“This is Captain Todd.”
“Todd, it’s Stone Barrington.”
“How are you?”
“I’m okay, where are you?”
“At the old submarine base.”
“We’re on our way there now, ETA in about four to five hours. Can you take us aboard?”
“Certainly. How long a cruise?”
“Maybe a week.”
“We’ll be ready for you. Do you want to be met? We have the van.”
“Sure, we’ll be at our hangar. Meet us inside.” He hung up.
“Breeze is at the sub base. The captain is picking us up in the van at my hangar.”
Dino was asleep, so they didn’t wake him with the news. Stone settled in with the Times crossword.
The Gulfstream 500 was ready at Westchester County Airport in White Plains, New York. They boarded immediately while the ground crew dealt with the luggage. Fifteen minutes later, they were rolling down the runway.
“I feel better now,” Viv said.
“So do I, except about Vanessa.”
Stone drifted off and didn’t wake up until he felt the airplane in a right turn. They would be direct to Key West. And if, by any chance, Majorov knew about the Key West house, he wouldn’t know what was waiting at the old sub base. Because Stone had had, as guests, three presidents, the Navy had given him the use of a berth there. He fell asleep again, and didn’t wake up until he felt the airplane’s landing gear come down and lock into place, with the resultant reduction in airspeed. He picked up the phone and buzzed Faith.
“Yes, sir?”
“Head for our hangar. We’ll deplane inside.”
The airplane turned left off the runway and followed a golf cart with a sign on the rear that read follow me.
Stone surveyed the airport from his window and didn’t see a threat of any kind.
The Mercedes Sprinter van dropped them at Breeze’s gangplank, and they went into the saloon immediately, while the crew dealt with the luggage. Stone ordered a round of vodka gimlets, his standard drink in tropical climates, and they sat down. “Vanessa,” he said, raising his glass. Dino and Viv echoed his toast, and they took their first sip of Key West.
The skipper came into the saloon. “What’s our plan?” he asked.
Stone looked up. “Can we make Fort Jefferson by dark?”
“No, but there’s a nice anchorage on the way there that we can make by sunset.”
“Let’s go there,” Stone said. “We’re on the lam, and we don’t want to be seen by anybody.”
“Then you should stay indoors until we’re well clear of the harbor,” the skipper said. “Dinner at eight, okay?”
“Perfect,” Stone said. “On deck, if it’s not windy.”
46
When the sun was low in the sky, everyone went below to freshen up. Stone was getting into clean clothes when there was a rap on his door. “Come in.”
Viv was at the door. “I just wanted to know if we’re actually ‘dressing,’ i.e., black tie.”
“No,” he replied.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing. “It’s not yours, is it?”
Stone followed her finger to a suitcase. “No, it’s Vanessa’s,” he said. “They must have loaded it into the car when we stopped to pick her up.”
“What’s in it?” she asked.
“Her clothes, I guess.”
“Do you mind if I have a look in it?”
“No, and I don’t think Vanessa will mind, either.”
Viv put the case on Stone’s bed and tried to open it. “Locked,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She left Stone’s cabin and returned with a small, zippered bag.
“What’s that?” Stone asked.
“Oh, just a few burglar’s tools. You’d be surprised how often they come in handy on the road.” She tried a couple of tools, and the locks, one by one, snapped open.
Stone watched as Viv removed a pile of clothing with both hands, then stopped. “Well,” she said, “this is interesting.”
Stone walked over and looked into the bag. “What is it?”
“It’s my guess that it’s somewhere around a million dollars in cash,” she said, holding up one of a number of bundles. She also grabbed a pistol. “We’ve also got a silenced 9mm pistol, along with three loaded magazines, and a very sharp field knife.” She held up the weapons. “And,” she said, picking up a gray box, “an apparent bomb made of about six ounces of military-grade plastic explosive and a cell phone. I’d better be sure it’s not armed.”
“Would you mind performing that task on deck?” Stone asked, getting into his deck shoes and grabbing a sweater. He followed her on deck.
She laid the box down on the coffee table and went to work on it with her tools. “Cell phone,” she said, holding one up and unplugging it from the bomb. “There, it’s inert now.”
“Thank you, Viv,” Stone said. “Oh. And thank you for all that money on my bed.”
Dino had followed them up the companionway and was inspecting the bomb. “Holy shit,” he said.
“I’ve disarmed it,” Viv said.
“And what’s this about money on the bed?”
“Why don’t you go down to my cabin and count it,” Stone said.
Dino went below for about ten minutes, then returned with a zipped leather envelope. “I make it about a million two,” he said, holding up the envelope. “Then there’s this.” He unzipped it and shook the contents out onto the coffee table. “Three passports,” he said. “All with Vanessa’s photograph. American, Canadian, and — wait for it — Russian.”
“I would guess from the contents,” Viv said, “that Vanessa hadn’t planned to return from Key West with us.”
Stone sat down on the afterdeck and collected himself. “I need a drink,” he said.
Dino brought them all one and sat down. “I think you’d better call Lance,” he said.
Stone tried and failed. “No service out here.”
“Use the satphone.”
“That’s insecure. I’d better wait until we pick up a cell tower, maybe at Fort Jefferson.”
“Good idea,” Dino said, tossing the passports onto the dining table. He shook the envelope again and a small, black object fell out.
“What’s that?” Stone asked.
“A tracker,” Viv said. She took a small hammer from her tool kit, set the object on the deck, and hammered it until it was in pieces. Then she scooped them up, walked to the rail, and dropped them overboard. “Or it was,” she said.
Suddenly, the unexpected: Stone’s CIA encrypted phone rang. “Yes?”
“It’s Lance.”
“Reception is bad. We may lose you.”
“Where are you?”
“Out of Key West, halfway to Fort Jefferson.”
“Say again.”
Stone repeated himself.
“Call me back when you have lots of bars,” Lance said, then hung up.
“Signal failed,” Stone said. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”
A crewwoman materialized. “Dinner’s in half an hour,” she said. “It’s Boeuf Wellington, new potatoes, and haricots verts. Gazpacho to start.”
“Fine,” Stone said, and she left.
“You don’t look so good, Stone,” Viv said.
“That goes with how I feel,” he replied. He excused himself, walked to the rail, and vomited overboard.
“There,” he said, “that’s better.”
47
They finished up dinner with Key lime pie and coffee. They had not discussed the contents of Vanessa’s bag or her intentions.
“Okay,” Stone said. “What do you deduce from the evidence at hand, Viv?”
“You mean, Vanessa’s Girl Scouts spy kit?”
“For want of a better term.”
“I think it originated with one of three sources,” she said. She held up a finger. “One: Valery Majorov. Two: Lance Cabot. Three: whatever they call the Russian spy agency these days.”