Stuart Woods - Below the Belt

“Are you considering adding politics to the list?” Stone asked.

“It might be fun,” Christian said, smiling a little, “but it’s the most dangerous game of all, so much at stake, so much to go wrong, so many ways that things can happen, so many variables.”

Stone wondered what he was thinking. Then his phone rang. He glanced at it: caller’s name blocked; one of two people. “Excuse me,” he said to Christian. He walked into the saloon and answered it.

“Good morning,” Will Lee said. “Can you talk?”

“I can listen,” Stone said.

“I hope you’re aboard a yacht.”

“I am.”

“In Penobscot Bay?”

“Yes.”

“Somebody else’s yacht?”

“Yes.”

“Whose?”

“Christian St. Clair’s.”

“Well, that’s interesting. I’m going to want to pump you about that experience. Who else is aboard?”

“Harold Ozick, Clint Holder, and Nelson Knott. And their wives.”

“Have they mugged you yet?”

“Not yet. They’ve been cordial, for the most part. Except Ozick, maybe.”

“He’s not a cordial sort.”

“Are you tracking me?”

“I’m tracking Holly,” Will said. “It’s easier.”

“Yes, she’s using one of your cell phones, isn’t she?”

“She is.”

“Do you have a message for her?”

“No, and I don’t want her to know I called. It would just make her think of work. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Here I am.”

“I was going to tell you that you might run into Christian St. Clair,” Will said, “and, if you did, to watch your ass.”

“I’ll do that. The junior senator from my home state was here, but he jumped ship when he saw who his companions were going to be.”

“He’s a smart man, and you’d be smart to do the same.”

“You’re going to have to tell me what you mean.”

“Later,” Will said. “Right now I’m needed.” He hung up.

Stone’s phone was ringing again, from the other blocked number.

Stone pressed the button. “Hello, Ed.”

“Stone, we need to talk.”

“So talk.”

“Not on the phone — face-to-face.”

“I’d have a long swim,” Stone said.

“Start now.”

“Is it really that important?”

“I believe so.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Stone went forward to the wheelhouse, where the captain was watching the autopilot steer the boat.

“Good morning, Mr. Barrington.”

“Good morning, Captain, where are we?”

The captain looked down from his stool and pointed at the large screen in front of them. “Right there,” he said, “where the little boat is.”

“And we’re how far from Islesboro?”

“About fifteen miles.”

“I’m going to need a launch to take us there.”

“You should speak to Mr. St. Clair,” the captain said. “I’ll need his permission.”

Stone went back to the afterdeck, where St. Clair had finished his tea. “Christian, I’m sorry, but we need to leave the yacht and return to Islesboro.”

“Sounds urgent.”

“Some personal business I have to take care of personally.” Stone wondered what that could be. “The captain says we’re only fifteen miles out from Islesboro.”

Christian picked up a nearby phone and pressed a button. “Captain,” he said, “please alter course for Islesboro and prepare a launch to take Mr. Barrington and Ms. Barker to his dock.” He hung up. “That’s done.”

“I’d better pack,” Stone said, and went below. Holly had fallen back asleep.

“Up and at ’em,” Stone said, kissing her on the ear with a loud smack.

“Are we sinking?” she asked sleepily.

“Ed Rawls seems to think so — so does Will Lee. They’ve both advised us to get back on dry land.”

“Oh, all right,” she said, sitting up. “Do I have time to shower and pack?”

“Both, if you hurry.” Stone could feel the yacht making its turn.

They were dropped at Stone’s dock, and they went to the house. Stone unlocked the door and looked around. “Everything seems shipshape,” he said. He unlocked the door to Dick’s little office, then opened the safe. It was there, unmolested. He returned to Holly. “All seems to be well.”

His phone rang.

“Yes?”

“Can you get over here, please?” Rawls asked.

“Give us a few minutes.”

“As few as possible.”

“Are you all right?”

“Not really.”

“We’re on our way.”

They stopped at the gate and waited for it to open; it took a moment, then they had to wait another moment for the log to roll out of the way before driving through.

The front door was open. “Ed?”

“Come in,” Rawls said.

They found him sitting in his reclining chair. CNN was on. “What’s going on?”

“Look around you,” Ed said.

Stone looked around and saw nothing. “What am I looking for?”

“Someone’s been in the house.”

“How can you tell?”

“Things have been changed, things only I would notice.”

“What about the bookcase?” Stone asked, referring to the entrance to the former swimming pool.

“Books have been taken down and replaced, but in the wrong order.”

“Did they breach your archive?”

“I don’t know — maybe, maybe not.”

“Was anything disturbed there?”

“If they got in, they were more careful than they were in the house.”

“Where were you when this happened?”

“Sleeping. I took a pill last night, an Ambien.”

“Would that make you sleep soundly enough for them to get in without waking you?”

“I checked the pill bottle. My dosage is five milligrams. The pills had been changed to ten milligrams. That would be enough to keep me down. Plus, I had a few drinks last evening. I’m still woozy.”

“Well, at least you gave us an excuse to get off the yacht. I think we’d worn out our welcome with our fellow passengers.”

“The same ones as before?”

“Nope.” Stone told him about Ozick and Holder. “Whit Saltonstall jumped ship as we were arriving, as soon as he got out of bed and saw who was joining.”

“Did you make any friends?” Ed asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Not a chance,” Holly said. “We asked too many uncomfortable questions.”

“Will Lee called, too, just before you did, and voiced the opinion that we should get off.”

“Maybe Kate has sent a submarine to torpedo it,” Holly said.

“What a great idea!” Ed replied. “Stone, would you mind making me a cup of coffee? I can’t seem to get out of this chair.”

“I’ll do it,” Holly said. “Stone hasn’t made a cup of coffee for at least a decade.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Stone said, taking a chair. “Make me one, too, will you? And yourself?”

When Holly came back with the coffee, she had to wake up Ed. “It’s very strong.”

“That’s how I like it,” Ed said, pressing the button on his chair that returned it to a sitting position. “Now that I think of it,” Ed said, “they probably didn’t get into the archive. If they had, I doubt if I’d be alive.”

“Oh,” Stone said, “I forgot to mention that one Nelson Knott was aboard.”

“Now that is interesting,” Rawls said. “I saw the news on TV about his announcement.”

“Ozick told me that Knott had already asked him for a hundred-million-dollar donation to his PAC.”

“Did he get it?”

“I don’t think so, but Ozick is mulling it over, and I think he’ll come up with it. I mean, if he doesn’t want Kate to be reelected, what are his choices? Barry Goldwater is dead, and Pat Buchanan isn’t running. Knott told us he’d already loaned his campaign fifty million.”