Fast and Loose

by Stuart Woods

  “There is that,” Charley said, looking sad. Then he brightened. “I could get Kaley to shoot him. She’d like that, and God knows, she’s been trained for it.”

  “Right,” Stone said, brightening, too, “and she could take the rap for it, as well. You and I would go scot-free. I like it.”

  “All right, that was a little unchivalrous of me.”

  “It was.”

  “Still …”

  “Put it out of your mind, Charley.”

  “You know the three most important things about a successful murder, Stone?”

  “Like real estate—location, location, location.”

  “Well, yes, but …”

  “What were your three things?”

  “I’ve forgotten.”

  “That may be the best idea of all,” Stone said, “just forget it.”

  There was a knock at the door, and a nurse entered with an envelope. “This was just hand-delivered to you by a policeman,” she said, handing it to Charley.

  Charley opened the envelope and examined the contents. “It’s my carry license,” he said, beaming.

  “I spoke to Dino about it.” Stone pulled the little Colt Government .380 he had loaned Charley from his pocket and handed it to him. “There you are, and all legal.”

  “I feel much better,” Charley said.

  “And that greatly simplifies our problem,” Stone said. “All we have to do now is to pull all your guards off, wait for Macher to come in here to kill you, then you can shoot him.”

  “Great!”

  “If you don’t fall asleep while you’re waiting for him to show up, in which case he will kill you.”

  “You’re such a killjoy,” Charley said.

  “Remember, that thing is loaded, and there’s one in the chamber. Is six rounds enough to dispatch Macher when he shows up?”

  “I should think so.”

  “It’s a light caliber—go for a head shot. We don’t want him lumbering about the clinic like a wounded bear, knocking over things.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Charley said.

  “Okay, I’ll get out of here, then. I’m having lunch with Marisa at her apartment upstairs.”

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “Or haven’t just done.” Stone left and took the elevator upstairs to Marisa.

  She gave him a big kiss. “I haven’t seen Charley today,” she said, “how is he?”

  “Well enough to accept a little fellatio from Kaley,” Stone replied. “I nearly caught them at it.”

  “What a nice idea,” Marisa said. “Are you up for a little fellatio? Or cunnilingus? It’s a smorgasbord—take your pick.”

  Stone grabbed her. “A little of everything, please.”

  She fended him off. “It will have to wait until after work. I have an appointment with a patient in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll make it fast.”

  “You’re forgetting lunch.”

  “You’re lunch.”

  “Think of me as a canapé at the cocktail hour.”

  “I can’t wait around here all day, waiting for the cocktail hour.”

  “Let’s have lunch, then you go home, and I’ll join you at the cocktail hour for a smorgasbord. I’ll undress in the cab on the way, so there’ll be no waiting.”

  “I like that. I’ll try to contain myself until then.”

  They had lunch, and he went home, atingle with anticipation.

  —

  ERIK MACHER AND Jake Herman were having a room-service lunch at the Lombardy Hotel.

  “What went wrong?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t know. I rang the cell number, and Stone Barrington answered.”

  “He found the bomb? How’d he do that?”

  “How the hell should I know? Why would he be expecting a bomb?”

  “The guy is supernatural.”

  “No, he’s just very lucky,” Macher said.

  “Same thing. What about Charley Fox?”

  “He’s still in the Carlsson Clinic, and there’s a heavy Strategic Services presence there.”

  “What will you do about him?”

  “Wait until he gets out, for a start,” Macher replied.

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know. Do you have any ideas?”

  Jake thought about it for a minute. “No.”

  “You’re being unhelpful, Jake.”

  “Don’t put this off on me. I don’t have any reason to kill either Charley or Barrington.”

  “Have you become uninterested in money?”

  Jake sighed. “I’ll think of something.”

  44

  At the end of Charley’s first week as an invalid, he was examined by his surgeon, Nihls Carlsson, and discharged as a patient. “Just be careful,” Nihls said, “no abdominal exertion, no running or exercise program. Move about gingerly for another week, then we can start rehab.”

