“Then he knows how to stay alive.”
“What did you two talk about?”
“The Russians, mostly. He passed on dessert and left early.”
“An old trick from the Farm.”
“I guessed.”
“Did you offer him succor?”
“He seemed very self-sufficient.”
“My advice to you is don’t get too fond of him.”
“Is he going somewhere?”
“Wherever he likes, I suspect.”
“How do you rate his chances against the Russians?”
“He has an edge, since they don’t know how to find him.”
“How do you know they don’t?”
“Because they haven’t. I’m sure we’ll hear about it if they do.”
“Would he be welcome at home?”
“Possibly. That would have to be negotiated.”
“Would you like him to know that, should I hear from him again?”
“You can pass it along, if you like.”
“I will, if I do.”
“Don’t weigh too heavily on his side.”
“I remain neutral. I’m happy to be an honest broker, should you need one.”
“At your usual thousand dollars an hour?”
“Good help doesn’t come cheap, Lance. You can probably find an honest broker for two hundred an hour, but he won’t be honest, and he won’t be a broker.”
“Tell me about it. Oh, something you can pass on, should you hear from him again: Valery Majorov is back in the United States, last sighting yesterday, in New York.”
“I’ll mention that, if I have the opportunity.”
“I’m sure you can find him.”
“He didn’t leave a forwarding address.”
Lance hung up.
Stone checked his phone directory for the day before yesterday. Jack’s calling numbers were blocked.
Joan knocked at Stone’s door. “Got a minute?”
“Sure. Take a pew.”
“Does that mean I’m going to get a sermon?”
“Merely a figure of speech, but you might.”
“I’m going to sell my house.” Joan had inherited major money and real estate from an aunt.
“Is twenty-two rooms not enough?”
“It’s way too much. I bounce around like a pea in a rattle. I was happier next door.”
Stone had bought the house next door some time ago, to house his staff. “I’m glad you still think fondly of us.”
“How much should I ask?”
“Ask Margot Goodale.” She was a Realtor Stone recommended.
“Who would want to buy the place?”
“Somebody with too much money and no impulse control.”
“What, maybe fifteen, twenty mil?”
“Somewhere in there, would be my guess. It’s like every other house. Somebody will like it and want it. It’s Margot’s job to see that he can afford it before he sees it.”
“I guess.”
“Have you thought of carving out a floor for yourself?”
“Even then, it’s too much.”
“Then God bless you and good luck.”
“I’ll call Margot.” She went back to her office.
26
The following morning, Joan buzzed him. “Ed Rawls, on one.”
“Hey, Ed. How’s the weather up there?”
“So-so, off and on.”
“Is that the best weather report you can give me?”
“It’s the best weather we got. It rained this morning, does that help?”
“It helps the roses, Ed.”
“Makes me wish I had some roses. Whaddaya want?”
“That ear you keep to the ground — has it picked up anything lately?”
“From time to time, it picks up a vibe.”
“What lately?”
“Russian lately.”
“How solid a vibe is that?”
“Faint and indistinct.”
“Still, it must be worth mentioning, since you’re mentioning it.”
“They may be hanging around. That’s just a rumor, and not even a solid one. A whisper of a rumor.”
“What are they up to?”
“It appears they’re hunting.”
“Not on Islesboro.”
“Hereabouts.”
“What’s the prey?”
“You remember that dead guy they found on the ferry?”
“Yeah.”
“He may not be as dead as we thought.”
“He spent a night on my garage floor, packed in ice, and he never complained.”
“That might have been some other guy.”
“Why do the Russians mind about that?”
“Apparently, they prefer their dead people actually dead. You think that’s unreasonable?”
“I guess not. Well, there is something to the rumor.”
“Which one?”
“The not-quite-dead rumor.”
“Where’d you get that?”
“From the horse’s mouth.”
“You sure it wasn’t from the horse’s ass?”
“It had teeth, a tongue, and could speak.”
“How solid was the horse?”
“Pretty solid. I had dinner with him the night before last.”
“And why do I need to know this?”
“He’ll be landing there in an hour or two, in a V-tailed Bonanza.”
“I hope he makes it through the gusts.”
“It’s okay. It’s had the mod.”
“Is he going to bother me?”
“He might, but he’ll call first.”
“He’d better, if he don’t like holes in his head. Why’s he coming?”
“He needs a rest, and he wants to get away from the Russians.”
Rawls laughed aloud.
“And he heard that my house repels small-arms fire.”
“That’s the rumor.”
“Lance says he heard a rumor that Valery Majorov is back in New York.”
“He’s a nasty piece of work.”
“They all are.”
“What does he want from this guy Collins?”
“His balls, apparently.”
“Does anybody know why?”
“At least two people: Collins and Majorov.”
“And what am I supposed to do about it?”
“You need some target practice?”
“Every day.”
“It might be nice if Majorov got in your way.”
“And then he takes a dip in Penobscot Bay?”
“Whatever works for you.”
“There might be some pleasure in that for you.”
“There might be.”
“Are you coming up?”
“I’m planning to be somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere but there.”
“That’s antisocial of you.”
“Maybe after the investigation is closed.”
“Whose?”
“Maine’s or Lance’s, either one.”
“I’ll see what I can do. What’s your man’s phone number?”
“I don’t have it. He’ll be in touch with you.”
“Okay.”
“Buy the guy a drink for me,” Stone said, then hung up.
27
Jack Collins was approaching Islesboro, but in fog, even at three thousand feet. He started down, planning one thousand feet at five miles. At two thousand feet, he was still locked in a white world. At fifteen hundred, he caught a glimpse of trees, and like magic, at one thousand feet he popped into clear air, with the airfield in sight. He turned wide downwind to land to the north and drifted down to seven hundred feet. That would keep him above the treetops. He got the gear down and put in some flaps as he made his turn to final. He aimed to miss the treetops and set down just past the runway numbers.
He taxied to the end of the runway, then turned around and taxied to the other end, looking for parked cars or men on foot in the trees. He appeared to be alone.
He spun around at an existing set of tie-downs, and ran through his shutdown procedure. With the prop stopped, he opened his door wide and listened. Silence.
As he was unloading his two suitcases, a 1938 Ford woodie station wagon pulled up to the airplane. He hadn’t seen it coming. He adjusted his fake beard and moustache and hopped down from the wing, his hand out to meet Seth Hotchkiss.