“What’s wrong?” Jake Herman asked.
“They’ve stopped. Give me the portable radio.”
Jake took the new unit out of its box and handed it to him.
Macher turned on the unit, but no lights came on. “I need batteries,” he said.
“What kind?”
Macher removed the back of the radio. “Four double A’s,” he said.
“Do we have batteries on board?”
“The radio affixed to the bomb came with batteries.”
“There are none in the box.”
“Well, goddamnit, find some!”
Stone dove down the centerline of the boat and worked his way forward, holding his breath. He had to stop halfway, surface to snorkel height and breathe for a moment, then he continued to the bows. From there, he worked his way aft on the port side, just below the waterline, looking and feeling.
“Here we go!” Jake said. “They were in a galley drawer.”
“Put them into the radio!” Macher ordered.
Jake fumbled with the batteries and dropped one, which rolled under a settee.
“Get another one from the drawer,” Macher said.
“There were only four.” Jake dropped to his knees and reached under the settee, feeling for the battery. “Got it,” he said after a minute.
“Then load it.”
Jake did so and handed Macher the radio. “You do it,” he said. “I don’t want to.”
Macher snatched the radio from him and switched it on.
Stone found an antenna taped to the stern near an exhaust pipe. He followed the wire until it came to the explosive, which was held to the hull with waterproof tape. He scratched at the tape with his nails, but couldn’t dislodge it. Finally, he got out his wire cutters and began scraping at the tape. As he pulled it free, the whole thing slipped from his grasp and went down.
Stone swam as fast as he could, then ran out of wind and surfaced.
Macher tuned in the proper channel, took a last look at the yacht, and pushed the send button.
Stone was suddenly lifted by a force beneath him, and he landed with one hip on the boarding platform.
“What the hell was that?” Dino yelled from above.
Stone tossed his flippers onto the deck and climbed up. “That,” he said, “was a bomb. Fortunately, I lost my grip on it, or it would have been on deck.”
“Are you all right?” the captain asked.
“I am,” Stone said. “How much water are we in?”
“About sixty feet,” the captain replied, then he pointed aft. “Look.”
Stone and Dino looked aft and saw dead fish floating on the surface.
“Look back there,” Dino said, pointing.
A smaller craft, perhaps a mile off, was turning and heading back toward Martha’s Vineyard.
“I could call the local cops or the Coast Guard,” Dino said, “and get him hauled in.”
“On what evidence?” Stone asked.
“You have a point,” Dino admitted.
The others had gathered on the afterdeck now, as Stone struggled out of the wet suit.
Dino explained to them what had happened.
“What do we do now?” Marisa asked.
“Continue to Nantucket, Captain,” Stone said. “Macher ran for it, and even if he hadn’t done so, I doubt if he had any explosive left.”
The captain headed for the bridge, and they were shortly under way again.
Marisa stripped off Stone’s swimsuit and toweled him dry. Stone wrapped the towel around him and flopped into a chair. “Dino?” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think you can find me a large brandy and soda, no ice?”
“It’s one of the things I do best,” Dino said, heading for the bar.
A minute later, Stone was letting the alcohol find its way to his toes and fingers.
“You know something?” Dino said. “I’m getting tired of these close calls.”
“Not as tired as I,” Stone replied, polishing off the rest of his drink.
47
They spent two nights in the Nantucket marina, enjoying good weather, then Stone summoned the helicopter to meet them at the airport. By midday they were back in New York, and Fred met Stone at the East Side Heliport, while the others took cabs home.
“Dinner tonight?” he asked Marisa.
“I’d love to, but I have to pack for Sweden. I have a morning flight.”
He dropped her at the clinic and Fred drove him home. Stone dined alone at home that evening, already missing Marisa.
The following morning, Ed Rawls called.
“How are you, Ed?” Stone asked.
“Uncomfortable,” Rawls replied. “I’ve been uncomfortable since our last conversation. You hear any more from Macher?”
“Well, yes. He stuck a bomb to our hull in Edgartown a couple of days ago. I got lucky and jettisoned it before it went off.”
“It went off?”
“Killed a lot of fish,” Stone replied, “but none of us.”
“I saw Breeze pass by late yesterday, on the way back to her berth, I guess. Are you going to lay her up for the winter?”
“Not until the weather turns,” Stone replied. “We might want to use her again or we might send her south. The skipper will keep an eye out for signs of Macher.”
“I would enjoy killing Macher for you,” Ed said, “if I got the chance.”
“You’ve already been to prison once, Ed. Did you enjoy it?”
“No, I guess I didn’t.”
“Then don’t do anything that might send you back there.”
“I might be the victim of an irresistible impulse, if I saw Macher again.”
“Resist the irresistible,” Stone said.
“I’ll try.”
“Do you know where Macher lives, Ed?”
“He has that security business — in Arlington, I think. He might live somewhere around there.”
“I’ll look into that,” Stone said. They said goodbye and hung up.
Stone had a thought; he called Dino.
“Bacchetti.”
“It’s Stone.”
“Thanks for a great weekend,” Dino said.
“You’re welcome. You’ve got a way to find cell phone records and trace them, haven’t you?”
“Sure, I can do that. You looking for Macher?”
“Yes. It might have a 202 area code.”
“Just the address?”
“I’d like to know where he is,” Stone said.
“Let me get back to you.”
Stone went back to handling his correspondence from his time away; an hour or so later, Dino rang back.
“I’ve got something for you,” he said, reciting an address in Arlington.
Stone noted it. “Maybe I’ll run down there and have a word with him,” Stone said.
“No need to leave town,” Dino replied.
“He’s in New York?”
“We’ve got him on East Fifty-sixth Street, between Park and Lex, north side of the street.”
“That’s the Lombardy Hotel,” Stone said. “Charley Fox used to live there.”
“Macher is stationary at the moment, not on the move.”
“Can you think of any defensible reason to haul him in for a chat?”
“I thought about that, and no. We can’t put him in the Cape Cod area, and we had nothing left of his bomb for evidence.”
“That’s discouraging.”
“I gotta go. You want to meet for dinner at Clarke’s?”
“Sure, seven?”
“See you then.”
Macher and Jake were having a drink in Macher’s suite.
“I’m getting discouraged,” Macher said.
“Here’s an idea,” Jake said. “Why don’t you go back to D.C. and run your business for a while? It could probably use your attention, and Barrington will still be around.”