  Charley readily agreed, and he was met by Fred in the Bentley outside. “Where’s Kaley?” Charley asked.

  “Waiting for you at home,” Fred replied, and drove away.

  Charley closed his eyes and relaxed, and when Fred opened the door for him, he found himself in front of the St. Clair mansion, and Kaley was waiting for him on the doorstep.

  Fred offered his arm, and Charley climbed the steps, one at a time, embraced Kaley, and then was whisked upstairs in the elevator.

  The apartment had been transformed from St. Clair’s to Kaley and Charley’s. Several pieces of comfortable, but less flamboyant pieces of furniture replaced some of those St. Clair had chosen, and there were flowers everywhere. The beautiful pictures remained where St. Clair had hung them.

  Kaley began unbuttoning his shirt. “Now you should get into bed,” she said, “doctor’s orders.”

  “What else did the doctor order?” Charley asked, and Kaley showed him. When he was completely relaxed and she had helped him into a pair of new silk pajamas, she picked up a remote control and made the bed sit up.

  “Wow,” Charley said. “Does your side do the same?”

  “Yes, it does.” She pressed another button and a huge TV set rose from the floor before the fireplace. “Now you can watch the game while we wait for lunch to be served by the staff.”

  “What game?”

  “Whatever game.” She handed him the remote control. “You choose. It’s satellite, there are a zillion channels.”

  Charley found a game.

  —

  AFTER LUNCH, Stone called. “How are you feeling?”

  “Never better,” Charley replied honestly.

  “Do you think you’d be up for a few days of cruising in autumnal Maine, starting Friday?”

  “You bet your ass I would.”

  “Fred will collect you at nine AM. We’ll be aboard for lunch.”

  “I’ll be ready.” Kaley came into the room. “We’re cruising aboard our new yacht this weekend,” he said.

  “I know, I’ve already packed.”

  “You’re not going to need much in the way of clothes,” he said.

  “The Stones, the Mikes, and the Dinos will be aboard.”

  “I’m sure they’re all broad-minded.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not. My flesh is for your eyes only—well, that part of my flesh, anyway.”

  —

  MACHER PUT DOWN the phone and turned to Jake. “They’re going to be aboard my yacht for a long weekend in Maine,” he said.

  “How do you know that?” Jake asked.

  “Intelligence operative aboard.”

  “Do we know where?”

  “They won’t be hard to find,” Macher said. He went to a bottom drawer in his bedroom and removed a cardboard box.

  “What’s in there?” Jake asked.

  Macher opened the box to reveal a block of plastique.

  “How much more of that stuff have you got?” Jake asked.

  “Enough to do the job,” Macher replied.

  “Tell me ho
w you’re going to do it.”

  “I seem to recall, Jake, that you own a wet suit and have considerable experience as a diver.”

  “True on both counts.”

  “That is how,” Macher said.

  —

  THE MORNING DAWNED brightly with the hint of a nip in the air. They breakfasted on their terrace overlooking the garden, then Kaley put their luggage into the elevator and sent it down.

  Fred awaited them, and fifteen minutes later he pulled the Bentley up to the pad at the East Side Heliport, where Stone, Marisa, Mike, and his girlfriend awaited, then he put their luggage aboard. They made themselves comfortable inside the leathered passenger cabin, and the blades began to turn.

  “How long to Rockland?” Charley asked.

  “We’re not going to Rockland,” Stone replied.

  —

  AN HOUR AND a quarter later, the helicopter, now at low altitude, made a turn, and Charley saw the yacht, cruising slowly into the wind. A moment later the chopper set down gently on the upper deck, and half a dozen crew members rushed it, emptying the luggage compartment and escorting everyone down the stairs to the main deck. When the copter pad was clear, the machine revved its engines and lifted free of the yacht, turning to the south.

