Swimming to Catalina

they were on their way at thirty knots. “Keep a sharp lookout,” Stone said. “There are fishing boats out here this time of night towing nets and trawls. We want to give them a wide berth.”
    “Right.” Dino said.
    It was a lovely night, with many stars, clear of the usual smog. They were making a lot of wind with their speed, and Stone was glad to have the warmth of his weatherproof suit. Catalina loomed ahead.
    Contessaturned out be easy to find. She was the biggest thing in the anchorage by far, and she was wearing a bright anchor light; her bow and stem lights were on, too. Stone throttled back while they were still three hundred yards out and made his way among the moored yachts and empty moorings. Not many people would be sleeping aboard the small boats during the week, and Stone was glad for that. As they approachedContessa, she seemed to get bigger and bigger.
    “Jesus,” Dino said, “that’s some piece of work, that boat. How much you think it cost to build it?”
    “I don’t know—eight, ten million dollars, I would guess. Depends on when she was built. These days, she’d cost a lot more.”
    “Okay, you think you can tell me what your plan is now?”
    “First I’m going to have to get the crew off.”
    “How many?”
    “Two, I think.”
    “And what the fuck are we going to do with them?”
    They were at the stern boarding ladder of the bigyacht now, and Stone pointed up to the deck. “There’s a rubber dinghy up there; I saw it from the air. I’ll toss it down to you. We’ll put them in that and set them adrift; somebody will pick them up after daylight.”
    “Okay, whatever you say.”
    They cut the engines and tied the Whaler to a teak swimming platform on the stern. Stone stuffed the duct tape and the socket wrench kit into his jacket’s large pockets, climbed up the boarding ladder, and stuck his head above deck; there was no one in sight, but operatic music wafted from somewhere. The rubber dinghy was gone. Stone looked around for another tender, but all he saw were two large speedboats, slung in davits. Maybe somebody had gone ashore; he hoped so.
    With his flashlight in one hand and his pistol in the other, Stone started forward toward the bridge. Along the way he looked into every port and window, watching for anyone stirring on the yacht, but he saw no one.
    He climbed the stairs to the bridge and peeked in. There was one deckhead light on, and a radio was playing, but no one was in sight. Very slowly, he opened the door and stepped onto the bridge, the pistol out in front of him. There was no sound but the radio.
    He carefully opened two doors on the bridge; one led to a stairway below, the other was, apparently, the captain’s cabin. A lamp was on, and the bed was mussed, but not unmade. He poked into the captain’s toilet, and that was empty as well. Surely the crew wouldn’t leave the big yacht entirely untended?
    It seemed preposterous, but perhaps there really was no one aboard. He opened the door to the stairway and started slowly down, listening at every step.

51
    0ne flight down, Stone looked into the large saloon and dining room, then into the galley. A light was on in there, and an open jar of mayonnaise with a knife stuck in it sat on a countertop. Looked as though someone had made a sandwich earlier.
    Stone went back to the stairs and descended another flight. He could no longer hear the music now; there was only an unearthly silence. Surely the ship’s generators would be running. He bent down and placed a hand on the deck, feeling for vibration. Nothing. The ship must be on battery power. He walked down a hallway, still keeping quiet, and looked into every cabin, switching on a light in each. No one. Good.
    Having searched the deck, he walked down another flight of stairs, where he found a door on either side of him. A sign on the one to his right readCREW QUARTERS. A sign on the other door readGUEST QUARTERS. The crew must be asleep instead of on watch, he thought.

    He put the flashlight in his jacket pocket, set down the bag he was carrying, removed the roll of duct tape, opened the door to the crew’s quarters, and listened. Silence. Leaving the bag in the hallway, he checked every cabin and found no one. Bad crew, he thought, ashore drinking when there was an intruder on the yacht in their charge. He went through the other door and checked the guest cabins on that deck, finding them all empty.
    Finally, he descended to the lowest deck and went