very attractive woman is mature, yet still involved in Agency activities, probably in a supervisory position.”
They all laughed, then Estancia turned toward Stone and appraised him carefully. “You, sir, are a little too polished-looking, even in those clothes, to be CIA, or even FBI.”
Stone laughed. “So who am I?”
“You are a lawyer,” Estancia said, “but an unconventional one.”
“Not a bad guess for a cold reading,” Stone said.
Estancia chuckled. “This airplane is not military, but CIA,” he said. “No one aboard is in uniform. Where, may I ask, are we heading?”
“To the United States,” Holly replied.
“And where will we land?”
“Not too far from the coast.”
“And then I will be transported to a safe house for interrogation?”