Impact

65

Harry Burr stood on the deck of the Halcyon, watching Straw at the helm, guiding the boat at full speed through the swell. Lacking time, they had had to rent a larger, slower boat than Burr wanted, but at least it had the advantage of being seaworthy. After leaving the dock at noon, they had followed weather reports over the VHF radio, broadcasting small-craft warnings about an approaching storm. Burr wasn't sure whether a thirty-eight-foot Downeaster yacht like the Halcyon, powered by twin diesels, qualified as a small craft, but he wasn't particularly eager to test the idea.

"Can't make the boat go any faster, can you?"

"I'm already pushing the engine more than I should," said Straw.

He raised a pair of binoculars for the millionth time and scanned the surrounding ocean and islands. Burr was surprised how many islands there were--dozens, maybe hundreds, not to mention rocks and reefs. Some of them were inhabited and a couple had commercial installations on them, but most were deserted. Burr shifted his gaze to the electronic chartplotter in the well-equipped pilothouse. Growing up in Greenwich, he'd spent a lot of time around boats and felt comfortable with them. Still, it had been a while. He carefully observed Straw at the helm so that he could be sure of operating the boat properly once the kill was over and he was heading back alone. The storm would give him a good excuse to explain the missing lobsterman.

"As soon as we round the tip of that island," said Straw, "we'll have a view across the northern reach of Muscongus Bay. Get out the binocs and be ready to look."

"We're passing a lot of islands here. How do you know they're not in a cove somewhere?"

"We don't. We search open water first, then come back looking into coves."

"Makes sense."

Straw was motivated, that was for sure. His hands gripped the wheel, knuckles white, his narrow eyes constantly darting around, seeking other boats. He looked on the verge of cracking.

"We still have plenty of time," said Burr, trying to keep his voice calm. "Don't worry. As long as they're out on the water, he won't strike. He'll need her to operate the boat."

"I know every harbor, cove, and gunkhole from here to Isle au Haut and I swear we're going to search every one of 'em until we find her."

"We'll find her."

"Damn straight we will."

Burr plucked a pack from his pocket and shook out a cigarette. The man was becoming tiresome. "Mind if I smoke?"

Straw looked at him. His eyes were haggard, bloodshot. Poor fellow was thinking too much. "Smoke at the stern, away from the engine. Bring your binocs and keep looking."

Burr went to the taffrail and lit up. They were rounding the point of the island and soon another vast expanse of ocean appeared to the northeast, dotted with islands. The late-afternoon sun shimmered in a golden swath across the blue water. There were several lobster boats moving to and fro, hauling their traps. He raised the binoculars and examined each one in turn.

None were the Marea II.

He inhaled again and wondered just what Ford and the girl were up to, why they had run to sea like this. Some kind of espionage? As usual, he didn't know the real identity of his clients nor why they wanted the hard disk, which made it impossible to understand why Ford and the girl went from Brooklyn to Washington, stole a car, and drove to Maine and took a boat out on the water. All he knew was that Ford had a hard drive worth two hundred grand. And that was all he really needed to know.