  Charley was made comfortable in a soft reclining chair on the afterdeck, and Kaley tucked a cashmere blanket around him, while a steward stood by with two drinks on a silver tray. Charley gratefully sipped his first bourbon in almost a week while the yacht got under way.

  —

  THEY LUNCHED ON lobster salad, of course, that being the obligatory culinary introduction to Maine, then the captain came to their table. “Mr. Barrington, as you suggested, we have waited for the latest forecast before choosing our destination, and we may look forward to sunshine and light winds. Therefore, we have set a course for Martha’s Vineyard, and we’ll be at a mooring off the yacht club for dinner.”

  “Very good, Captain,” Stone replied. He rose and called the man aside. “For this weekend, as I explained on the phone, we require an upgrade in our security.”

  “I have already personally inspected every corner of the yacht,” the captain replied.

  “Excellent,” Stone replied. “And every night that we are aboard, I want a crew member on the top deck with binoculars, a spotlight, and a rifle. Every morning before sailing, I want a crew member in a wet suit to inspect the hull, right down to the keel, for any unwanted attachments.”

  “Yes, sir,” the captain replied.

  Stone returned to the table.

  “What are you and the captain cooking up?” Marisa asked.

  “Just a word about the menus and the wines for our cruise,” Stone replied, resuming his seat.

  “You were right,” Marisa said, “this is a very beautiful yacht, and I’m sorry I called it a stinkpot.”

  “You are forgiven,” Stone replied, “and I promise you that, when under way, you will be standing vertically, and not at an angle to the deck.”

  “I’m sure I will enjoy that,” Marisa replied.

  Stone raised his glass: “To the wonderful good taste in yacht building of Christian St. Clair,” he toasted.

  “Hear! Hear!” the others replied.

  —

  A MILE AWAY, Erik Macher, at the helm of a rented forty-foot cabin cruiser, fell in behind them. “They appear to have set a course for Provincetown, or perhaps the Cape Cod Canal,” he said to Jake Herman. Jake opened another cold beer.

  45

  They cruised the whole of the afternoon and, as the sun was low in the sky, they picked up a mooring in Edgartown Harbor, near the yacht club. The harbor was not as crowded in the early autumn as in mid-summer, but there were still many yachts about, and they received the admiring attention of those passing. Mike Freeman handed a triangular flag to a crewman and requested that it be flown at the bow of the yacht.

  “What’s the flag?” Charley asked.

  “It’s the burgee of the New York Yacht Club,” Mike replied, “of which I am a member, so we are entitled to fly it. It occurs to me that you and Stone, since you are yachtsmen, should be members, as well, and I would be delighted to propose you both.”

  “I accept,” Charley said, and Stone agreed.

  —

  THEY TOOK COCKTAILS on the afterdeck, then, as the evening grew cooler, moved inside for dinner. Before they entered the saloon, Stone took note that there was a crew member on the upper deck, with a pair of binoculars around his neck.

  —

  AFTER DINNER THEY adjourned to the saloon and watched a movie on the yacht’s video system, then everyone sleepily headed for their cabins.

  —

  MARISA MARVELED AT the comforts of the owner’s cabin, which Mike and Charley insisted should always be Stone’s. “It is more comfortable than my bedroom at home,” she said, “but not more comfortable than yours.” She got into bed and snuggled with Stone. “I’m glad we could make this trip now, because I have to go to Sweden next week to attend to some family business. I’d ask you to come, but you seem to have your hands full here.”

  “You’re right, I’m afraid,” Stone said. “How long will you be gone?”

  “A week, perhaps two.”

  “Send me postcards.”

  “I’ll be back before they would be delivered,” she said, fondling him. “We must make this weekend memorable, to last us until I’m home again.”

  Stone found the idea entirely agreeable, as he responded to her touch and returned the favor.

  —

  “HOW FAR CAN you swim underwater?” Macher asked. They were moored at the other end of Edgartown Harbor.

  “Not that far,” Jake replied. “Not at night, anyway. Besides there are too many yachts here, even for this time of year. Your object is not to attract attention, isn’t it?”

