him. He hurried back to the cabin, “Hank, get Harbor Patrol. Dilworth’s on the
move.”
“But they’re in the sack.”
“Like hell they are!” Cliff ran out to the bow deck and saw that Dilworth had
already swung the Amazing Grace around and was headed toward the mouth of the
harbor. No lights at the aft end of the boat, the area around
the wheel, just one small light forward. Jesus, he was really making a break for
it.
By the time they unpacked all one hundred canvases, hung a few, and carried the
rest into the unused bedroom, they were starving.
“Garrison’s probably having dinner now, too,” Nora said. “I don’t want to
interrupt him. Let’s call him after we’ve eaten.”
In the pantry, Einstein released letters from the Lucite tubes and spelled out a
message: IT’S DARK. CLOSE THE SHUTTERS FIRST.
Surprised and unsettled by his own uncharacteristic inattention to security,
Travis hurried from room to room, closing the interior shutters and slipping the
bolt-type latches in place. Fascinated by Nora’s paintings and delighted by the
pleasure she exhibited in their arrival, he had not even noticed that night had
arrived.
Halfway toward the mouth of the harbor, confident that distance and the engine’s
roar now protected them from electronic eavesdroppers, Garrison said, “Take me
close to the outer point of the north breakwater, along the channel’s edge.”
“Are you sure about this?” Della asked worriedly. “You’re not a teenager.”
He patted her bottom and said, “I’m better.”
“Dreamer.”
He kissed her on the cheek and edged forward along the starboard railing, where
he got into position for his jump. He was wearing dark blue swim trunks. He
should have had a wetsuit because the water would be chilly. But he thought he
ought to be able to swim to the breakwater, around the point of it, and haul
himself out on the north side, out of sight of the harbor, all in a few minutes,
long before the water temperature leached too much body heat from him.
“Company!” Della called from the wheel.
He looked back and saw a Harbor Patrol boat leaving the docks to the south,
coming toward them on their port side.
They won’t stop us, he thought. They have no legal right.
But he had to go over the side before the Patrol swung in and took up a position
astern. From behind, they would see him vault the railing. As long as they were
to port, the Amazing Grace would conceal his departure, and the boat’s
phosphorescent wake would cover the first few seconds of his swim around the
point of the breakwater, long enough for the Patrol’s attention to have moved on
with Della.
They were heading out at the highest speed with which Della felt comfortable.
The Hinckley Sou’wester jolted through the slightly choppy waters
with enough force to make it necessary for Garrison to hold fast to the railing.
Still, they seemed to move past the stone wall of the breakwater at a
frustratingly slow pace, and the Harbor Patrol drew nearer, but Garrison waited,
waited, because he didn’t want to go into the harbor a hundred yards short of
its end. If he went in too soon, he would not be able to swim all the way out to
the point and around it; instead, he would have to swim straight to the
breakwater and climb its flank, within full sight of all observers. Now the
patrol closed to within a hundred yards—he could see them when he rose from a
crouch and looked across the Hinckley’s cabin roof—and began to swing around
behind them, and Garrison could not wait much longer, could not— “The point!”
Della called from the wheel.
He threw himself over the railing, into the dark water, away from the boat.
The sea was cold. It shocked the breath out of him. He sank, could not find the
surface, was seized by panic, flailed, thrashed, but then broke through to the
air, gasping.
The Amazing Grace was surprisingly close. He felt as if he had been thrashing in
confusion beneath the surface for a minute or more, but it must have been only a
second or two because his boat was not yet far away. The Harbor Patrol was