Стюарт Вудс - Choppy Water

“You’re sure they’re not on that road?”

“We drove all the way to the point and found nothing but three or four houses, boarded up for the winter. It’s a dead end, so we couldn’t have missed anybody coming or going.”

“As long as you’re certain they’re not there.”

“I am.”

“There’s been nothing on TV or in the papers — not even the Maine papers — about the incident on Islesboro.”

“Then they must be keeping it quiet.”

“I expect so.”

“You know, our next stop could be to go right back to Islesboro. Last place they’d look for us.”

“They’ve got a caretaker and his wife listed for the property, and you didn’t shoot them. Also, there’s the busybody storekeeper who runs the jungle telegraph on the island. There’s also a guy named Rawls, ex-Agency, who practically shoots at anybody he sees. Did you check the local airports?”

“Both Rockland and Bar Harbor are dead quiet; not worth stationing a man at either of them.”

“Then you might as well make a move.”

“All right. What are your orders?”

“Come back to base, and we’ll regroup.”

“Right. Shall I bring the venison?”

“Why not?”

“We’ll be there by nightfall.” Rudy hung up, and Sykes went back to his piece, which put a little meat on the bones of a conspiracy theory he’d dreamed up.

By mid-morning the skies had cleared on Mount Desert Island, and Stone got a call from Faith.

“Hi, there. Where are you?”

“We just landed at Bar Harbor, and the airplane is being towed to the hangar now.”

“Make yourself at home in the apartment in the hangar,” Stone said. “I’ll let you know when we have a plan.”

“Right.”

“You know where to find groceries?”

“Yep.”

“Then don’t starve.” Stone hung up and turned to Bill Wright. They were in a little sitting room off the kitchen. “Zelda has moved offshore, and the airplane is now at Bar Harbor, ready to do our bidding.”

Holly came in with a cup of tea and sat down. “This is a lovely spot, but at this time of the year, depression creeps in.”

“Would you prefer a sunnier, warmer spot?”

“Yes, please. What’s on offer?”

“Well, there’s L.A.”

“Too many reporters,” Bill said.

“I have a house at the Arrington Hotel, which is quite secluded.”

“You’ve got a house on Key West, too,” Holly said.

“Fewer people to deal with,” Bill said, “and we’ve got the naval air base, so getting in and out unnoticed wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Holly,” Stone said. “How much longer are you planning to remain invisible?”

“Well, I guess it can’t go on forever,” she said. “Where’s your nice, big yacht?”

“In a shed built to hold it, about fifty miles from here.”

“Oh, well.”

“So it’s Key West, then?” Bill asked.

Holly nodded.

“How long a flight?”

“Four hours, give or take,” Stone said.

“I’ll buy into that, if we can take off, say, an hour after dark,” Bill said.

“Done,” Stone replied. “I’ll alert the housekeeper and the cook.”

“I’ll need their names, dates of birth, and Social Security numbers — and those of anyone else who is likely to come into the house.”

“There’s a caretaker, too. I’ll get you all that.”

“Then what time shall we leave the house?”

“As soon as it’s dark. There’s a big moon tonight, so we might be able to get back to the main road without headlights,” Stone said.

“I like the sound of that.”

“In fact, when the moon’s up, we might be able to taxi and take off without lights. The GPS will keep us on the center lines from hangar to takeoff.”

“You’re thinking the way I think, Stone. All okay with you, ma’am?”

“With you two around I don’t have to think at all,” she said.

Stone consulted the map Bill had given him. “Bill, exactly where are we on this map?”

Bill started a finger at Somesville and ran it along their route, then tapped on a spot.

“This is Broad Cove Cottage, right?”

“Right.”

“But it’s not on Broad Cove Road?”

“Nope. The name is a reference to the cove. Broad Cove Road is half a mile farther south.”

“And where was the butchered deer found?”

“Right about here,” Bill said, pointing to a spot. “Wait, I think I see your point. It was found about here, close to Broad Cove Road.”

“Right. Perhaps these people were given the name of the house and assumed that Broad Cove Cottage was on Broad Cove Road?”

“It’s a good thing they’re not geniuses,” Holly said.

As the moon rose, Stone entered the gate code at the Bar Harbor Airport, and the three-car motorcade drove through. The hangar doors were open, and the tow was pulling the Gulfstream onto the ramp. When the tow had departed they got out of the SUVs and the agents began loading luggage, while the passengers, plus Bill and Claire, boarded and made themselves comfortable.

Stone went forward to the cockpit. “Is it bright enough to taxi and take off without lights?” he asked Faith, who was in the left seat, running checklists.

She looked out the windows. “Sure,” she said.

“Don’t file ahead of time,” he said. “Do it after takeoff, with Boston Center, instead of Bangor Approach.”

“I guess they won’t arrest me for that,” she said.

“I’ll see that they don’t,” Bill said. “We’re plugged into those guys.”

“Just grand,” Stone said. “When you’re ready.”

Stone stood behind the cockpit seats; he knew the airport better than Faith. “Cross the FBO ramp, then turn left, then right. That will put us parallel to runway 4/22. The windsock favors twenty-two.”

“Got it,” she said, taxiing along beside the runway, until the taxiway came to an end with a left turn to the runway entrance.

“Announce your presence and intention,” Stone said, “but don’t use our tail number.”

Faith ran her pre-takeoff checklist, looked right and left to be sure there were no approaching aircraft, then pressed the push-to-talk button. “Aircraft entering runway 22 for takeoff. Anybody in the pattern?” She released the button and listened. No answer.

“Aircraft taking off on twenty-two,” she said, then taxied onto the runway, checked her flap settings, put on the brakes, and pushed the throttle slowly forward, holding the aircraft in place. When the gauges showed full power, she released the brakes and began her takeoff run. She watched the screen before her, which displayed a synthetic image of the runway; it showed her on the center line. Ahead and to her left, a nearly full moon was rising, illuminating the landscape remarkably well.

“Rotate,” the copilot said, and Faith pulled back on the sidestick. The aircraft left the ground and began to climb rapidly.

“Okay,” Stone said, “you can light up now.”

The copilot flipped switches and the exterior and interior lights came on. Faith turned on the autopilot.

“Call Boston Center at ten thousand feet, then we’re on our way.” Stone walked back and joined the others. The president-elect of the United States was serving drinks, and his was on the table before him. “You do good work,” he said to Holly. “We may keep you on here.”

The airplane made a turn to the right, and Stone looked forward at Faith. She gave him a thumbs-up.

“We’re on course for Naval Air Station Key West,” Stone said.

“Expect a warm reception,” Bill Wright said. “We’ve had a word with them, and they’ll have vehicles waiting to take you to your destination. Faith has probably already been cleared direct to Key West.”