Dead in the Water

we’re going to pull this off, Bill; I don’t see how the prime minister can stand in the wind that’s blowing now.”
    “I think you’re right, Stone.”
    “I’ll call you again later. Oh, let me give you the satellite phone number; you can dial it just like a regular phone.” He dictated the number, then hung up.
    Half an hour later, the calls started coming in—the wire services, reporters who recorded interviews, and, amazingly, the president’s secretary, who wanted a report. She told him that a cable had already been sent by the secretary of state. He thanked her profusely.
    He had some lunch at the Shipwright’s Arms and took some more phone calls. Then everything went quiet. No phone calls, no press. Just a quiet afternoon with Thomas.
    “How often does somebody get executed here, Thomas?” Stone asked.
    “We get one every two or three years, I guess. Then they knock the scaffold apart and put it together again when another one comes up.”
    “I know; I heard them working on it this morning. I don’t think Allison realized what the noise was; I hope she doesn’t, anyway.”
    “You ever lose a client like this?” Thomas asked.
    “Not yet.”
    “I hope you don’t lose this one.”
    “Me, too.”

Chapter
60
    A t four o’clock Stone met Leslie Hewitt at the jail door. “What have you heard?” he asked the barrister. “Is there any word at all?”
    “Nothing,” Hewitt said, shaking his head. “The prime minister’s secretary won’t even talk to me now. A policeman answers the phone and says that everyone is too busy to talk.”
    “Well, at least we’ve made them busy.”
    “I had hoped to get some sort of hint from the secretary, at the very least, but there’s only silence. He didn’t return my phone call.”
    “You look more worried than I’ve seen you, Leslie,” Stone said.
    “I confess, I am worried. I really expected some sort of word by now. We have only until sundown.”
    “What time is sundown?”
    “Seven fifty—nine; I checked. And they always do these things on the minute.”
    “I’ve never been through anything like this,” Stone said.
    “Neither has Allison,” Hewitt replied.
    They went into the jail and found Hilary Kramer and Jim Forrester waiting at the desk, both looking tense.
    “Have you heard anything from the prime minister?” Hilary asked Hewitt.
    “Not yet,” he replied. “But I expect to soon.”
    “Are you going to see Allison now?”
    “Yes,” Stone replied.
    “Will you come out and let us know how she’s doing? And ask her if she’ll see me.”
    “Maybe a bit later. You, too, Jim?”
    Forrester shook his head. “No, I don’t want to see her.” He turned to Kramer. “I guess I’m not much of a reporter.”
    Stone and Hewitt were searched, then were walked down the corridor of cells. Stone looked at the stout door at the end, with the small window a good fifteen feet above it. At least the sounds from the inner courtyard had stopped; thank God for that.
    Allison was sitting on her bunk, her hair pinned up, wearing a denim prison shift that exposed her neck. Stone kissed her on the cheek. “How are you?”
    “They took away my things,” she said. “Even my underwear.” She seemed very calm.
    “You’ll get them back later,” Hewitt said. “Don’t worry.”
    “Haven’t you heard anything from the prime minister?” she asked.
    He shook his head. “Sometimes it’s like this,” hesaid, glancing guiltily at Stone. “We might not hear anything until the last minute.”
    They all sat down—Hewitt in the single chair and Stone and Allison on the bunk. She held up a copy of David Copperfield . “The most exciting thing they had to offer,” she said. “It’s good, though. I haven’t read it since the eighth grade; I’d forgotten how good it is.”
    “I’ve had many calls from the press,” Stone said. “The prime minister’s office is under a lot of pressure.”
    Allison nodded, but said nothing. Nobody said anything. They sat quietly, each with his own thoughts, for more than an hour.
    A jailer appeared at the cell door. “Can I get anything for anybody?” he asked.
    “I’d like some water,” Allison said.
    “I’m sorry; you won’t be able to eat or drink from now on. I thought you might like some magazines.”
    “No, thank you,” Allison said, and the man left. “Why won’t they let me eat or drink?” she asked.
    “I don’t know,” Hewitt said, before Stone could speak. “They have their