“They just ride the bow wave,” Stone said. “There’s an art to that, and, maybe, a life lesson.”

“I’ve been doing that all my life,” Christian said. “Flirting with danger but keeping just far enough away to keep from being hurt.”

“What sort of danger?”

Christian shrugged. “Land values, building costs, rates for borrowing and lending, pursuit of and by the competition, those sorts of things.”

“Are you considering adding politics to the list?” Stone asked.

“It might be fun,” Christian said, smiling a little, “but it’s the most dangerous game of all, so much at stake, so much to go wrong, so many ways that things can happen, so many variables.”

Stone wondered what he was thinking. Then his phone rang. He glanced at it: caller’s name blocked; one of two people. “Excuse me,” he said to Christian. He walked into the saloon and answered it.

“Good morning,” Will Lee said. “Can you talk?”

“I can listen,” Stone said.

“I hope you’re aboard a yacht.”

“I am.”

“In Penobscot Bay?”

“Yes.”

“Somebody else’s yacht?”

“Yes.”

“Whose?”

“Christian St. Clair’s.”

“Well, that’s interesting. I’m going to want to pump you about that experience. Who else is aboard?”

“Harold Ozick, Clint Holder, and Nelson Knott. And their wives.”

“Have they mugged you yet?”

“Not yet. They’ve been cordial, for the most part. Except Ozick, maybe.”

“He’s not a cordial sort.”

“Are you tracking me?”

“I’m tracking Holly,” Will said. “It’s easier.”

“Yes, she’s using one of your cell phones, isn’t she?”

“She is.”

“Do you have a message for her?”

“No, and I don’t want her to know I called. It would just make her think of work. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Here I am.”

“I was going to tell you that you might run into Christian St. Clair,” Will said, “and, if you did, to watch your ass.”

“I’ll do that. The junior senator from my home state was here, but he jumped ship when he saw who his companions were going to be.”

“He’s a smart man, and you’d be smart to do the same.”

“You’re going to have to tell me what you mean.”

“Later,” Will said. “Right now I’m needed.” He hung up.

Stone’s phone was ringing again, from the other blocked number.

22

STONE PRESSED THE BUTTON. “Hello, Ed.”

“Stone, we need to talk.”

“So talk.”

“Not on the phone—face-to-face.”

“I’d have a long swim,” Stone said.

“Start now.”

“Is it really that important?”

“I believe so.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Stone went forward to the wheelhouse, where the captain was watching the autopilot steer the boat.

“Good morning, Mr. Barrington.”

“Good morning, Captain, where are we?”

The captain looked down from his stool and pointed at the large screen in front of them. “Right there,” he said, “where the little boat is.”