A Safe House

19

After a few moments of them lying still, a boat’s engine was heard starting up in the bay and rapidly moving away, becoming fainter.

“I think the coast is clear, as people used to say,” Lance said. “Let’s have some lights.”

Stone plugged in the lamp he had yanked, and other lights came on, too. He got up and followed Lance out onto the front deck. Lance had produced a tiny flashlight with a powerful beam and was casting it about.

“Here we go,” Lance said, illuminating a place where a chunk of the picture window was missing.

“It stood up well,” Stone said, examining the chunk, which was half the size of his fist.

“That’s grade-six armored glass,” Lance said.

“It wasn’t quite good enough,” Stone replied.

“It stopped an armor-piercing bullet,” Lance said.

“But just barely.”

“I’ll have it replaced tomorrow with a thicker pane,” Lance said.

“That’s already been done once,” Stone said. “After Jim Hickock was shot.” This was some time back.

“They’re improving that stuff all the time,” Lance said.

Ed Rawls joined them and examined the glass. “Lurkers?”

“Not mine,” Lance said. “Somebody else’s. They’ve fled the scene by sea.”

“I’ll have a look around in my boat tomorrow,” Ed said.

“You will not be alone,” Lance replied. “We’ll have a look at every craft on the island.”

“You’ll need a fleet for that.”

“I have a fleet.”

“Well, the Agency has become a lot more nautical since my day,” Rawls replied.

“Your day isn’t over, Ed,” Lance replied. “Not as long as you can shoot a lurker.”

“I’m going to start carrying a long gun everywhere,” Ed said.

“A good policy in times such as these.”

“I think I’ll start staying home evenings, too.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

“Where do you think that boat is now?” Stone asked.

“Headed for Camden or Rockland, I should think,” Lance said. “They won’t hang around here so Ed can shoot them.”

“I guess I’m going to have to start taking Wallace Slade more seriously,” Stone said.

“Take Harley Quince more seriously,” Lance replied. “Slade has already given him his orders and retired from the scene. His face is a lot more famous since his photograph appeared in the papers and on TV.”

“Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,” Stone said.

“I thought it was a good idea,” Lance said. “I still do. May I borrow a bed? My chopper pilot is already asleep in the rear cabin, I should think.”

“Take the guesthouse,” Stone said. “Two rooms out there, both with locks on the doors and hard glass in the windows. You may invite your pilot, if you’d like to drive out and get him. There’s a station wagon in the garage, and the keys are in the ignition.”

“Can you loan me a long gun?”

Stone took him back inside and entered the lock combination to get into Dick Stone’s concealed office. He ushered Lance inside and waved at a wall. “Take your pick. Spare magazines and ammo are on the shelves underneath.”

They each took down an assault rifle and loaded up.

As they got into bed, Jenna said, “I’m sorry about making the phone call.”

“It’s my fault for not explaining it to you.” Stone laid the assault rifle on the floor, on his side of the bed.

“Are we going to have to go somewhere else now?”

“No,” Stone replied. “We’re dug in here, and we’re not going anywhere else unless Harley Quince is dead. Wallace, too, if we get the chance.”

They fell asleep without having made love; a first.

Stone woke before sunrise, showered, shaved, and dressed. Then he picked up his rifle and went downstairs, where Mary was already making breakfast.

At sunup, Stone was walking his property, checking every patch of woods or shrubbery. He went back inside the house and found Jenna having breakfast.

“You were angry last night, weren’t you?” she asked.

“I still am,” Stone said, “but never at you. Not in the least.”

They were shortly joined by Lance, who stood his rifle in a corner, then sat down.

“I’ve already walked the property,” Stone said.

“Good, saves me the trouble.”

“Do you want your pilot to have some breakfast?”

“I spoke to Seth. He’s carrying it out to him on the field, assuming he’s still alive.”

Seth returned shortly and gave him a thumbs-up. “All is well,” he said, handing Stone the newspapers.

Stone shared them with Lance, then went to sit by the fireplace. “Excellent editorial about Wallace Slade and the testimony at the hearings,” Stone said. “Stops just short of demanding his resignation from the Senate.”

“Well, we know that the Republicans will never expel him,” Lance said. “Any mention of Quince?”

“It says that Slade employs thugs to deal with his enemies.”

“The hearings aren’t over yet, except for Jenna’s testimony, which was damaging to Slade. Though, as we have seen, not fatal. I’ll see that a couple of the Sunday-morning TV shows mention last night’s attempt.”

“It can’t do any harm,” Stone said, “since they already know where Jenna is. But don’t mention the name of the island. The neighbors don’t like TV cameras.”

“Right. What are you going to do?” Lance asked.

“Stay here and hope I get a shot at somebody. You want to stay on for a long weekend?”

“I’ll need to make some calls before I’ll know.”

“No rush. The guesthouse will still be there. And don’t make your pilot sleep in the chopper.”