Стюарт Вудс - Foul Play

“Have we had any flyovers here?” Stone asked.

“Not a one. I’d expected a chopper, and we might see one yet, if they get bored looking for us around the island. But from the air, we look like a house closed for the off-season.”

Lunch broke up. “Is there somewhere I can get some sun?” Brooke asked Doug.

“Not unless we need bait,” Doug said. “The sight of you lying around in a bikini, or less, could attract a lot of attention.”

“Thank you, Doug,” she said, batting her eyes rapidly.

“Do we have a sun lamp in the house?” Stone asked Shep.

“I’m afraid not. Normally, sunshine is abundant around here, but the circumstances...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Brooke said.

“There’s a large library, if you’d like to read something.”

“I’d like to do the Times crossword, please.”

“There are three copies of the paper lying about,” Stone said. “I’ll find us both one.”

They repaired to the library for an afternoon of reading and television. They had been there for a couple of hours when they heard the sound of an airplane flying over, followed by a loud noise from outside.

Shep came trotting into the library. “We’re being bombed,” he said.

A voice came over the house-wide sound system. “Nobody go outside!” Doug commanded. “Continue as you were, and stay away from the windows.”

“What the hell?” Dino asked.

“Beats me,” Stone said. “Let’s do as Doug says.”

After a few minutes, Doug came into the library. “An airplane has dropped a bomblike object on the shed where the scooters are parked,” he said. “One of our team is an old bomb-squad guy from the military, and he will be checking it out in due course. In the meantime, stay out of the kitchen, which is the room with the most exposure.”

After another hour, Doug came back and said, “Come with me to the kitchen.” They followed him and had a look at an object about eighteen inches in length, which looked like a bomb. “It’s not a bomb,” Doug said. “It’s a harmless fake, used in the military to simulate bombings. I think they dropped it on the shed to see if we would all run out to see what happened, but we didn’t rise to the bait, so we’re fine.”

“They must be conducting a search up and down the beach, looking for us. This doesn’t mean they’ve found us.”

Stone and Brooke had worn themselves out after breakfast, when there was a knock at the door, and an envelope was slid under it. Stone retrieved it and found it addressed to himself.

“This was in the mailbox this morning,” a woman’s voice said from the other side of the door.

Stone got back into bed and examined the envelope closely. It was made of expensive paper, and the handwriting of his name was in a florid script. There was no stamp on the envelope.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Brooke asked.

“I’m not even here. Why am I getting mail?”

“I don’t think we’re going to find out by not opening it.”

“Oh, all right.” Stone opened the envelope and shook out a single sheet of notepaper. At its head was one word: Nostrovia . He read the handwritten note.

My dear Mr. Barrington,

I would be very pleased if you and your guests would join me aboard my yacht for cocktails. Dress is informal, and my tender will be ready to depart the yacht club at six o’clock.

“ Well, that’s bold,” Stone said. He got dressed and went to find Doug, who was working at the kitchen table. Stone handed him the note. “What do you think of that?”

Doug read it again. “He’s feeling us out,” he replied. “He doesn’t know how many of us there are and who we are.”

“Should we go?” Stone asked.

“It would be a good opportunity for us to help him underestimate us.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, we’re fourteen here. Suppose you and I and the two ladies, and one other of my team, attend. Here’s our story. The late Rod Troutman was a good friend of yours, and you had made it a practice for several years to visit him here at this time. This year you got a note from the office of his estate, saying that the invitation was open, as usual. So, you invited two other couples to join you. You can say that you suspect that the estate would like to sell you the house.”

“I like it,” Stone said. “We don’t have to lie too much.”

“The simplest lies are the best ones.”

“We’ll take three scooters to the yacht club, and we’ll take a few other items, as well.”

“What items?”

“Bugs. Gregor Kronk has handed us an invitation to wire his yacht.”

Shortly before six o’clock they were met by a Hinckley tender at the yacht club and ferried to the mooring of Nostrovia . The boarding stairs rose only halfway up the hull, then they stepped inside and were taken in an elevator to the main deck.

They emerged into a large saloon, with a big fireplace at one end. A large, powerful-looking man in a double-breasted blue blazer and white trousers greeted them. “Mr. Barrington?” he said, approaching Doug.

“No, this gentleman is Mr. Barrington,” Doug said, indicating Stone.

“Ah, my apologies.” He offered his hand, and Stone shook it.

“Not at all, Mr. Kronk, and thank you for your invitation. We had seen your yacht in the harbor and were curious about it. I think it must be the largest vessel to be seen in these parts since the days of Aristotle Onassis and his Christina .”

“Perhaps so. Is Mr. Troutman not with you?”

“I’m sorry, Rod Troutman passed away some weeks ago. I had visited him here at this time in previous years, and his estate invited me to come again. I suspect they would like to sell me the house.”

“I’m surprised you are not aboard your own yacht. Breeze , I think she is called.”

“She is, but I have two partners in the yacht, and one of them is using her at this time. They departed this morning, I believe.”

“And where is young Mr. Troutman, Shepherd?”

“I last saw him in New York, but he had an unpleasant experience there, and left town. I don’t know where to.”

“I heard he had bought a very nice apartment at the Carlyle.”

“You are very well informed, Mr. Kronk.”

“I try.”

“After his experience, he canceled the purchase of the apartment and moved out. I’m not sure where.”

“You don’t keep track of your clients, then?”

“We know where to send their bills,” Stone said. “Otherwise, no.”

“May I show you around Nostrovia? ” Kronk asked.

“Yes, please. We’d love to see her.”

Kronk led the way from stem to stern, with a running commentary on its furnishings, which were excessively opulent.

“When are you returning to New York?” Kronk asked.

“Oh, in a day or two, as soon as the ladies start to get bored.”

“And how did you arrive?”

“My friends use an air charter service. I was visiting other friends on the Cape, and I and Ms. Alley met Breeze at Woods Hole and were conveyed by her to the house.”

“How convenient.”

“We found it so.”

“Will you stay aboard for dinner?” Kronk asked.

“That would be lovely, but I’m afraid we are otherwise engaged.”

“Perhaps another time,” Kronk said.

“I do hope so.”

In due course they were returned to the tender, and thence to the yacht club. As they climbed onto the dock, Doug held a finger to his lips. When they were back at the scooters, he turned up Stone’s jacket collar and produced a bug.

“It appears that Kronk was like-minded,” he whispered, slipping it into a metallic envelope and pocketing it.