Stone finished up his work feeling thirsty, and he headed down to the bar for something cold. A young man in whites and shoulder boards was having a drink, looking bored. Stone sat down a stool away and ordered a rum and tonic, then he turned to the young man.

“You the skipper of the yacht that just came in?”

“Yep,” he replied, “she’s called Race.”

“There must be a reason,” Stone said. “What sort of speeds will she do?”

“Sixty knots in reasonable seas; seventy in a raging calm.”

“Whew! Who builds them?”

“She’s a one-off, designed by a guy out of Miami who does racing boats and built at the Huisman yard in Holland.”

“What brings you into St. Marks?”

“Picking up a charterer.”

“Anybody I know?”

“Beats me; name of Mr. and Mrs. Chapman; they haven’t shown up yet. We’re supposed to be out of here by midnight. She’s being refueled now.”

“Where you bound for?”

“Way up the chain of islands; St. Thomas is our first call after we leave here.”

“The first U.S. port, huh? That’s a long passage. Can I buy you a drink?”

“Thanks, yes.”

“Thomas, bring another round to…”

“Sam’s my name,” the young man said, sticking out a hand.

“I’m Stone.”

“First name, or last?”

“First.” Stone clinked glasses with the skipper, and they both drank. “Where’s this charterer coming from?”

“Beats me. They’re supposed to fly in this evening, and we leave as soon as they get here.”

“A night passage, huh? They must be in a hurry.”

“That’s why we’re refueling; the boat eats up gas at any kind of speed.”

“Can you make it to St. Thomas at speed without refueling?”

“It’s at the outer limits of our range, but we can do it with no headwind, and down here the trades will be on our beam. We’ll be in the lee of the island chain, so it will only be rough once in a while.”

“Where is the boat based?”

“Fort Lauderdale.”

“I’ve got a client wants to sell a yacht up there pretty soon; can you recommend a good broker?”

“Sure,” Sam said, taking a card from his shirt pocket. “Crockett and Smith; they handle all our charter work. They’re good people.”

“So if I wanted to charter Race, I’d get in touch with them, not you?”

“That’s right; we’re in constant touch. You really in the market?”

“Maybe next winter,” Stone said. “How much red tape is there in that sort of charter?”

“Not much. You’d put down a fifty percent deposit, and pay the rest thirty days in advance.”

“That what this guy Chapman did?”