Dead in the Water

their respective news organizations.”
    “And that pleases you, I suppose.”
    “You bet your ass it does. If they were aroused by Allison’s plight, then they’re going to be mad as hell about their own treatment. The press never gets as angry as when their own freedom gets tampered with, and I’ll bet half a dozen cameras got the whole thing on tape.”
    “You think this is going to soften up Sir Winston, then?” Thomas asked.
    “When he finds out what they’re saying about him in Miami and New York, it just might.”
    “Don’t count on it. Sir Winston and our prime minister are accustomed to dealing with a more compliant press; I doubt if they give a damn about what foreigners think.”
    “Thomas,” Stone said. “I hate to point this out, but this business is not going to be good for your business.”
    “I already thought of that,” Thomas said glumly.
    Back at the Shipwright’s Arms, Federal Express had delivered two packages for Stone. One was from Bob Cantor and contained a copy of the Publishers Weekly profile of Paul Manning. The other package was from Alma, his secretary, and it contained two items: a brand-new black judge’s robe and a brochure on the Parker Sportster inflatable dinghy. Stone sat down at a table and read the article on Paul Manning, which featured a photograph of the writer and Allison, arm in arm, in front of a large, handsome house. It was pretty standard stuff about a writer, his lifestyle, and his work, and there was nothing in particular that interested him in the piece. The boat brochure was more interesting.
    He spread it out on the table and admired the many color photographs of the craft being rowed, being propelled by an outboard, and, most interesting, under sail. The Parker Sportster, it seemed, came with an aluminum mast, a mainsail, a jib, a rudder, and a centerboard. The brochure claimed it was the only inflatable dinghy so equipped. Stone thought the thing must be good for four or five knots, more if surfing with the wind aft.
    Stone left the Shipwright’s Arms and walked down to the marina. He stepped lightly aboard Expansive, tiptoeddown the companionway ladder, and looked into the aft cabin. Allison was asleep on the large bed, her breathing deep and regular.
    Stone climbed back into the cockpit and began quietly opening the cockpit lockers. There was the usual tangle of gear found aboard any yacht: fenders, warps, plastic buckets and deck brushes, life jackets, and in a special aft locker, an eight-man life raft. He opened another of the lockers and was greeted with the sight of an inflatable dinghy in its canvas bag; the manufacturer’s name was printed boldly on the bag: AVON . Stone’s heart began to beat a little faster, as much out of apprehension as discovery. There was one more locker, and he opened it expecting no new information. But there, lying packed and ready for use, was another, larger canvas bag emblazoned with another brand name: PARKER SPORTSTER . It seemed new and unused.
    He closed the locker softly and sat down on a cockpit seat, feeling relieved.

Chapter
22
    O n Saturday morning Stone fixed breakfast, then woke up Allison, who had been sleeping unusually well. “I’ve had a message from Leslie Hewitt,” he said. “He wants us to come out and see him this morning.”
    “Okay,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “I think a swim will wake me up.” She started up the ladder.
    “Hang on!” he commanded. “It’s broad daylight, and there may be some press still on the island.”
    “Oh,” she said, blinking.
    “I enjoy you naked, but I don’t want anyone else to,” he said.
    She smiled. “You’re sweet. I think I’ll just have a shower; join me?”
    “Already had one,” he replied, “and breakfast is nearly ready, so hurry.”
    They walked up to the Shipwright’s Arms together,to borrow Thomas’s car, and the first person they saw was Hilary Kramer from the Times.
    “What are you still doing here?” Stone asked. “Didn’t you get the bum’s rush with everybody else?”
    “Nope. I was in the capital, buying some necessities, and when I came back, everybody was gone.”
    “You missed the press conference, then?”
    “I didn’t care anything about that. I’d already filed.”
    “Did anybody else survive the press purge?”
    “There’s a crew from CNN here who got to stay to provide pool coverage for the TV people.”
    “How about Chris Wheaton, from 60 Minutes? ”
    “Gone with the wind, along with