A Delicate Touch

by Stuart Woods

  * * *

  • • •

  A SHAFT of early sunlight woke Stone in his cabin. He went to a porthole and drew back the curtain. There were hulls and masts as far as he could see. The brass clock on the bulkhead read 6:40 AM.

  Edie sat up on an elbow, the sheet falling away to reveal a breast. “Is it time to do it again?” she asked sleepily.

  Stone sat on the bed and kissed her. “Let’s hold something in reserve, shall we?” he said. “We’ve got all the time in the world. Breakfast on deck?”

  “Give me a few minutes,” she said.

  They showered together, then Stone shaved and dressed. A few minutes later they were on the fantail, ordering from a stewardess.

  The captain, Todd, appeared and unrolled a sheet of plastic, holding it up for Stone to see. “Will this do?”

  Stone read the banner: Fantasia. “Sure,” he replied.

  “We’ll apply it over Breeze on the stern,” Todd said. “Have it on in half an hour. We’ll change the hailing port to Camden.”

  “That should give us some cover,” Stone said.

  A moment later Dino and Viv joined them and placed their breakfast order.

  “What’s going on astern?” Dino asked.

  “We’re changing the yacht’s name to Fantasia and the hailing port to Camden.”

  “You’re being really careful, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve also asked the crew not to seek provisions or fuel until we’ve moved to another port.”

  “Is someone really looking for us?” Edie asked.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Why? Didn’t you pay your taxes?”

  “Nothing like that. It’s more personal. It’s better if you don’t know any more.”

  “Are we in any danger?”

  “We are not. That’s why we’re taking these precautions.”

  * * *

  • • •

  JACK THOMAS ARRIVED at his office at noon from a meeting to find Rance waiting for him. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “I have some photographs to show you.”

  Jack waved him to the conference table. “Tell me.”

  “First of all, we checked the Camden yard and Breeze was launched the day before yesterday but has not been seen since. We broadened our search to the whole Northeast, and early this morning we got some satellite shots of Nantucket Harbor, where there are many yachts moored.”

  “How could you spot her among so many?” Jack asked.

  “By her size. Breeze has an overall length of 125 feet, and there were smaller and larger yachts moored there, but only two of that length.” He unrolled a photograph with an eagle-eye perspective. “Here’s one of them. Look, you can read the yacht’s name on the stern.”

  “It says Fantasia,” Jack pointed out.

  “Yes, but we got a side view from a helicopter a while later.” He pulled out another photograph that showed the yacht in profile. “Look at the tender on the top deck,” he said, handing Jack a small magnifying glass.

  “Ahhh,” Jack replied. “Tender to Breeze, it says.”

  “Now, why would Fantasia have a tender aboard connected with Breeze? Did the boatyard put the tender aboard the wrong yacht?”

  “I think not,” Jack replied. “Now that you have her, get to work.”

  “Not just yet,” Rance said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because she weighed anchor early this morning and left the harbor. Our satellite was out of position at that time, and the chopper had landed. We also checked with the provisioners ashore, and she bought nothing, not even fuel. She’s gone, and we have to start a new search. And we don’t know what course she took.”

  “What sort of range does that yacht have?”

  “At normal cruising speed, about two thousand miles. But if she’s running faster, a lot less—maybe as little as four hundred miles.”

  “She’ll be moving fast,” Jack said. “Search the Cape and Martha’s Vineyard.”

  “Under way,” Rance said.

  18

  By midmorning Fantasia was sailing down Buzzard’s Bay, and soon she turned into Narragansett Bay, Rhode Island, and slowed as she approached Newport, which was, if anything, even more crowded than Nantucket. They motored past the French château–style mansion that is the Newport station of the New York Yacht Club, of which Stone was a member.

  “Why don’t we moor at the club?” Dino asked. “There’s room, and you said we’re having dinner there.”

  “We want a more crowded area,” Stone replied, “so we’re putting into Bannisters Wharf Marina, where we’ll blend in.”

  Shortly they were docked, and the crew began another name change, to Expensive. Captain Todd came to Stone. “I’m afraid we made a slipup last evening,” he said.

  “How’s that?”

  “We neglected to change the name on the tenders. That’s being taken care of now.”

  * * *

  • • •

  LATER IN THE DAY, Rance walked into Jack Thomas’s office. “I’m afraid we’ve come up dry on Cape Cod,” he said. “I think we should work our way south toward New York, port by port.”

  “That’s going to be time consuming, isn’t it?” Jack asked.

  “I’m afraid so, since we have to wait for the satellite to move into position. We’re having a look at Newport, Rhode Island, right now, and there’s nothing the size of Breeze at anchor. We had thought that Barrington might pick up a mooring at the New York Yacht Club, where there is space available for a large yacht, but she’s not there. We’re searching the marinas now.”

  “If she’s in a marina, we’ll have to wait for her to leave,” Jack said. “I don’t want an explosion in downtown Newport, where there are hundreds, if not thousands, of tourists wandering around, buying T-shirts, and gaping at the yachts.”

