Fast and Loose

46

The following morning after breakfast they weighed anchor and left Edgartown Harbor for the forty-mile run to Nantucket.

Stone visited the bridge, where the captain was alone, monitoring their progress under autopilot.

“Good morning, Mr. Barrington,” the captain said.

“Good morning.”

“Is everything all right?”

“I don’t know,” Stone said, “is it?”

“Is there some problem?”

“I took a stroll last night and came across your crewman on the top deck, sound asleep.”

The captain winced. “That’s Yancy Tubbs. I should have given someone else the first watch,” he said.

“Has he not been otherwise satisfactory?”

“Lazy, mostly. Also, he was tight with Mr. Macher, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

“It is not a good thing,” Stone said. “Perhaps he could fly home from Nantucket.”

“He’s already gone,” the captain replied. “He volunteered to go under the yacht for a look at the hull, which surprised me, but I let him do it, then I broke the news to him and sent him ashore.”

“That’s a relief,” Stone said. Then he thought about it for a moment and said, “Captain, please stop the ship.”

“What?”

“I want her dead in the water right now, and I need a wet suit, a snorkel, and flippers. Also, some wire cutters.”

“Mr. Barrington, what’s wrong?”

“I have a feeling your ex-crewman might not have done a good enough job in looking at the hull.”

The captain switched off the autopilot and pulled the throttles back to idle. The yacht slowed, then finally stopped.

Stone got into the wet suit and flippers, adjusted the snorkel, and snapped the wire cutters into a pocket, then he dropped off the stern into the water.

A mile behind the yacht, Erik Macher pulled his throttles to idle.

“What’s wrong?” Jake Herman asked.

“They’ve stopped. Give me the portable radio.”

Jake took the new unit out of its box and handed it to him.

Macher turned on the unit, but no lights came on. “I need batteries,” he said.

“What kind?”

Macher removed the back of the radio. “Four double A’s,” he said.

“Do we have batteries on board?”

“The radio affixed to the bomb came with batteries.”

“There are none in the box.”

“Well, goddamnit, find some!”

Stone dove down the centerline of the boat and worked his way forward, holding his breath. He had to stop halfway, surface to snorkel height and breathe for a moment, then he continued to the bows. From there, he worked his way aft on the port side, just below the waterline, looking and feeling.

“Here we go!” Jake said. “They were in a galley drawer.”

“Put them into the radio!” Macher ordered.

Jake fumbled with the batteries and dropped one, which rolled under a settee.

“Get another one from the drawer,” Macher said.

“There were only four.” Jake dropped to his knees and reached under the settee, feeling for the battery. “Got it,” he said after a minute.

“Then load it.”

Jake did so and handed Macher the radio. “You do it,” he said. “I don’t want to.”

Macher snatched the radio from him and switched it on.

Stone found an antenna taped to the stern near an exhaust pipe. He followed the wire until it came to the explosive, which was held to the hull with waterproof tape. He scratched at the tape with his nails, but couldn’t dislodge it. Finally, he got out his wire cutters and began scraping at the tape. As he pulled it free, the whole thing slipped from his grasp and went down.

Stone swam as fast as he could, then ran out of wind and surfaced.

Macher tuned in the proper channel, took a last look at the yacht, and pushed the send button.

Stone was suddenly lifted by a force beneath him, and he landed with one hip on the boarding platform.

“What the hell was that?” Dino yelled from above.

Stone tossed his flippers onto the deck and climbed up. “That,” he said, “was a bomb. Fortunately, I lost my grip on it, or it would have been on deck.”

“Are you all right?” the captain asked.

“I am,” Stone said. “How much water are we in?”

“About sixty feet,” the captain replied, then he pointed aft. “Look.”

Stone and Dino looked aft and saw dead fish floating on the surface.

“Look back there,” Dino said, pointing.

A smaller craft, perhaps a mile off, was turning and heading back toward Martha’s Vineyard.

“I could call the local cops or the Coast Guard,” Dino said, “and get him hauled in.”

“On what evidence?” Stone asked.

“You have a point,” Dino admitted.

The others had gathered on the afterdeck now, as Stone struggled out of the wet suit.

Dino explained to them what had happened.

“What do we do now?” Marisa asked.

“Continue to Nantucket, Captain,” Stone said. “Macher ran for it, and even if he hadn’t done so, I doubt if he had any explosive left.”

The captain headed for the bridge, and they were shortly under way again.

Marisa stripped off Stone’s swimsuit and toweled him dry. Stone wrapped the towel around him and flopped into a chair. “Dino?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you can find me a large brandy and soda, no ice?”

“It’s one of the things I do best,” Dino said, heading for the bar.

A minute later, Stone was letting the alcohol find its way to his toes and fingers.

“You know something?” Dino said. “I’m getting tired of these close calls.”

“Not as tired as I,” Stone replied, polishing off the rest of his drink.