by Stuart Woods
“Good idea,” Stone said. She came on deck and he sat her down and asked her to wear a jacket.
“Are we still in danger?”
“Until we’re inside the house again,” Stone said.
Captain Bret approached. “The tender is ready, and your bags are aboard. We can take you ashore anytime you like.”
* * *
—
ED RAWLS put his rifle in the single-shot mode and slowly swept the line of boats moored outside the yacht club.
* * *
—
“OKAY,” DIRTY JOE said to Jungle Jane, “you want to take your shot?”
“I’ve got her in my sights,” Jane replied. “I’m just waiting for the captain to move away from her.”
* * *
—
THREE THINGS HAPPENED in quick succession: Captain Bret dropped a pen and bent to pick it up, Meg stood and began to move toward the boarding steps, and a crack was heard, simultaneous with the sound of breaking glass. Stone yanked Meg to the deck.
* * *
—
ON THE FANTAIL, Ed Rawls sighted, took a deep breath, let half of it out, and squeezed the trigger. A woman was the shooter, and there was a man behind her at the helm. His rifle made a tenth of the noise the rifle had. He stood up. “Somebody’s down over there,” he said, pointing toward a picnic boat a couple of hundred yards away.
* * *
—
STONE LOOKED back toward the yacht’s saloon: a corner window had a fist-size hole in it and around the corner there was an exit hole, bigger. He followed Rawls’s finger to the picnic boat, which seemed adrift now. “Bret,” he said, “I think you’d better call the state police and ask them to come by the boat and bring a stretcher.”
* * *
—
THE MAINE STATE POLICE didn’t arrive by boat; they were there in twenty minutes in a helicopter, which they set down on the water on its pontoons. Half a dozen people climbed out, and Captain Bret sent Breeze’s tender for them. Instead of coming directly to the yacht, they motored over to the picnic boat in question, weapons at the ready.
Stone could see them climbing aboard, and he picked up the binoculars. Everybody in the picnic boat’s cockpit was looking down. Then two of them got back into the tender and it motored back to the yacht.
Stone knew one of the men from a couple of years before; they shook hands. “That boat has been stalking us since yesterday,” Stone said, “and after we anchored we were fired on”—Stone pointed at the holes in the saloon windows—“and we felt it necessary for our safety to return fire.” Ed Rawls came over with his weapon, popped the magazine, cleared the breach, and handed it to the cop.
“What have you got over there?” Stone asked the cop, nodding in the direction of the picnic boat.
“We’ve got two corpses,” the man replied, “both dead of gunshot wounds.”
“I think you’ll find they were both struck with the same round,” Ed said.
“How’s that?” the cop asked.
“At the moment I fired, immediately after they did, they were lined up, just for a millisecond, and I fired only one round. The shooter was the woman.”
“What round does this thing take?” the cop asked, checking out the weapon.
“A .223.”
“Well, that would have enough muzzle velocity to take down both of them. What sort of weapon is this?”
“It’s custom-made,” Rawls said. “Until now, it’s only been fired at targets and deer that got in the way.”
“We’ll need it for a while for ballistics. Your round ended up in the man’s chest, after traveling through the woman’s head, so the ME can recover it.”
“Keep it as long as you need it,” Rawls said, “but I would like to have it back when you’re done.”
Stone addressed the cop. “Is it all right if we go ashore, to my house? You can catch up with us there if you have more questions.”
“Sure, go ahead, and I expect we will have.”
Stone, Meg, and Rawls boarded the tender and were taken back to his dock. Once inside the house, he lit a fire and gave everybody a drink.
“That’s three rounds to us,” Stone said to Meg. “Any idea what Mr. Bellini might try next?”
“Not a clue,” Meg replied.
26
Stone took the two policemen through Meg’s history with the assassins. “We didn’t know they had traced us here, until our captain noticed, on radar, a boat following us half a mile back. Then we got fogged in. This morning they were only thirty meters away, but still hidden by the fog. We heard a magazine being shoved home—you know how sound carries across water—and then we headed for home. They followed, then disappeared. Apparently they used their speed to get ahead of us and wait for us to anchor.”
Both cops were taking notes and nodding. “And you think they were hired by this Gino Bellini fellow?”
“We do, but we can’t prove it, now that Joe Cross and his lady friend are dead.”
“My report will go in tomorrow morning,” the lead cop said, “and it will say justified homicide, self-defense. I’ve no doubt that the lethal round came from Mr. Rawls’s very impressive weapon, but that will be affirmed by our lab.”
“In that case,” Stone said, “would you like to switch from coffee to something more soothing?”
“I’d like to,” he replied, “but our chopper’s waiting, along with the rest of our crew and the two corpses. We’ll take them back to our headquarters for processing.” They stood up, shook hands, and Stone escorted them to the door.