  “I’m aware, sir. We’re putting people out on foot now to canvass the big marinas.”

  “Don’t forget Goat Island,” Jack said.

  “We won’t, sir.”

  * * *

  • • •

  AT DUSK the two couples were ferried to the yacht club by the tender, and they slowly climbed the long flight of stairs to the house, set on a hilltop.

  Stone took them into the library for a drink and to catch their breath.

  “It’s a beautiful house,” Edie said. “Was it built as a club?”

  “No, it was the home of John Nicholas Brown II, a scion of the famous Newport family—Brown University, etc.—and a former commodore of the yacht club. After his death, it was put up for sale, and a consortium of club members bought it. Then the club raised the money to buy it from them and renovated it for club use.”

  They moved into the club’s dining room for dinner. The room was quite full. Stone spotted a few familiar faces but didn’t approach anyone.

  * * *

  • • •

  JACK THOMAS SAT in his library in his downtown house, sipping cognac and reading the Wall Street Journal, when Rance called.

  “Yes, Rance?”

  “We’ve searched the marinas, and there are half a dozen candidates, but no Fantasia and no Breeze. Tomorrow morning we’ll move on to Block Island, and after that to Long Island and the Hamptons.”

  “Suppose they’ve gone north to Nova Scotia?” Jack asked.

  “Very unlikely, sir. They’re much more likely to move toward warmer weather, perhaps all the way to Florida, or even to St. Barts.”

  “It’s not inconceivable that they could be hiding in Penobscot Bay, while we look south,” Jack said.

  “I’m afraid you’re right, sir. The only way we could have been sure would have been to follow her by boat from her launching, but of course, when she was launched at Camden we hadn’t yet begun our search.”

  “C
all me when you’ve had a look at Block Island,” Jack said.

  * * *

  • • •

  WHEN THEY RETURNED to Expensive late in the evening, their lines were taken by two crew members who were unknown to Stone, but they were wearing blue jackets with the name Expensive embroidered on them. One of them introduced himself to Stone.

  “I’m Hal, Mr. Barrington. Mike Freeman sent us, sir, at your request. We’ll be aboard for as long as you need us, and we’ve brought sufficient firepower to defend the yacht, should it become necessary.”

  “Thank you, Hal,” Stone replied. “I’m sure we’ll all feel safer with you aboard. How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough to spot a man and a woman checking out all the large yachts in the marina. They took no particular notice of this one, except to view her stern for name and hailing port.”

  “Then perhaps they’ve overlooked us,” Stone said.

  “I think that’s a real possibility, sir.”

  “Perhaps we’ll stay a day or two in Newport, then,” Stone said.

  “I think it would be a good idea to stay indoors or under canvas, Mr. Barrington. I have no doubt they have satellite surveillance at their disposal. If you go ashore, wear hats.”

  “I’ll let everyone know, Hal.”

  Stone gathered everyone in the saloon for a nightcap and gave them the good news. “It looks as though we can stop running for a while,” he said.

  “You think they’ll expect us to keep running, then?” Dino asked.

  “I believe so. I’m not sure they would think we would hide in plain sight in such a busy place as Newport. We’ll take our meals aboard, though. I wouldn’t want to get spotted in a restaurant by some waiter in their employ.”

  * * *

  • • •

  THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON Rance appeared at Jack Thomas’s office.

  “You look like bad news,” Jack said.

  “I’m afraid there’s no good news, sir,” Rance replied. “We’ve searched Block Island by satellite and on foot, and we’ve got people on the lookout in Montauk and the Hamptons. We’ll get a call, if the yacht turns up.”

  “But you think we’ve lost them?”

  “I believe we have,” Rance replied. “They could have left the yacht anywhere along the way and gone to a hotel, or even back to New York.”

  “Then maybe you’d better pull in your people after another day or so and concentrate on the Barrington and Bacchetti residences. They have to come home sometime.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”

  Jack finished his brandy, dreading his report to his father the next day.

  19

  They spent a leisurely day aboard: had a good lunch, a nap, and Stone caught up on his reading—Sidney Blumenthal’s A Self-Made Man, about the political life of Abraham Lincoln. He and Dino had a conversation about what to do next, and made a decision.

  Stone called Faith at Dark Harbor. “How’s your vacation going?”

  “Very well, thank you. Seth and his wife, Mary, are taking good care of me.”

  “Well, it’s about over,” he said. “Find another pilot and move the airplane to New Bedford, Massachusetts, tomorrow. We’ll meet you there and fly back to New York.”

  “I’ve got someone standing by,” she said. “We can be in New Bedford by noon.”

  “See you then.” They hung up.

  * * *

  • • •

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Stone and his friends said goodbye to the crew, and Stone gave the captain instructions to leave Newport, then change the yacht’s name back to the original. Stone’s group traveled to New Bedford, a half-hour drive, in two taxis with one guard in each. The Latitude was waiting on the ramp for them, and they and the guards boarded for the short flight to Teterboro.

