Ed walked up the front steps. There were still lights on inside; nothing had changed since his and Stone’s earlier visit. He stopped and listened intently. Nothing, except the distant sound of rotors from a helicopter far out on the bay. He walked on upstairs and into the master bedroom.

He set the carryall on the nearest bed and used its remote control to raise the head to its steepest angle, which gave him a view of the mechanics and electrical connections of the electric bed. He took the chunk of plastique, ripped off a foot-long piece of duct tape from its roll, and taped the explosive to the rod that moved the bed. He selected a detonator from his bag and pressed it into the explosive, which had the consistency of modeling clay. Finally, he returned the bed to its fully down position and set the remote control back where he’d found it. Then he heard the helicopter rotor again, this time from much closer. It occurred to him that the twins might not have bothered with the ferry; they could have flown directly from the Augusta airport to the island. If that were so, he knew where it would land.

Ed grabbed his carryall, quickly let himself outside onto the surrounding porch, ran to the corner of the house, and peeked around it. A small helicopter was setting down on the square floating dock. Two figures alit from the copter and began walking up the floating boardwalk toward the house.

A quick look around ascertained for him that he could not leave the house anywhere except on the side facing the road. He was looking for a place to jump where a landing might not break a leg, when he heard heavy footsteps on the front stairway and the sound of the front door opening.

Ed considered just flinging himself off the elevated porch into the darkness and hoping for the best, but he reconsidered. They were coming up the stairs to the second floor now. Ed crept around the corner and began moving around the house toward the corner of the porch facing the sea. He had to go slowly for fear of making a noise.

He caught a glimpse of the twins’ backs as they turned toward their bedroom, then he continued, now walking faster.

Then he heard a voice. “Is that your duct tape on the floor by the bed?”

“No,” came the reply.

Ed reached the end of the porch and saw a drainpipe coming down from the roof. He swung a leg over the railing, dropped his carryall, grasped the drainpipe, and slid down it like a fireman answering an alarm, making some noise in the process.