He came back to find Ed Rawls at the bar, pouring. “I don’t think that could have gone more smoothly,” he said, handing glasses to Stone and Meg and resuming his comfortable chair before the fire. “Except that they got off a round before I fired my shot.”
“Her round made it self-defense,” Stone said, “and your round executed their sentence. I’m glad we don’t have to put Meg through a trial.”
“You know, I’ve only killed one person before today, and that was in a firefight in Finland. I’m glad I’ve kept up my shooting skills, though.”
“So am I,” Meg said.
“And what are you going to do about Mr. Bellini?” Rawls asked Stone.
“Well,” Stone said, “I doubt if we’ll get a chance for you to shoot him.”
“No,” Meg echoed, “Gino isn’t the type to do his own dirty work—he needed Dirty Joe and Jungle Jane for that, and I doubt if he knows any other assassins.”
“That reminds me,” Stone said, picking up his phone and pressing a number from his favorites.
* * *
—
“BACCHETTI,” Dino said.
“Hi, there.”
“Hi, yourself. How’s Maine?”
“Dangerous, until about an hour ago.”
“How so?”
“Bellini’s people from Islamorada managed to follow us here and took a shot at us about an hour and a half ago.”
“Did they hit anything?”
“Just a cabin window aboard Breeze. You remember Ed Rawls?”
“Sure, give him my best.”
“He took them both out with a single round.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I kid you not. The state police are flying their bodies to their morgue as we speak.”
“So it’s over?”
“As far as Dirty Joe and Jungle Jane are concerned, yes, and you can notify the authorities in the Keys that they are no longer being sought.”
“Will do. But you’ve still got to deal with Bellini?”
“Right. I think we’re safe in our beds for the time being, though. You and Viv want to come up here for a few days?”
“I’m afraid the boss won’t give me any more time off for a while, and Viv is some
where in darkest California, doing good work for Strategic Services.”
“See you when we get back, then.”
“Looking forward.” They both hung up.
“You’re staying for dinner, Ed.” It wasn’t a question.
“You talked me into it, but I’ll have to go home and get a steak.”
“Mary will find something that meets your requirements.”
Mary came into the living room, wiping her hands on her apron. “I heard that,” she said. “What’s your pleasure, Mr. Rawls?”
“I’m easily pleased,” Rawls replied.
“How about a nice crown roast of lamb?”
“Sold, thank you very much.”
“Dinner’s in an hour,” she said, then went back to her kitchen.
Stone poured them another drink, while they waited.
* * *
—
THAT NIGHT, in bed, Meg said, “I’d like to go back to New York tomorrow, if that’s convenient for you. I still have to look at apartments, and I’m not through shopping.”
“You’ve had enough of Maine?”
“Well, let’s see, pursuit, gunfight, and fatalities, not to mention the fog.”
Stone laughed. “Your reasons are good enough. We’ll have a good breakfast, and I’ll call for the light plane to come get us. We’ll be at my house by noon.”
“I like the sound of that,” she said.
“In the meantime, let’s see what we can do to take your mind off Maine.” He dove under the covers and did what he could to amuse her.
* * *
—
THE FOLLOWING MORNING they loaded their luggage and the dogs into the Cessna and took off for Rockland. The fog was gone, and they had a glittering Maine day for their flight.
Fred awaited at the airport, and Stone took the shotgun seat, leaving the broad rear seat for Meg and the puppies.
Joan greeted everybody as they got out of the car, while Fred took their bags upstairs. “And how are my dogs?” Joan cried, kneeling to greet them. She received many kisses.
“Anything to attend to in the office?” Stone asked.
“Always,” Joan replied.
“I’ll go call your friend Margo and talk apartments with her,” Meg said.
Stone went into his office and sat down at his desk. “What’s up?”
“Are you and Meg still being hunted?” Joan asked.
“The hunters became prey and are out of the picture, their remains in the custody of the Maine State Police.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Joan said, plopping a stack of mail and messages onto his desk. “Now, you play with that for a while, then we’ll talk responses.”
27
Gino Bellini sat in his New York living room and tried Dirty Joe’s cell number again. This time, a man answered.
“Hello?”
“Joe, this is Gino Bellini.”
“Hey.”
“You sound funny.”
“Well, Mr. Bellini, that’s because I’m not Joe Cross.”
“Who is this?”
The man repeated a phone number. “Is that the number you’re calling from?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Green. I’m a lieutenant with the Maine State Police. How are you acquainted with Mr. Cross?”
Gino’s mind was racing. Joe had gotten himself arrested. “Oh, we’re just acquaintances,” he replied. He checked his recent calls. “Actually, he called me, and I was returning his call.”
“It’s important that you and I sit down together for a few minutes,” the lieutenant said.
“I’m in New York,” Gino said.
“Then I’ll come to you. Would this afternoon be convenient?”
“Lieutenant, I’d hate for you to make a trip to New York for nothing. Why don’t we just talk now? Is Mr. Cross in some kind of trouble?”