  * * *

  • • •

  THEY WERE MET in Teterboro by Dino’s car, as Stone didn’t want the Bentley moved from the garage. “Can you ask for a drive-by at my house and make sure no one is lurking?” he asked Dino.

  “Just another personal service by your friendly police department,” Dino replied. They dropped Edie off at her apartment. Then, shortly before their arrival in Turtle Bay, Dino got a call. “Good,” he said, then hung up. “There was a silver SUV parked across the street from your house,” he said. “My guys gave them a ticket and shooed them off.”

  “Good,” Stone replied. “Please ask your driver to pull into my garage, and I’ll unload there.”

  Stone used his remote control to open the garage door. He was dropped off and Dino’s car continued.

  “I’m surprised to see you back so soon,” Joan said. “We’ve had a squatter outside since you left, but the police scared them off a few minutes ago.”

  “Yes, and I’m going to lie low for a few days more,” Stone said, settling into his chair to confront the mail and messages. There was one from the district attorney, and he returned the call.

  “Good afternoon, Stone,” Ken Burrows said.

  “Afternoon, Ken.”

  “I thought I’d bring you up to date.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “A couple of my staffers have reported having been drawn into conversations by various people regarding your files.”

  “Please, Ken, they’re not my files, they’re Eduardo’s.”

  “Of course, but you are the only living person to whom they have been connected, outside the Thomases.”

  “You’re forgetting about yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not a person, I’m an institution.”

  “One that someone has attempted to penetrate.”

  “Don’t worry, the files are safe, and they continue to be worked on by a select group of my staff. A young man named Rance Damien, a grandson of one of the subjects of a file, has been seen entering Jack Thomas’s office a couple of times.”

  “Do you think he’s leading the effort to lay hands on me?”

  “That’s our supposition at this point. I won’t ask where you are at the moment, but you should continue to move about with caution.”

  “I’ve been doing just that,” Stone said.

  “Something else,” Burrows said. “My father had lunch today with old Henry Thomas at his downtown office and, over corned beef and cabbage, received a veiled threat to my person, which he took as a joke. He’s reported to me that Henry is in a sour mood and that his staff are tiptoeing around him.”

  “I’m glad his mood is soured,” Stone said, “but what I need from you is some sort of move against the Thomases that would make it inadvisable for them to continue making me the subject of their unwanted attention.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “How’s your current relationship with the FBI?” Stone asked.

  “They have a new agent in charge, and he’s anxious to make a good impression.”

  “Can you get him to send a couple of special agents around to visit the Thomases and ask some leading questions? That might draw their attention away from me. I mean, a car containing two of their thugs has been parked outside my house for days.”

  “That’s not a good thing,” Burrows said. “But a visit from the FBI might be, along with an oblique mention of your name. Maybe that’ll get them off your back. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I’d be grateful. That might save me a visit to the trauma center.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can,” Burrows said.

  “I’d like to know what that is,” Stone said. “Get back to me.”

  “I’ll do that.” They hung up.

  * * *

  • • •

  JACK THOMAS PRESENTED himself at his father’s office late that afternoon.

  The old man waved him to a chair. “I hear you’ve had a visit from the federal authorities
,” Henry said.

  How the hell did he know everything? Jack wondered. “Nothing to worry about, Poppa.”

  “I understand Barrington’s name came up. I’m not surprised, after your failure to get to the man.”

  “It was mentioned.”

  “Pull your people off him for the time being. If something happens to Barrington now, we’d be high on their list of suspects.”

  “Yes, Poppa.”

  “Tell me, how could you not find a 125-foot yacht in an area as small as New England? Did somebody shoot down the satellite?”

  “Finding it is not as easy as it sounds,” Jack replied. “We do know, however, that it’s back on its mooring in Dark Harbor, after having been missing for the better part of a week.”

  “Then Barrington is probably home again.”

  “The police ticketed the car we had watching his house this morning, so that’s probably so.”

  “What I’d really like,” Henry said, “is to bring his house down around his ears.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’m going to have to give the problem my personal attention,” the old man said.

  “Whatever you decide, Poppa.”

  20

  The following day, Joan buzzed Stone. “Bill Eggers on one,” she said. Eggers was a law-school friend, who had rescued Stone when he was booted from the NYPD and had given him a chance to use his law degree. Eggers was now the managing partner of Woodman & Weld, where Stone was a partner.

  “Good morning, Bill,” Stone said.

  “And to you, Stone. How was your time off?”

  “Very good. We just took a brief sail from Dark Harbor to Nantucket, then Newport. I got back yesterday.”

  “Dino, too?”

  “And Viv and Edie.”

  “I can never understand how Dino gets so much time off,” Eggers said.

  “I can’t understand it, either,” Stone replied, “but I’m afraid to ask.”