Children of the Storm

And with a single hammer blow, anyone could mangle enough of its insides to make it useless.” He cleared his throat and delivered the bad news: “Someone has done just that. They smashed a number of tubes- which I might have been able to replace from our stores. But they also wrecked much of the printed circuitry, which I can't repair without expert help.”
        “Who?” she asked.
        “The same man who attacked you, I presume. Or someone who's working with him.”
        “How could he get into Seawatch, clear up to the third floor where the radio-telephone is?”
        Saine smiled sourly. “If he lived here, that would be no problem at all: a flight of stairs, an unlocked door…” He shrugged.
        “Then you're still convinced that it's a member of the household staff?” she asked.
        “Yes. But I'm not overlooking other possibilities. If there is a stranger on Distingue, he could have entered the house in a number of ways, located the radio-telephone and demolished it while I was questioning everyone in the kitchen.”
        “How would he even know about its existence?” she asked.
        “He would know that no telephone lines are run to small islands like Distingue, and he would also know that a man like Mr. Dougherty would require constant communications with the outside world. Even a psychotic can reason out something like that.” He seemed, by his tone, to be castigating himself for allowing anyone to get at the radio-phone, as if he should have been at two places at once, in order to prevent such a disaster.
        “Then you've not been able to call the Doughertys?”
        “No,” he said. “But I'm sending Bill Peterson to Guadeloupe to make the call and to bring back some island police officials. Our man has gotten suddenly bold, and I don't want to take any more chances; I don't want to give him even the slightest opening at the children.”
        “Of course,” Sonya said. And though she longed for the big, comfortable bed and a lengthy, deep sleep, she said, “What can I do to help, until the police get here?”
        “Nothing,” Saine said.
        “I'm really feeling all right,” she protested. “I probably look worse than I actually am.”
        “I'll be with Alex and Tina,” he said. “In their room, with the door locked and my revolver un-holstered. No one's going to get to them before we get some help here. I just wanted everyone in the house to know what's happened. And I wanted to recommend that you keep your door latched, as I see you already had done.”
        She nodded, feeling slightly numb.
        She recalled, against her will, Lynda Spaulding's warnings, and she wondered when, on top of everything else that had gone wrong, they could expect the hurricane…
        “And one other thing,” Saine said.
        “Yes?”
        He smiled thinly. “I wanted you to know that I no longer consider you much of a suspect, Sonya.”
        “Unless I choked myself to throw you off the track,” she said.
        He smiled more warmly. “I hope, however, that this admission on my part will not lead to a corresponding laxity in your attitude toward me.”
        “It won't,” she said. “I still suspect you.”
        “Good.”
        “I'm serious,” she said.
        “I know you are. I urge you to continue to suspect me, to suspect everyone here. If we are all somewhat paranoid, we may survive this affair. Otherwise, we're sure to lose.” He stepped back from the door. “I must go now. Remember to slide your latch in place.”
        “I will.”
        She closed the door and bolted it. Only when the bolt snicked into place did Rudolph Saine turn and walk heavily away, down the hall.
        In the space of a few hours, they had gone from a state of uneasy anticipation to a stage of seige.

BOOK THREE

----
        

    THIRTEEN
        
        The man was upset by the need to improvise. After all, he had spent a great deal of time, long nights lying awake, planning it all out in detail, such perfect detail, not a single factor overlooked: how long he would wait, biding his time until the family had been lulled into a false sense of security; when to strike; how to gain entrance to the children's locked room without alerting them or anyone else; how to kill both of them without letting them cry out for help; what sort of alibi would be iron clad, satisfactory to both the island police and the family… His plan, indeed, was like a