23
The following day at noon, the yacht’s tender pulled up to Stone’s dock, and the three of them handed their things aboard, and the dogs scampered willingly into the launch.
Ed Rawls’s gear included a long gun pouch. “I thought we might shoot some skeet,” he said to the crewman.
“Of course, sir. We have all the equipment aboard, including the shotguns.”
“Thanks, I prefer my own gun,” Ed said.
They motored quickly out to where Breeze lay at anchor, her boarding steps lowered, and soon they were seated in the sunshine on the fantail, enjoying Bloody Marys.
The anchor rattled up and was secured, as were the steps, and the yacht glided away from the harbor.
DIRTY JOE CROSS stood in the cockpit of his chartered picnic boat and watched her depart through his binoculars. “Well, shit,” he said.
“Surely we can keep up with something that size,” Jungle Jane said.
“I guess that’s our only choice,” Joe said. “We have no idea how long they’ll be aboard.”
“I hope they’re not doing a transatlantic,” Jane said.
ONCE THEY were under way, the captain, Bret Todd, came aft. “Did you have a destination in mind for today?” he asked Stone.
“It’s a calm day, why don’t we go out and have a look at Monhegan Island? Maybe we could anchor off for the night, if conditions allow.”
“Certainly we can, if the seas remain calm. As I expect you know, there’s no sheltered mooring at Monhegan.”
Stone nodded, and Bret went back to the bridge.
“Where’s Monhegan Island?” Meg asked.
“Pretty far out. We may not be able to go ashore, but we can get a look at it. It’s where Andrew Wyeth did many of his paintings.”
Ed Rawls seemed more interested in other boats than Monhegan. He used binoculars to scan each one as he sighted them.
“What are you looking for, Ed?” Meg asked.
“Pirates,” Rawls replied.
DIRTY JOE FELL in half a mile behind the yacht and set the autopilot to their heading.
Jane handed him a sandwich and a beer. “How fast are we going?”
“Twelve knots or so. I guess that’s cruising speed for them.”
“Well, we’ve got a nice day for a hunt.”
“Couldn’t be better. If the wind doesn’t come up, we might get a shot at them when they anchor for the night. You’d better make up our bunk, I guess.”
“SO THIS FELLOW, Gino Bellini, doesn’t like doing his own shooting, huh?” Rawls asked Meg over cocktails, late in the day.
“He doesn’t have that kind of guts,” Meg replied. “He prefers to do his damage at his computer keyboard.” She told him about the testing of the driverless cars that was about to start.
“If you’re a passenger in one of those things, how do you tell it where you want to go?”
“You press a button and speak to it,” Meg said, “or if you prefer, you can type your request on a rear-seat keyboard.”
“What’s the range, before you have to plug in again?”
“We’ve got it up to around three hundred miles, now, about what it would be for an engine-powered car. If you’re in town you’ll use less power, of course. The idea is more for commuting than long trips.”
“How does it avoid collisions with other vehicles?”
“With very precise radar. The car can change directions or stop faster than a human driver. Its reactions are just about instantaneous. You’ll never hit a pedestrian or a deer while being driven, and, of course, it has all the seat belt and airbag protection that any modern car does.”
“What’s the top speed?”
“Well, if you’re on the German autobahn, about a hundred and twenty mph. In the States, a hundred, and the car will automatically slow to the speed limit if it detects police radar within half a mile.”
They were approaching Monhegan now, and Stone noticed that there was a small swell running in from the Atlantic.
“We’ll anchor in the lee of the island,” Stone said, “and with the stabilizers running, we should be comfortable for the night.”
JOE SLOWED DOWN. “They’re headed for Monhegan Island,” he said to Jane, pointing ahead. “I expect they’ll anchor for the night.”
“What will we do?”
“We don’t want to anchor in this swell, we might get dumped out of bed in the night, and we can’t get too close to them. We’ll run down to the next island and find some shelter there.”
STONE TOOK MEG up forward for a look at the bridge. “It’s getting hazy,” he said, and noted that Bret had the radar on.
“We might be in for some fog as the day cools,” Bret said.
“Do we have any problem with anchoring if we’re fogged in?” Stone asked.
“Not really. We can set a radar alarm to go off if another boat gets too near us. That turns on the foghorn and warns them off.” He slowed the yacht and made ready for anchoring. The sea was a little flatter in the lee of the island. “There’s been a boat showing in our wake on radar,” Bret said, pointing at the screen. As he did so, the other boat made a turn to the left. “He’s a lot smaller than we are. He might be looking for shelter on another island.”
“How long was he following us?” Stone asked.
“I first noticed him a few minutes out of Dark Harbor. He could just be letting us do his navigating for him.”
Stone stepped off the bridge and onto the port deck and scanned the horizon. The haze was getting worse, and he could see nothing.
Stone and Meg went to dress for dinner, and when they came up there was no more than a hundred yards of visibility. They lit a fire in the saloon and closed the doors to keep out the fog.
“I didn’t get much of a view of Monhegan Island,” Meg said.
“Maybe it will be better in the morning,” Stone said, but he hoped not. He didn’t like the news of a following boat, and the lack of visibility was to their advantage.
They had a drink, then were called to dinner.