Fast and Loose

45

They cruised the whole of the afternoon and, as the sun was low in the sky, they picked up a mooring in Edgartown Harbor, near the yacht club. The harbor was not as crowded in the early autumn as in mid-summer, but there were still many yachts about, and they received the admiring attention of those passing. Mike Freeman handed a triangular flag to a crewman and requested that it be flown at the bow of the yacht.

“What’s the flag?” Charley asked.

“It’s the burgee of the New York Yacht Club,” Mike replied, “of which I am a member, so we are entitled to fly it. It occurs to me that you and Stone, since you are yachtsmen, should be members, as well, and I would be delighted to propose you both.”

“I accept,” Charley said, and Stone agreed.

They took cocktails on the afterdeck, then, as the evening grew cooler, moved inside for dinner. Before they entered the saloon, Stone took note that there was a crew member on the upper deck, with a pair of binoculars around his neck.

After dinner they adjourned to the saloon and watched a movie on the yacht’s video system, then everyone sleepily headed for their cabins.

Marisa marveled at the comforts of the owner’s cabin, which Mike and Charley insisted should always be Stone’s. “It is more comfortable than my bedroom at home,” she said, “but not more comfortable than yours.” She got into bed and snuggled with Stone. “I’m glad we could make this trip now, because I have to go to Sweden next week to attend to some family business. I’d ask you to come, but you seem to have your hands full here.”

“You’re right, I’m afraid,” Stone said. “How long will you be gone?”

“A week, perhaps two.”

“Send me postcards.”

“I’ll be back before they would be delivered,” she said, fondling him. “We must make this weekend memorable, to last us until I’m home again.”

Stone found the idea entirely agreeable, as he responded to her touch and returned the favor.

“How far can you swim underwater?” Macher asked. They were moored at the other end of Edgartown Harbor.

“Not that far,” Jake replied. “Not at night, anyway. Besides there are too many yachts here, even for this time of year. Your object is not to attract attention, isn’t it?”

“Hardly,” Macher replied. “We will just enjoy our cruise, until the right opportunity presents itself.”

The following morning after breakfast, everyone went into town on foot for some shopping and sightseeing, then stayed ashore for lunch at an Edgartown restaurant.

“The foot traffic here in summer is so thick you can hardly walk down the street,” Mike observed. “This time of year is so much better.”

Everyone agreed.

Macher watched through binoculars as the party was taken ashore in the yacht’s tender. “They’re all ashore. I think now would be a good time for you to reconnoiter, Jake.”

“Don’t you want to come with me?”

“No, I might be recognized by one of the crew, and it is not in our interests for them to know I’m around.”

“What do you want me to reconnoiter?” Jake asked.

Just circumnavigate the yacht and look for a likely spot to deposit our payload — the antenna has to be mounted above the waterline.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so,” Jake said, “I think it would be best to detonate the thing after they’ve left Edgartown and are not within easy reach of a port.”

“My guess is they’ll head to Nantucket from here, and that’s thirty miles of Atlantic Ocean for them to cross,” Macher said. “And deep water.”

Stone had difficulty sleeping that night, which was unusual for him. Around three AM he disentangled himself from Marisa, put on a cashmere robe and some slippers, and went up to the saloon, where he poured himself a cognac. He strolled out onto the afterdeck and had a look at the lights of the village reflected in the water, and the anchor lights of the neighboring yachts. A large moon was rising.

He took a turn around the deck, and when he was coming aft again, noticed the shadow of the yacht cast by the moon. He looked for the shadow of a man on the upper deck but saw nothing.

He walked up the stairs, his slippers soft on the steps, and emerged onto the moon-flooded upper deck. On a sofa on the port side, a human figure was stretched out, snoring softly.

Stone walked over and kicked the bottom of the sofa, rousing the crewman.

“What’s wrong?” the man asked.

“How can we tell, when you are asleep?” Stone asked.

“Well, there was nothing going on.”

“And how would you know? Our lives are at risk here, and so is yours. Had that not occurred to you?”

The man got to his feet, and Stone picked up the rifle from the deck and handed it to him. “Tell you what,” he said, “tomorrow after sunup, you can volunteer to survey the hull from below.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, slinging the rifle onto his shoulder.

Stone went back down to the saloon and refreshed his drink, then sat on the afterdeck, a throw over his lap, watching the moon rise.

He didn’t have many periods of contemplation in his life; he was too busy, so now he took the opportunity. He thought about what it might be like to be married to Marisa, and the thought was pleasing, though he felt no compulsion to propose such a thing. Maybe after a few months, when the new had worn off. She would probably want children, he mused, though the subject hadn’t come up. He wondered how he would handle an infant in the house, and what sort of father he would be. He had missed that part of Peter’s life; the boy had been a teenager when they first met.

He thought about business. Charley would be fully enough recovered to handle all that in a few weeks, but until then, matters rested on his shoulders. He had a feeling that Charley and Kaley would be married before too long.

He heard a noise, then a bottle being uncorked, then Dino sat down beside him.

“You couldn’t sleep, either?”

“No. I don’t know why.”

“Because we’re being stalked,” Dino said. “I can feel it.”

“I know, I feel it, too. I found the guy up top sound asleep.”

“That’s not very reassuring, is it?”

“No, it isn’t. I hope I put the fear of God into him.”

“I hope so, too.”

They finished their drinks, then went back to their beds.

At three AM, Jake Herman, wearing a wet suit, set off in the rubber dinghy, rowing instead of using the outboard. He tied up the dinghy to the mooring buoy of a yacht thirty yards from Breeze, the St. Clair yacht, removed his equipment from a duffel, and let himself slowly into the water. Using a long snorkel, he swam toward the big yacht breathing comfortably.

An hour later, he was back aboard the cabin cruiser.