Стюарт Вудс - Wild Card

“I wouldn’t like that,” Stone said.

“Neither would I,” Jamie echoed. “Why don’t we just get the hell out of here?”

“And go where?” Stone asked. “Back to New York? The Thomases have people thick on the ground there. If we have to fight them, I think I’d rather do it here.”

“Shoot first,” Rawls said. “Think later.”

“Good advice,” Stone replied.

“Call the state police,” Jamie said.

“If I did that, they’d arrest Sherry. The Parkers have reported the van stolen, and after all, she assaulted Hurd with a rock.”

“She was in fear of her life on both counts,” Jamie said.

“She’d still spend a couple of days in jail before we could get her released,” Stone pointed out. “She’d be vulnerable inside — there are no rocks.”

“I can try to scare ’em off,” Rawls said.

“If you did, they’d come back with reinforcements,” Stone said.

“Why don’t you just get your ass aboard Breeze and get your party the hell out of here?” Rawls asked. “I’ll cover you while you’re getting aboard.”

“I like that idea,” Stone said. “They may not know about Breeze. ”

Bob and Sherry came down the stairs, looking rested. “Did I hear we’re decamping?” he asked.

“Sherry,” Rawls said, “who at the Camden marina could connect you with Breeze ?”

“There was a kid in the dockmaster’s shed who told me where to find her, and there were three or four guys who helped launch her. They were in the big shed, getting out of the rain, when I went looking for Todd.”

Stone got out his phone. “Let me make a call. I’m a pretty good customer over there.” He dialed the boatyard and asked for the manager, Jim Hughes.

“Yes, sir?”

“Jim, this is Stone Barrington. How are you?”

“Not bad,” Jim replied.

“Yesterday, a young lady boarded Breeze in the yard.”

“I heard,” Hughes replied.

“Who else knows?”

“Half a dozen people, I guess.”

“Has anybody inquired about her?”

“No. My people are tight-lipped about who does what on our yachts. And if somebody was asking questions, I’d hear about it pronto.”

“Good,” Stone said. “I’d like to keep it quiet.”

“I’ll speak to the lads.”

“Get a case of beer out of my storage shed, ice it down, and spread it around at the end of the day.”

“I’ll do that. They’ll be appreciative.”

“Thank you, Jim.” Stone hung up. “Okay, that possible leak is sealed.”

“Are we sailing away?” Bob asked.

“After dark. We’ll have dinner here, then go before the moon rises. Ed, you want to join us? A few days at sea would do you good.”

“You could be right,” Rawls said.

“Throw something in a bag and join us for dinner,” Stone said.

“How are you fixed for arms aboard?” Rawls asked.

“Bring your personal weapon. We’ve got a small armory.”

“See you for dinner,” Rawls said, then left.

Stone brought Bob and Sherry up to date, then called Captain Todd and gave him his orders.

The moon was just rising as they left Stone’s dock in the yacht’s big tender, purring along at five knots, so as not to disturb anyone sleeping in the moored boats. They heard a loon emit its haunting song from somewhere. Stone looked around; he had heard many loons in Maine but had rarely ever seen one.

They clambered aboard the darkened yacht, using a crew member’s flashlight to show them the way. The engines were already idling. They went to their assigned cabins as the anchor came up, and by the time they had reassembled in the saloon for coffee and brandy, they were motoring slowly south. Five miles out of Dark Harbor, Captain Todd turned on the lights.

“That was well done,” Rawls said. “The only way they could have seen us depart is if they had been standing on the yacht club dock, watching for us, and it was deserted. There was some drinking going on inside, but nobody outside.”

“Then we can breathe easier,” Stone said.

“We can’t breathe easier until we’re ready for an assault.”

“‘An assault’?” Jamie asked, alarmed.

“Relax, that’s unlikely to happen, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be ready for it.” Rawls and Stone went to a locked cabinet and took down weapons, which they placed strategically around the saloon and deck, one for everybody except Jamie.

“I’d just shoot myself in the foot,” she said, sitting in a corner of the saloon with Stone. “Where are we headed?”

“Nantucket,” Stone replied. “We’ll be there before sunrise, so we won’t be making an entrance that might attract attention, and there’s an airport, should we wish to decamp.”

“Where would we decamp to?” she asked.

“Anywhere but New York. I’ve got houses in L.A. and Key West.”

“How about Santa Fe?” Jamie asked. “I love Santa Fe.”

“I sold my Santa Fe house a couple of years ago — or, rather, traded it with Will and Kate Lee for a house in Georgetown, which I lease for a dollar a year to the government as a residence for the secretary of state.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re tight with Holly Barker.”

“We’re very good friends, and the government didn’t supply her with a suitable residence, so I helped.”

“And I suppose you’re supporting her campaign for president?”

“You suppose correctly.”

“I think I’m a little jealous,” Jamie said.

“When you run for president, I’ll support you,” Stone replied. “Does that help?”

“Oh, loads, thanks. Tell me: What is it like to have that much money?”

“It’s the most fun you can have with your clothes on,” he said. “Or off.”

“But money can’t buy happiness, can it?”

“Scarlett O’Hara once asked that question of Rhett Butler, who replied, ‘Scarlett, generally it can. And when it can’t, it can buy some of the most remarkable substitutes.’”

She laughed. “Such as?”

“Such as the yacht we’re currently cruising on,” he replied.

“Is being very rich much different from being a little rich?”

“Being a little rich means not having to worry about making the mortgage payment every month; being very rich means not having a mortgage.”

“So, if you want something big, like a yacht or an airplane or a house, you just write a check?”

“No, Joan writes a check.”

“Someone once said that behind every great fortune is a great crime.”

“Every penny of my fortune was honestly earned by hard work and wise investment. I didn’t earn it, but somebody did.”

“Who?”

“Thereby hangs a tale,” Stone said.

“I’ve got all night.”

“All right, many years ago I met a girl named Arrington Johnston. We saw each other for a time, lived together for a time, and I bought her a ring. We planned a trip to the island of St. Marks, where I intended to propose. But she was a writer, and at the last moment, the New Yorker asked her to write a profile of a movie star who was in town for a few days. I was waiting at the airport for her, it had begun to snow, and when I got her call, I decided to go on to St. Marks and have her join me in a few days.”

“And did she?”

“She did not. She fell in love with the movie star and married him.”

“That was Vance Calder?”

“It was.”

“Who was murdered some years later, wasn’t he?”

“He was.”

“And wasn’t Arrington a suspect?”

“Briefly. Oh, and I forgot to mention that the night before I left for St. Marks I impregnated her. I didn’t know it at the time, but I could count. It was a boy and, of course, Vance thought it was his.