Stuart Woods - Dark Harbor

“Dad, she’s going to tell on us,” Enos said.

“She doesn’t know anything to tell. She’s been tied to that bed, drugged, her eyes taped and her ears plugged for the past four days, ever since you left. She hasn’t had a moment of consciousness when she could see anything except that computer.” He pointed at the laptop, glowing in the dark.

“I don’t get it,” Eben said. “Where’s the percentage in letting her go?”

“For one thing, they’ll stop looking for her. For another, she paid her way out.”

“Paid?”

“Listen to me, boys. You’ve got to run; there’s no other choice.”

“But why? We haven’t done anything; nobody has anything on us.”

“You’ve killed some people. They’ve eliminated all the other suspects and now they’re focusing on you. They know you weren’t on the boat when it sailed from Nantucket.”

“So, we came back. So what?”

Caleb noted that they didn’t deny the murders, but he didn’t want the details. “How did you come back?”

“We flew the airplane to Rockport, had some dinner and got the last ferry.”

“Where’s your car?”

“At the house; we walked down here.”

“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” Caleb said, leaning forward in his chair. “I’m your father, and I love you, but I’m also speaking to you as a lawyer. You’ve committed several murders, and these days, nobody can get away with that for long.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Eben said.

“Why did you do it?”

“We had our reasons. Anyway, you taught us everything we know.”

“What?”

“You taught us how much fun it is beating up on other people. You beat us up, before we got too big to let you do it. You stood on the sidelines and egged us on when we wrestled and boxed. You always wanted us to kill the other guy.”

“And you took that to mean that murder is all right?”

“As long as you don’t get caught.”

“You’re going to get caught,” Caleb said.

“Why do you think that, Dad?”

“Because murderers always get caught. They’re going to check every minute of your last four or five days, and they’re going to punch holes in your story.”

“We’ve got it covered,” Enos said.

“You think your friends are going to go on covering for you when they find out what the police want?”

“Sure, they will.”

“No, they’ll be dragged into a police station and told that if they lie for you, they’re accessories to multiple murders and that accessories get the same sentences as perpetrators. Haven’t you watched enough TV to know that? They’ll crack to save themselves, and when they do, you’ll find yourselves in jail, then on trial, then…”

“You wouldn’t let us lose a trial, would you Dad?” Eben asked. “Not with your legal connections.”

“I can’t fix a trial,” Caleb said. “And if they have the evidence, you’ll be convicted, and you’ll spend the rest of your lives in prison.” Caleb saw that he wasn’t getting through to them. “They’ll separate you.”

“What?” Enos asked, looking alarmed.

“They won’t let brothers serve in the same prison; they’ll put you in different places.”

Enos looked as if he were going to cry.

“You’ve got to get out of here and tonight,” Caleb said.

“How?” Eben asked. “Where would we go? What would we do for money?”

“I told you, the woman bought her way out.”

“How?”

“I set up a numbered bank account in Singapore; from there you can transfer funds to any bank in the world just by going online.”

“How much did she pay?”

“A million two hundred thousand dollars. It’s already in the account.” He handed them the sheets that Holly had printed. “Here’s all the information.”

The boys held a candle over the pages and read them. “Holy shit,” they said together.

“Here’s what you do: You take my boat and leave here at first light for Rockland. Once there, you take that airplane of yours and fly west, stopping only at small, out-of-the-way airports to refuel. It’ll take you a couple of days, but you’ll fly to El Paso or Laredo, on the Mexican border, in Texas. You’ll cross the border, each in a different city, and you’ll travel separately to the Mexico City airport. From there, you can fly to Brazil, which has no extradition treaty. You can open a bank account there and transfer enough funds from the Singapore account to support you for a year or so.”

“Then what?”

“You’ll research where else in the world you can go, then start a small business. Even a million two won’t last forever. Take the laptop with you and the cell phone, which is a throwaway. I’ll call you from phone booths every now and then to see how you’re doing and give you advice.

“The cell phone may not work in Mexico, so buy another one, same in Brazil. Don’t linger in Mexico City. Never use your credit cards. Leave them with me. I’ll dispose of them. One of you should grow a beard, and you should both dye your hair different colors. Twins your size are too easy to spot. When you travel on trains or airplanes, never sit together; take different hotel rooms. Don’t be seen together in public until you’re safely in Brazil. Your passports are in the computer case.” He took a wad of bills from his pocket. “Here’s eight thousand dollars. That will get you to Rio, then you can draw on the Singapore account.”

Eben took the money. “Where did you get this?”

“I had a couple of thousand in the safe at the house. I’ve been cashing checks and using ATMs for a week; I knew you’d need some cash.”

“So, Dad,” Eben said, “you’ve created a paper trail. When they start looking for us, they’ll look at your bank account and see all these unusual cash withdrawals.”

“I’ll handle that,” Caleb said.

“And how are you going to handle it, Dad? You can’t explain those withdrawals; you won’t have the cash to show them. You’ll be just like our friends. You’ll crack, to save yourself, and you’ll tell them where to look for us.”

“I would never tell them,” Caleb said. “You’re my sons; I would never give you up.”

“Remember that time when we ran away from boarding school? We called you, and you gave us up.”

“Come on, boys. You were kids then; you’d done something crazy.”

Eben stood up, and Enos stood with him. “We’re not kids anymore, and you’d be facing prison. I don’t think you’d spend the rest of your life in prison for us, do you, Enos?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Enos said.

Caleb started to rise, but Eben pushed him back in the chair.

“No,” Eben said. “If we’re going to burn our bridges, we’d better start now.”

SETH HOTCHKISS SPOKE UP. “I know what that place is,” he said, tapping his finger on the thermal image. “It’s an old boathouse. The main house burned down, I don’t know, maybe fifteen years ago, and they never rebuilt, so it was taken off your map, Sergeant. But the boathouse is still there. There’s a little creek that runs up to it, about right here.” He tapped the map again. “But it’s overgrown, and I don’t know whether it’s navigable.”

“Would the picnic boat make it up that creek?” Stone asked. “It only draws a foot and a half.”

“It wouldn’t be the depth that’s the problem,” Seth replied. “You’d have to make your way through a lot of brush.”

“Is there a way to the boathouse by road?” Sergeant Young asked.

“There’s an old gate about here on the main road,” Seth said, pointing to a place on the map. “There was a dirt track down to the boathouse-I delivered some sails there once-but that would be overgrown, too. You could make it through there in a four-by-four, I expect.”