Tomorrow, the caretakers would receive an email informing them that the guest’s plans had changed, and no one would be using the house after all. The company would be asked to return the Ocean Sport to the boathouse, and not a soul would know that Andre had been there.
Andre made his way to the property’s stand-alone garage, behind which was the stolen sedan he’d left there a few days ago. He’d equipped the vehicle with motion activated cameras, so he already knew that no one had stumbled upon it.
Two hours later, he used a stolen badge to let himself into the airline employee parking lot at JFK. He parked the sedan in an empty spot, knowing it would probably be days before anyone noticed the unauthorized vehicle.
Next came the part of his plan he’d been looking forward to the least: the long walk to the AirTrain, which he would take to Jamaica Station, and from there the subway home.
As he started to make his way, he retrieved athrowaway phone from his bag and called the number he’d memorized.
“Yes?” a voice answered.
“It’s done,” Andre said, then hung up.
He popped out the SIM card and broke it in two, then he broke the phone apart and disposed of the pieces one by one.
Chapter 3
Stone grabbed a padded seatfrom one of the yacht’s lounge chairs as it floated by. It wasn’t sturdy enough to use as a raft, but it helped him keep his head above water.
Sometime after, he thought he heard distant voices. He scanned around but saw nothing in the dim starlight. Then the voices stopped, and he wondered if they’d been the result of wishful thinking.
He had no idea how long he’d been clinging to his makeshift float when a rhythmic whooshing sound began echoing off the water. It was low at first, and he wondered if the noise was another delusion. Instead of going away, however, the sound only grew louder and louder.
A light in the sky flared to life and began sweeping across the surface until it landed on Stone.
Something splashed into the water nearby, and the next thing he knew, a pair of men in diving suits appeared beside him.
“You’re going to be okay, sir,” one of them said. “We’re here to help.”
“Are you hurt?” the other asked.
“W-w-what?” Stone said, teeth chattering and mind teetering on the edge of delirium.
One of the men reached into the sky and suddenly had hold of a rope and harness.
“Are you hurt?” the other man asked again, slower and louder this time.
“I-I-I don’t know.”
The one with the rope said, “That’s okay. We’re going to get you out of here.”
“Out of here?” Stone asked. He was having a hard time grasping what the man meant.
The two men maneuvered Stone into the harness.
“You might feel a little jerk, but don’t panic,” one of them said. “Everything is going to be fine.”
The next thing Stone knew, he was yanked into the air and pulled into a helicopter.
A man and a woman, both wearing military-type jumpsuits, helped him out of his life jacket and onto a stretcher. The moment he lay down, exhaustion swept over him, and he could barely keep his eyelids open.
“Sir, can you tell me your name?” the woman asked.
“S-S-Stone B-B-Barrington.”
“Thank you, Mr. Barrington. Are you hurting anywhere?”
“I-I-I don’t know. I can’t f-f-feel anything.”
