Shoot First(Stone Barrington #45)(31)

“Well, we’ve got a nice day for a hunt.”

“Couldn’t be better. If the wind doesn’t come up, we might get a shot at them when they anchor for the night. You’d better make up our bunk, I guess.”



* * *



—

“SO THIS FELLOW, Gino Bellini, doesn’t like doing his own shooting, huh?” Rawls asked Meg over cocktails, late in the day.

“He doesn’t have that kind of guts,” Meg replied. “He prefers to do his damage at his computer keyboard.” She told him about the testing of the driverless cars that was about to start.

“If you’re a passenger in one of those things, how do you tell it where you want to go?”

“You press a button and speak to it,” Meg said, “or if you prefer, you can type your request on a rear-seat keyboard.”

“What’s the range, before you have to plug in again?”

“We’ve got it up to around three hundred miles, now, about what it would be for an engine-powered car. If you’re in town you’ll use less power, of course. The idea is more for commuting than long trips.”

“How does it avoid collisions with other vehicles?”

“With very precise radar. The car can change directions or stop faster than a human driver. Its reactions are just about instantaneous. You’ll never hit a pedestrian or a deer while being driven, and, of course, it has all the seat belt and airbag protection that any modern car does.”

“What’s the top speed?”

“Well, if you’re on the German autobahn, about a hundred and twenty mph. In the States, a hundred, and the car will automatically slow to the speed limit if it detects police radar within half a mile.”

They were approaching Monhegan now, and Stone noticed that there was a small swell running in from the Atlantic.

“We’ll anchor in the lee of the island,” Stone said, “and with the stabilizers running, we should be comfortable for the night.”



* * *



—

JOE SLOWED DOWN. “They’re headed for Monhegan Island,” he said to Jane, pointing ahead. “I expect they’ll anchor for the night.”

“What will we do?”

“We don’t want to anchor in this swell, we might get dumped out of bed in the night, and we can’t get too close to them. We’ll run down to the next island and find some shelter there.”



* * *



—

STONE TOOK MEG up forward for a look at the bridge. “It’s getting hazy,” he said, and noted that Bret had the radar on.

“We might be in for some fog as the day cools,” Bret said.

“Do we have any problem with anchoring if we’re fogged in?” Stone asked.

“Not really. We can set a radar alarm to go off if another boat gets too near us. That turns on the foghorn and warns them off.” He slowed the yacht and made ready for anchoring. The sea was a little flatter in the lee of the island. “There’s been a boat showing in our wake on radar,” Bret said, pointing at the screen. As he did so, the other boat made a turn to the left. “He’s a lot smaller than we are. He might be looking for shelter on another island.”

“How long was he following us?” Stone asked.

“I first noticed him a few minutes out of Dark Harbor. He could just be letting us do his navigating for him.”

Stone stepped off the bridge and onto the port deck and scanned the horizon. The haze was getting worse, and he could see nothing.

Stone and Meg went to dress for dinner, and when they came up there was no more than a hundred yards of visibility. They lit a fire in the saloon and closed the doors to keep out the fog.

“I didn’t get much of a view of Monhegan Island,” Meg said.

“Maybe it will be better in the morning,” Stone said, but he hoped not. He didn’t like the news of a following boat, and the lack of visibility was to their advantage.

They had a drink, then were called to dinner.





24




Stone was nearly lifted out of his berth by Breeze’s foghorn.

Meg sat up in bed. “What the hell was that?” she asked.

“Our foghorn going off,” he replied.

“I thought a boat only used a foghorn if under way,” she said.

“Normally, but our radar has an alarm that blows the foghorn if another vessel gets too close to us in the fog.”

“How close is too close?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” Stone was pulling his pants on and looking for his deck shoes. Pulling on a polo shirt, he trotted up the companionway, then walked forward to the bridge. The fog was thick and heavy, with almost no visibility, and the sea was calm. Captain Bret was already there.

“Good morning,” Stone said. “How close is he?”

“A quarter of a mile and closing,” Bret replied, gazing at the blip on his screen, the only one moving. “He has radar, too,” he said. “He’s avoided a couple of anchored boats to the west. I’ve turned off the stabilizers. The swell died during the night.”

Stone looked at the blip; it was still closing from astern. He left the bridge and walked to the fantail, where he found Ed Rawls on his knees on the built-in seat, looking astern. He was clutching an extraordinary rifle with a fat silencer screwed into the barrel, a big scope on top, and a banana clip that Stone reckoned held thirty rounds. “See anything, Ed?”