“Don’t worry,” Robert assured him, “I will.”
The owner untied the painter, and moments later the boat was headed out to sea, racing toward the Halcyon. It took Robert ten minutes to reach the yacht. As he approached it, he saw Susan and Monte Banks standing on the deck. Susan waved to him, and he could see the anxiety in her face. Robert maneuvered the small boat next to the yacht and tossed a line to a deckhand.
“Do you want to bring it aboard, sir?” the man called.
“No, let it go.” The owner would find it soon enough.
Robert walked up the ladder to the spotless teak deck. Susan had once described the Halcyon to Robert, and he had been impressed, but seen in person it was even more impressive. The Halcyon was two hundred and eighty feet long, with a luxurious owner’s cabin, eight double suites for guests, and cabins for a crew of sixteen. It had a drawing room, a dining room, a study, a salon, and a swimming pool.
The ship was propelled by two twelve-hundred-and-fifty horsepower sixteen-cylinder turbocharged Caterpillar D399 diesel engines, and carried six small tenders for going ashore. The interior design had been done in Italy by Luigi Sturchio. It was a floating palace.
“I’m glad you made it,” Susan said.
And Robert had the impression that she was ill at ease, that something was wrong. Or was it just his nerves?
She looked absolutely beautiful, yet somehow, he was disappointed. What the hell had I expected? That she would look pale and miserable?
He turned to Monte. “I want you to know how much I appreciate this.”
Monte shrugged. “Glad to help you out.”
The man was a saint.
“What’s your plan?”
“I’d like you to turn and head due west to Marseilles. You can drop me off the coast and…”
A man in a crisp white uniform approached. He was in his fifties, heavy-set, with a neatly trimmed beard.
“This is Captain Simpson. This is…” Monte Banks looked at Robert for help.
“Smith. Tom Smith.”
Monte said, “We’ll be heading for Marseilles, Captain.”
“We’re not going into Elba?”
“No.”
Captain Simpson said, “Very well.” He sounded surprised.
Robert scanned the horizon. All clear.
“I’d suggest we go below,” Monte Banks said.
When the three of them were seated in the salon, Monte asked, “Don’t you think you owe us an explanation?”
“Yes, I do,” Robert said, “but I’m not going to give you one. The less you know about this whole affair, the better. I can only tell you that I’m innocent. I’m involved in a political situation. I know too much, and I’m being hunted. If they find me, they’ll kill me.”
Susan and Monte exchanged a look.
“They have no reason to connect me with the Halcyon,” Robert went on. “Believe me, Monte, if there were any other way for me to escape, I would have taken it.”
Robert thought of all the people who had been killed because he had tracked them down. He could not bear to have anything happen to Susan. He tried to keep his voice light. “I would appreciate it for your own sake if you didn’t mention that I was ever aboard this ship.”
“Of course not,” Monte said.
The yacht had slowly swung around and was heading west.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to have a word with the captain.”
Dinner was an awkward affair. There were strange undercurrents that Robert did not understand, a tension that was almost tangible. Was it because of his presence? Or was it something else? Something between the two of them? The sooner I get away from here, the better, Robert thought.
They were in the salon having an after-dinner drink when Captain Simpson came into the room.
“When will we reach Marseilles?” Robert asked.
“If the weather holds, we should be there tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Smith.”
There was something about Captain Simpson’s manner that irritated Robert. The captain was gruff, almost to the point of being rude. But he must be good, Robert thought, or Monte would not have hired him. Susan deserves this yacht. She deserves the best of everything.
At eleven o’clock, Monte looked at his watch and said to Susan, “I think we had better turn in, darling.”