22
Stone, Meg, and Ed Rawls sat before a roaring fire and swirled the brandy in their glasses. The dogs lay in a pile in front of the fireplace.
Ed was the first to speak. “What precautions have you taken, Stone?”
Stone took a sip of his brandy. “Precautions? We left New York City and came to Maine.”
“Is that enough, do you think?”
“Yes,” Meg chimed in. “Is that enough?”
“Well, let’s see,” Stone muttered. “We drove out of my garage at, what, seven-thirty this morning? We drove to Teterboro, and we weren’t followed. We flew something over three hundred nautical miles to Rockland, changed planes, then flew to an island in Penobscot, Maine, and we’re sitting in a well-armored house, drinking Rémy Martin. Is that enough precautions?”
Ed shrugged. “Maybe. How well do your pursuers know you?”
“Not at all, I hope.”
“How did they find you to make the two earlier attempts on Meg’s life?”
“Well, the first time, they knew Meg was attending a Steele Group board meeting, and they probably checked the activities board at the Casa Marina Hotel and found out she was on the list to play in a golf tournament, and there’s only one golf course in Key West.”
“And the second time?”
“They followed my boat from the Key West Yacht Club to some islands west of there.”
“I didn’t know you had a boat in Key West.”
“I didn’t, until the day before we left.”
“So how’d they ascertain that you were leaving on a boat for some island?”
“The yacht club is in plain sight of a main road—it would have been easy to spot us. Also, we stopped for fuel in Key West Bight, and we could have been seen there, then followed.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Out to Fort Jefferson, about seventy miles west of Key West.”
“How’d they know where you were going? A boat isn’t like an airplane—you don’t file a flight plan.”
“I suppose they followed us from a discreet distance. I wasn’t looking for a tail.”
“Were you looking for a tail this morning?”
“I checked out the block as we drove away, and I didn’t see anybody.”
“But somebody could have seen you leave, then followed you to Teterboro?”
“I suppose that’s possible.”
“Then anybody with a smartphone could look up your tail number and check your flight direction and destination.”
“Once again, yes, I suppose so.”
“It would be harder to figure out where you were going after Rockland, unless, of course, these people know you better than you think and know about this house.”
“Oh, all right, Ed, I concede your point. Now, do you have another point?”
“It occurs to me that a moving target is harder to hit than a stationary one.”
“Another very good point. Are you suggesting we move around?”
“I recollect that you are a partner in a very nice floating object.”
“That’s right, I am,” Stone said. “I had not forgotten. I thought we might even take a little cruise.”
“What a good idea,” Ed said drily.
“Is this floating object as nice as the one in Key West?” Meg asked.
“Much nicer,” Stone said.
“I’m up for a Penobscot Bay cruise,” she said.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Stone said. “I’ll call our captain tomorrow morning. How would you like to come along, Ed?”
“You got an easy chair aboard?”
“Several of them.”
“Then I’m available.”
THE FOLLOWING MORNING after breakfast Stone phoned Bret Todd, his captain. After an exchange of pleasantries, he inquired about the availability of Breeze, the 125-foot motor yacht he and two business partners had bought from the estate of the former owner.
“We put her in the water the day before yesterday,” Bret said. “We’ve pulled her apart for a major cleaning, now under way, but we could have her ready by noon tomorrow. Where did you want to go?”
“Oh, just a bay cruise for a few days.”
“Then I’ll get the crew cleaned up, too, and we’ll pick you up at your dock at noon?”
“Noon would be very good,” Stone said.
“How many guests?”
“Two—one of them will be bunking with me.”
“Then we’ll see you at noon tomorrow.”
JOE CROSS presented himself at the charter FBO at Teterboro and showed them his pilot’s license, medical certificate, and logbook. He did a walk-around of the Bonanza, a six-seat, single-engine aircraft, then he flew the charterer around the traffic pattern, landed, and taxied to the ramp. Half an hour later they took off for Rockland and landed an hour and a half after that.
They drove their rental car into the town, and on the way, passed a gun shop. Joe waited while Jane went inside. Half an hour later she came out with a long gun pouch and a brown bag, and she got into the car.
“Find what you were looking for?”
“A very nice Remington 700 and a box of 30-06 ammo,” she replied. “I fired a few rounds on their range, and it sighted in well.”
“Then let’s go take a look at the granite quarry,” he said, checking his phone map. A few minutes later they parked at the roadside near the fence and looked at the pit. “There,” he said, pointing at a little shed. “That’s where it will be.”
They stopped at a hardware store on the way back into town and bought a pair of bolt cutters and a crowbar, then continued to the marina.
“That’s lovely,” Joe said, pointing at the picnic boat, “and it blends in perfectly around here. There must be dozens in Penobscot Bay.” They checked in with the office, Joe presented his captain’s license, and a young man gave them a tour of the boat, showing them the engines, charts, and other equipment aboard. They settled in, then went to dinner at a local restaurant. It was dark when they left.
Cutting through the quarry fence, then using the crowbar on the shed’s hasp was simple enough, and Joe took half a dozen sticks of dynamite, some fuses and detonators, and they were back aboard the boat before midnight.
Joe sat down and spread out the chart of Penobscot Bay. He tapped the chart. “That’s our target area,” he said.