Stone exhausted Vanessa and saw her finish a small glass of Grand Marnier with a pill dissolved in it. Then, tired himself, he drifted off.
He was shaken and awakened before midnight. “Get dressed and come up top,” Lance whispered.
Stone shook off sleep and got into the dark blue clothing he had laid out, then ran lightly to the top deck, where a crewman was ready to launch one of the tenders. Lance was already sitting in it; Stone joined him, and they were gently lowered into the water. The town was fairly darkened, and only the masthead lights of yachts at moorings lit the harbor.
“Put this on,” Lance said, handing him a balaclava, a knit cap that revealed only his eyes. Lance passed him a pair of goggles. “Night vision,” Lance said, and showed him the switch. “Don’t use them until we’re out of the harbor. You’re driving.” He pointed at the controls and switched on the key. “It’s electric, very quiet. Once we’re out of the harbor, go slowly and don’t make a wake.”
Stone took the controls and put a lever into the forward position. Lance was right; it was very quiet.
“How much range have we got?” Stone asked.
“It’s fully charged, so about sixty miles at cruise speed, much more at our pace.”
They passed the entrance to the harbor, and they pulled on the night-vision goggles and switched them on. “Don’t look back at the harbor or the town,” Lance said. “That would screw up your night vision.”
The goggles were excellent. Stone could see everything he could see in daylight, but with a green tinge. He saw crab-trap buoys and navigational markers. And there sat Tsarina, wearing a single light at the top of the mast. On the upper decks small lamps burned, and Lance reached out and adjusted the goggles so that they would not ruin his night vision. Even candles, burning on the rear deck, showed bright.
Lance handed Stone an earpiece. “It’s already on, and you can adjust the volume with the little wheel.”
Stone pulled up his balaclava to expose his ear, stuck in the piece, and pulled the headgear back into place. Immediately, he could hear voices, as clearly as if the people were sitting in the boat with them.
Lance pulled the power lever back to the idle position, and the boat slowed, making even less noise. Stone turned his attention to the conversation. It was in Russian.
“Well, shit,” he said to nobody in particular.
“Get up close to her hull, then work around to the stern,” Lance said.
Stone did so, staying under the overhang of the rear deck, where the party was drinking. Lance found some sort of protrusion from the hull and got the painter around it. The tide was going out, so the runabout stayed downstream of her, still under the overhang.
Suddenly, Stone heard English. “I’m afraid my Russian is a bit rusty,” the voice of Betty Baker said. “Do you mind if we speak English?”
“Not at all,” the voice of Yevgeny Chekhov replied in English. “We all speak English here.” They droned on with small talk, and Stone grew drowsy.
Stone did not know how much time had passed before Lance jabbed at his thigh with a hard object. He snapped to, and sat very still. A small outboard motor could be heard. It got farther away, then apparently, came around the bow of the big yacht and started aft, because it was getting louder. Clearly, someone was looking for someone else, like Stone and Lance. “How fast will this thing go?” he whispered to Lance.
“I’m letting go of this line. Drive all the way around the yacht slowly, keeping her on your right, until we get back here.” Lance pulled the painter aboard, and Stone did as he was told. Halfway up the port side of the hull, they came to a boarding ladder with a small pontoon affixed to it. “Don’t stop,” Lance said. “We’re not going aboard.”
“You’re damned right we’re not,” Stone said, speeding up slightly. They were around the bow and headed astern before they heard the outboard stop, apparently at the boarding ladder.
“Back to where we were,” Lance said, and Stone complied. Shortly, they were tied up astern again.
The group at the stern was making noises about turning in, mostly in Russian, then Stone heard Betty’s voice again.
“Yevgeny, may I speak to you for a moment?”
“Of course,” Chekhov said.
“It’s about Vanessa. I want you to know that you have nothing to fear from her.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Betty.”
“I’ve moved out of her apartment, back into my own place, and I’ll be leaving her company when I get back.”
“Yes?”
“The two of us are not on speaking terms at the moment. I want your personal assurance that nothing will happen to her.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Absolutely. She and I have never discussed anything about our arrangement. The poison was a great mistake.”
“That was Peter’s doing. He didn’t ask me.”
“The only time you and I have discussed our relationship around her was when she was unconscious. I made sure of that.”
“I will take your word for that, Betty, on one condition: If she ever mentions our relationship, you must let me know immediately. Will you promise to do that?”
“I do promise, Yevgeny.”
“Then let’s get to bed,” he said. “You’ll be awakened early in the morning. The plane will be ready for us at ten o’clock.”
They went below. Stone could still hear them when they said good night.
“Time to go,” Lance said, freeing the painter.
Stone switched on the engine, put it in forward, and pointed it more or less south, in the direction of the harbor. They were, perhaps, a hundred yards from the yacht when Stone suddenly went blind.
“Jesus!” Lance said, ripping off his goggles and Stone’s, too. They heard an outboard start, a bigger one than before.
“I can’t see a thing,” Stone said.
“Spotlight,” Lance said. “You were pointed at the harbor before, so keep that heading. Just go faster. Your vision will gradually come back.”
Stone groped for the lever and shoved it halfway forward, the boat leaping. “How fast can we go?”
“Forty knots, but not for very long,” Lance said. “Can you see anything yet?”
Stone blinked his eyes rapidly. “Not yet.”
“Can you see our compass?” Lance asked.
“I think so.”
Lance reached down and moved the throttle all the way forward, while Stone held on to the wheel for dear life.
“Just keep the heading we were on,” Lance said.
“Right up until we come to a sudden stop,” Stone replied, “like, against a big rock.”
He heard something whistle past them in the air. “Bullet,” he said.
“Silenced weapon,” Lance replied.
The next one went through their windshield. Stone could see the compass now; he was off course but corrected.