Dead in the Water

man admitted.
    “Well, when you do, I’m sure he will tell you what he told me, that someone else has chartered his yacht.”
    “Oh, I will speak to him, Mr. Barrington; you may be sure of that.” He stood up. “In the meantime, Mrs. Manning is confined to this yacht and to the Shipwright’s Arms.”
    Allison shrugged. “I’ve hardly left this yacht since I came to St. Marks, except at the insistence of Sir Winston Sutherland,” she said. “I don’t know why I would want to leave it now. You see, Colonel, I am quite looking forward to my trial and acquittal.”
    “She is not to go to the airport or anywhere else on the island or to board any other yacht,” the colonel said, continuing to address Stone, “on pain of immediate arrest and close confinement.”
    “I quite understand, Colonel,” Stone said, “and believe me, Mrs. Manning will follow your instructions to the letter.”
    The policeman saluted them smartly and, herding his colleagues before him, went up the companionway.
    Stone followed them partway and watched as they marched off toward the Race.

Chapter
40
    S tone sat back down on the sofa and took a large swig of his drink. It turned out to be straight rum. “Jesus,” he said, coughing, “I was expecting Scotch or something.”
    “I grabbed the first thing I saw,” she said, sitting beside him. “That man frightened me very badly.”
    “I’m glad you still have the capacity for being frightened by something,” he replied. “He was on the point of jailing you, you know.”
    “I believe you. What do I do now?”
    “We’ve got to get that motor yacht out of English Harbour, that’s what. How did you go about chartering it?”
    “I found an ad in an old yachting magazine we had aboard, and I called them. The money was wire-transferred from my Greenwich account.”
    Stone looked at her in amazement. “And how thehell did you accomplish all that? You’ve hardly left this yacht, and I’ve never seen you use a phone.”
    She got up, went to the chart table, opened a cupboard behind it, took out what looked like a laptop computer, and set it on the chart table.
    Stone looked at the thing. “What is it?”
    She opened it and displayed a telephone handset.
    “A telephone?”
    “A satellite telephone. The antenna is at the top of the mast.”
    “It works?”
    “It certainly does. Would you like me to demonstrate?”
    “Yes, please; call the broker and get that yacht out of here.”
    She plugged the unit into a jack near the chart table, switched it on, and waited. “It will seek a satellite,” she said. A moment later, it beeped three times. She picked up the handset, consulted her address book, dialed a number, and pressed a button.
    “Like a car phone,” Stone said.
    “Exactly, except it will work almost anywhere on the face of the earth.” She put the phone to her ear. “Hello, Fred? It’s Allison Manning; I’m sorry to bother you at home. I have some new instructions for you. Yes, the yacht arrived, and now I have to get it out of here, for the moment.”
    “Tell him to have them leave around nine this evening,” Stone said. “No sooner.”
    “Please call the yacht and have them depart the harbor at nine o’clock this evening. Tell them to go back to Guadeloupe and wait for my call. It may be a few days.What? Fred, you’ve already been paid. If I want the yacht to go to Guadeloupe and wait, then that’s what they’ll do. Right. Thank you so much.” She pressed another button, breaking the connection. “There, it’s done.”
    “And they have one of these on the other yacht?”
    “Yes, or something like it.”
    Stone shook his head. “Technology is passing me by.”
    “Why nine o’clock?” she asked.
    “Because you and I are going to be having dinner at the Shipwright’s Arms at that time, in view of the whole world, or at least all St. Marks. We are going to appear relaxed and happy and unconcerned about the yacht’s departure. Do you have a local phone directory?”
    She fished one out of the chart table.
    Stone looked up a number and showed it to her. “Dial that for me, will you?”
    She dialed the number and handed him the handset.
    “Hello, is that the St. Marks airport? Good. My name is Chapman; my wife and I are meeting a chartered yacht there, and I was told that I would have to get permission for my airplane to land at your airport; is that correct? Well, we plan to land around nine this evening, so I hope the runway is lit. What?