They were nearly to the mouth of the harbor now. Stone gave Thomas a big hug, then watched as he jumped into the dinghy, untied the painter, and yanked the cord on the outboard. The little engine buzzed to life, and Thomas kept pace with the yacht for another hundred yards. Then, as the smooth water of the harbor met the swell of the sea outside, he gave a big wave and turned the little boat back into English Harbour.

Stone watched him go. He reflected for a moment that he had not made many friends as good as that one, then he bore away around the point and headed for the open sea, a lump in his throat. There would be time later to sort out charts and courses, but right now, he wanted to sail his boat.

That night, sailing north with the autopilot on, Stone fixed himself some supper, opened a bottle of wine, sat down in the cockpit, and began thinking about the events of the past days. There were anomalies in what he had seen and heard, and he wanted to think about them.

He slept in snatches of a few minutes, scanning the horizon often for ships and other yachts and boats. He saw little traffic. The next day, at midmorning, he fired up the satellite phone and got it working. He called his secretary and informed her of his new travel plans, then he called Bob Cantor.

“Hello, Stone; I heard the news on television this morning. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“There is, Bob. I want you to take a trip up to Ithaca for a couple of days and do a little research for me.”

“Sure; what do you need?”

Stone told him in some detail. Finally, he hung up the phone and sat down with his charts. He plotted a course up the leeward side of the islands, then between Hispaniola and Puerto Rico and then to the northwest, leaving the Turks and Caicos and the Bahamas to starboard, and on to Fort Lauderdale. It had not taken him long to figure out that he could not afford to own the yacht; what with dockage, repairs, and insurance, it would break him, unless he sold his house, and he wasn’t about to do that.

He sailed on, thinking about what had happened to him and what to do next. He made other calls, the last of them to Sir Winston Sutherland, who was surprised to hear from him, but extremely interested in what he had to say.

By the time he had reached Fort Lauderdale, he had done all he could do. Except wait.

Epilogue

Two Months Later