—

The two men in the car across the street watched them. “They’re taking a fucking airplane somewhere,” Charlie said. “Now we’ll lose them.”

“Just wait right here,” Frank said. “I’ll be right back, it’ll be okay.” He walked into the lobby and up to a rear window overlooking the ramp, where he saw Barrington and his girlfriend approach a light jet airplane. He noted the tail number, then went back to the car.

“I got their tail number,” he said.

“So you’re going to send them a postcard? How’s that going to help?”

“We can track the plane, just like we tracked the car.”

“No shit?”

“No shit,” Frank said, switching on his iPad. “You’ll see in a minute.”

—

This is very nice,” Caroline said after Stone closed the door and they had settled into the cockpit. “I’m a pilot, you know.”

“I didn’t know. What do you fly?”

“Daddy had a Cessna 182, and I learned in that. I’ve got about three hundred hours, total time. What is this airplane?”

“It’s a Citation Mustang, borrowed. I used to have one of these. I’m expecting delivery of a new CJ3+ shortly.”

“Lucky you.”

—

You’ll find our flight interesting,” Stone said. He worked his way through the checklist, all the while demonstrating how the avionics worked, then he started the engines and radioed ground control for a clearance. Fifteen minutes later they were lifting off Runway One.

Stone explained the moving map as they flew northward.

Caroline peered at their destination. “So we’re going to an island in Maine?”

“Exactly. There’s the airport on the map.”

“That looks awfully small for a jet airplane to land on.”

“And it will look short when we get there,” Stone said, “since it’s only two thousand four hundred and fifty feet long. You’ll notice that we’re flying at only eleven thousand feet. Jets use much more fuel at low altitudes, so that’s to lighten our load, since we started with full tanks. By the time we land, we’ll be much lighter, and that will help us stop short on landing, then help us break ground on takeoff when we return home. It also helps that I’ve done this before.”

“How long a runway do we need?”

“Ordinarily three thousand feet is good.”

“And this one is two thousand four hundred and fifty?”

“Right, but there are only two of us, we don’t have much luggage, and when we take off we’ll be at half fuel, so no problem.”

“I place myself in your hands,” she said.

“That’s not a great compliment, since you’re already in my hands.”

“How long is our flight?”

Stone consulted the instrument panel. “Another fifty minutes.” Half an hour later he pointed ahead of them. “That’s the island. The airport will be right over there,” he said.

“Ah, I see it. You’re right, it looks very short.”

“It will look longer when we get there.” Stone lined up the airplane and started a steep descent. He dropped the landing gear early, helping to slow to approach speed, then set the airplane down, threw in maximum flaps and speed brakes, and taxied off the runway, well short of the end. “Here we are,” he said, “and there’s our ride.” He pointed at a 1938 Ford station wagon and a man leaning against it.

—

Back at Teterboro, the two men sat in the car and stared at the iPad. “There,” one of them said, “they’ve landed on an island in Maine called Islesboro.”

“What do we do now?” his friend asked.

“Tomorrow morning we rent an airplane. I know just the guy.”

Stone introduced Caroline to Seth Hotchkiss, his caretaker. “You’ll meet Mary, his wife, too.”

“This car is beautiful,” Caroline said as they got into the old station wagon. “It looks like new.”

“My cousin Dick Stone, who built this house, had it restored.”

“Will he be here, too?”

“Dick is deceased, sadly. I bought the house from his estate.”

They drove past the little collection of buildings that was Dark Harbor, then on to the house. Seth took care of their luggage while Stone gave Caroline the tour.

“This is a lovely house,” Caroline said. “Who designed it?”

“Dick did that himself, with a little help from somebody at the CIA.”

“I’m confused—the CIA is in the house-building business?”

“Dick was an important official at the Agency, and they tend to want their people to be safe, so many of the safeguards they demanded are built into this house.”

“So, you’ve got a bulletproof car and a bulletproof house? I’m starting to worry.”

“Both came to me that way, and nobody will ever find us here.”

Seth came into the living room. “Mary says dinner’s at seven,” he said. “Lobster tonight.”

“Great, Seth, thanks.” Seth beat a retreat. “What would you like to do?” Stone asked Caroline.

“You’re always going to get the same answer to that question,” she said, nuzzling him.

“Let’s wait until bedtime. I want to pace myself.”

—

The following morning Frank and Charlie took off from Essex County Airport, west of Teterboro, in a single-engine Cessna 182, having paid their pilot cash in advance. Frank sat happily next to the pilot, watching the moving map, while Charlie quavered in the rear seat.

“How long can we fly in this thing without crashing?” Charlie yelled over the noise of the engine.

Frank handed him a headset. “There, can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Charlie replied. “How long can we fly in this thing without crashing?”

“Oh, about six hours.”

“How far is it to where we’re going?”

“About an hour and a half.”

Charlie did the arithmetic. “Okay,” he said.

An hour and a half later, the pilot set down the airplane at Islesboro Airport. There were half a dozen small airplanes parked on the ramp, and a man was working on one of them.

They taxied to the ramp, the engine was cut, and the two men got out.

“’Scuse me,” Frank said to the man working on the airplane, “how far is it to town?”

“Town?” the man asked. “You mean Dark Harbor?”

“Right.”

“A couple of miles, I guess.”

“Can we rent a car?”

“Sure, in Camden.”

“Where’s that?”

“On the mainland. You take the ferry.”

“Is there a taxi?”

“Sort of.” The man gave him a number. “Ernie will come, if he has nothing else to do.”

Frank called the number, and the man who answered agreed to come to the airport. Forty minutes later he arrived, in an elderly Plymouth, and they got in.

“Where you want to go?” Ernie asked.

“Uh, to Mr. Stone Barrington’s house.”

Ernie gave the two men another look. They were dressed in suits, one of them double-breasted. In Ernie’s experience only tax collectors and private detectives came to the island dressed like that. “Don’t know anybody by that name,” he replied.

“Then just take us to Dark Harbor,” Frank said.

Ernie nodded and put the car in gear, which was an occasion for a grinding noise, then drove away. Ten minutes later he drew to a halt in front of a general store. “Here y’go,” he said. “That’ll be ten dollars.”

“There’s no meter on this thing,” Charlie pointed out.

“That’s okay,” Ernie said, “I know how much the fare is. It’s ten dollars, unless you want to go somewhere else.”

“How much for you to wait while we ask directions?” Frank asked.

“Ten dollars.”

Frank sighed, and he and Charlie got out of the Plymouth and climbed the stairs into the store.