“Well, I guess you could say that. He’s dead. So is his wife or girlfriend. Can you straighten me out on their relationship?”
“I’m afraid not,” Gino said. “Were they sick or something?”
“No, sir, they were shot.”
Gino felt relieved. “I’m sorry to hear that. Have you made an arrest?”
“Oh, there won’t be an arrest. They were shot while trying to shoot someone else. Are you acquainted with someone called Meg Harmon?”
Gino wasn’t going to start lying now. “Yes, but I haven’t seen her for months.”
“What is your relationship to Ms. Harmon?”
“We used to work together. She made me a rich man, and I’m very grateful to her.”
“Do you know where she is at the moment?”
“No, but she lives in San Francisco, or did the last I heard.”
“Are you acquainted with a gentleman named Stone Barrington?”
“No, I’ve never heard that name.”
“May I have your address, Mr. Bellini?”
Gino gave him the New York address.
“If I should happen to be in New York soon, may I stop by to see you?”
“Normally, yes, but I expect to be traveling a lot for a while. I’m really just stopping here for a few days to get over jet lag. I’ve just come from London.”
“Do you have another address, Mr. Bellini?”
Gino gave him his San Francisco address.
“And your e-mail address?”
Gino gave him that.
“Do you have Mr. Cross’s address?”
“I believe he lives somewhere in the Florida Keys. I haven’t seen him for many years.”
“And how did you first make his acquaintance?”
“In high school.”
“Can you think of any reason why Mr. Cross would have your business card in his wallet?”
“What business card?”
“At Harmony Software?”
“I used to work there, but the company was sold last year. Oh, I remember now—I ran into Joe Cross at the airport, and I gave him my card. That must have been two, three years ago.”
“Have you seen him or spoken with him since?”
“No.”
“Well, it’s kind of odd. I’m speaking to you on his cell phone, and he called your number half a dozen times over the past few weeks.”
“As I said, I’ve been out of the country, and I didn’t take the phone with me, and there weren’t any voice mails from him when I got back.”
“When did you get back?”
“Yesterday,” Gino lied.
“He called this number three days ago.”
“I wasn’t here then. Lieutenant, I’m afraid you’re going to have to excuse me. I have an appointment I have to keep.”
“All right, Mr. Bellini. I’ll be in touch.”
“Anything I can do,” Gino said. “Goodbye.” He hung up, and he was sweating.
“That didn’t sound good,” Veronica said.
“It was somebody from the Maine State Police. Joe and Jane are dead, shot by somebody while they were trying to shoot Miss Meg.”
“Oh, shit. How’d they trace him to you?”
“They have his cell phone, and there were calls to me on it. You heard my answer to that.”
“You think we’re in the clear?” she asked.
“If we weren’t, they wouldn’t be calling—they’d be pounding on the door.”
“Still, that’s too close for comfort. Maybe you should lose that cell phone, Gino, and get another one with a new number. The Apple Store is just a few blocks away.”
“Then let’s get over there,” Gino said, rising.
* * *
—
STONE’S PHONE BUZZED. “A Lieutenant Green on the phone, from Maine.”
Stone picked it up. “Hello, Lieutenant.”
“Mr. Barrington, I thought you’d like to know that we’ve got Joe Cross’s cell phone, and he made some calls to a man named Gino Bellini.”
“That’s the gentleman who would be the suspect for hiring Cross,” Stone said. “He’s pursuing Meg Harmon.”
“Have you got any evidence to connect him with Cross?”
“Let me put it this way—Gino Bellini has a hot grudge against Meg. He believes she cheated him in a business deal, which is nonsense.”
“So we’d have her testimony of hard feelings between them?”
“Right.”
“But nothing to connect Bellini with hiring Joe Cross to kill her?”
“Nothing that I’m aware of.”
“Well, I’m going to stay on this at my end. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know if anything arises on your end that could help us make a case against Bellini.”
“I’ll certainly do that,” Stone replied. The two men said goodbye and hung up.
28
Stone had cleared his mail and messages and was about to join Meg for a drink, when there was a soft knock on his door. He looked up to find Lance Cabot standing there.
“Joan is away from her desk,” Lance said. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
Stone had a history with Lance Cabot, who had been a CIA operative in London when they first met. He had risen at the Agency over the years and was now director of Central Intelligence. And, Stone knew, Lance didn’t give a shit if he was disturbing him.
“You may as well come the rest of the way in, Lance,” he said, and as he did, he heard the outside door open and close.
Lance walked to a chair, and Joan stuck her head inside. “Sorry, boss, I was returning Sugar to her rightful owner, and Mr. Cabot got past me. Shall I shoot him?”
“Perhaps later,” Stone replied, and Lance managed a chuckle.
Stone glanced at his watch. “Join me in a drink?”
“If you have some very, very good single malt, I’d be delighted,” Lance said.