  “Hardly,” Macher replied. “We will just enjoy our cruise, until the right opportunity presents itself.”

  —

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING after breakfast, everyone went into town on foot for some shopping and sightseeing, then stayed ashore for lunch at an Edgartown restaurant.

  “The foot traffic here in summer is so thick you can hardly walk down the street,” Mike observed. “This time of year is so much better.”

  Everyone agreed.

  —

  MACHER WATCHED THROUGH binoculars as the party was taken ashore in the yacht’s tender. “They’re all ashore. I think now would be a good time for you to reconnoiter, Jake.”

  “Don’t you want to come with me?”

  “No, I might be recognized by one of the crew, and it is not in our interests for them to know I’m around.”

  “What do you want me to reconnoiter?” Jake asked.

  Just circumnavigate the yacht and look for a likely spot to deposit our payload—the antenna has to be mounted above the waterline.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying so,” Jake said, “I think it would be best to detonate the thing after they’ve left Edgartown and are not within easy reach of a port.”

  “My guess is they’ll head to Nantucket from here, and that’s thirty miles of Atlantic Ocean for them to cross,” Macher said. “And deep water.”

  —

  STONE HAD DIFFICULTY sleeping that night, which was unusual for him. Around three AM he disentangled himself from Marisa, put on a cashmere robe and some slippers, and went up to the saloon, where he poured himself a cognac. He strolled out onto the afterdeck and had a look at the lights of the village reflected in the water, and the anchor lights of the neighboring yachts. A large moon was rising.

  He took a turn around the deck, and when he was coming aft again, noticed the shadow of the yacht cast by the moon. He looked for the shadow of a man on the upper deck but saw nothing.

  He walked up the stairs, his slippers soft on the steps, and emerged onto the moon-flooded upper deck. On a sofa on the port side, a human figure was stretched out, snoring softly.

  Stone walked over and ki
cked the bottom of the sofa, rousing the crewman.

  “What’s wrong?” the man asked.

  “How can we tell, when you are asleep?” Stone asked.

  “Well, there was nothing going on.”

  “And how would you know? Our lives are at risk here, and so is yours. Had that not occurred to you?”

  The man got to his feet, and Stone picked up the rifle from the deck and handed it to him. “Tell you what,” he said, “tomorrow after sunup, you can volunteer to survey the hull from below.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said, slinging the rifle onto his shoulder.

  Stone went back down to the saloon and refreshed his drink, then sat on the afterdeck, a throw over his lap, watching the moon rise.

  He didn’t have many periods of contemplation in his life; he was too busy, so now he took the opportunity. He thought about what it might be like to be married to Marisa, and the thought was pleasing, though he felt no compulsion to propose such a thing. Maybe after a few months, when the new had worn off. She would probably want children, he mused, though the subject hadn’t come up. He wondered how he would handle an infant in the house, and what sort of father he would be. He had missed that part of Peter’s life; the boy had been a teenager when they first met.

  He thought about business. Charley would be fully enough recovered to handle all that in a few weeks, but until then, matters rested on his shoulders. He had a feeling that Charley and Kaley would be married before too long.

  He heard a noise, then a bottle being uncorked, then Dino sat down beside him.

  “You couldn’t sleep, either?”

  “No. I don’t know why.”

  “Because we’re being stalked,” Dino said. “I can feel it.”

  “I know, I feel it, too. I found the guy up top sound asleep.”

  “That’s not very reassuring, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t. I hope I put the fear of God into him.”

  “I hope so, too.”

  They finished their drinks, then went back to their beds.

  —

  AT THREE AM, Jake Herman, wearing a wet suit, set off in the rubber dinghy, rowing instead of using the outboard. He tied up the dinghy to the mooring buoy of a yacht thirty yards from Breeze, the St. Clair yacht, removed his equipment from a duffel, and let himself slowly into the water. Using a long snorkel, he swam toward the big yacht breathing comfortably.