"Probably tautog. They're thick in that part of the Bay because they feed off the quahogs and scallops. Got teeth in 'em like a gravel crusher. But I also want to do some snooping around and I can't use my boat; they're already on to it. Uh, don't mention this last bit to Mary or Janice, OK?"
DeGroot rattled the cubes in his empty glass and pondered. He said he didn't want anyone shooting at us. I told him there was scarcely a chance of that; we'd be fishermen. So we struck the bargain. Next Thursday we'd head south to Plymouth, then over to Wellfleet and the Bay, then back to Plymouth. It would cost me a small fortune in gasoline, but I felt I had to take one more try.”
Mary and Janice were none too pleased. But we emphasized it was a fishing trip, nothing else. I suggested that Mary stay at DeGroot's during my absence. This was arranged to everyone's satisfaction. My children had let me know their whereabouts, via Brian Hannon's office. Tony, his summer "job" ended, had taken up residence at the home of a girl he'd met at the resort. I phoned him there.
"Do her parents think it's OK?"
"Oh sure," he answered.
"May I speak with one of them please?"
"They're, uh, not here right now."
"Well when are they expected back?"
"Pretty soon. Look I have to-"
"Wait. When is pretty soon? Half an hour?"
"Next month actually."
"'Next month? Where are they?"
"Sri Lanka."
A female voice cut in. It was young and delicious.
"Doctor Adams? Hi! I'm Jennie! Listen there's really nothing to worry about. You see my older brother and his girl are here too and-"
"I'm so glad. You can? t imagine my relief. May I speak with my son alone for a second please?"
"Dad?"
"Look. I'll be brief and direct. Keep it in your pants until you've taken all the pills. Secondly, don't come near the house. You can reach Mother at the DeGroots'. Good-bye."
I called Jack at Woods Hole. He was staying in a dorm at the Biological Station with some friends. He asked if Jim and I were to visit The Breakers, and I told him it was unlikely and for him to stay clear of the place.
Thursday afternoon at one, we left.
Before heading for the Cape Ann Marina I checked Gloucester's main harbor. The Rose was still there, deserted. I called Joe at the Commonwealth Avenue headquarters.
"I take it nothing has happened regarding the Rose."
"Nope. But it will. You have any ideas?"
"No. You remember Jim DeGroot? Well, we're taking off for a few days aboard his boat. Why don't you jot down a few particulars, so in case we don't turn up you'll know where to look. But don't tell Brian Hannon I called you."
"He just called me. Wanted to know where you were. Said he was going to stick to you like Duco."
"Well tell him then; just don't let him bother me. Now take this down, and Mary's number too."
We purred out of the marina by the south route. Plymouth lay forty-five miles to the south, a straight shot. As we passed Marblehead I had an urge to zip into the harbor there. But why? If Schilling were active, we'd never recognize the boat he was using. The only hope we had was to see if by chance we couldn't run across his track in the two places I'd seen him before. In short, we had to forget Salem, Marblehead, Lynn, Swampscott, Boston, Winthrop, Scituate, Cohasset-all the harbors between Gloucester and Plymouth. And I knew the odds of laying eyes on him were remote indeed. If I were him I'd lay low as a hibernating woodchuck for a couple of months. But leaving the Rose in a place where the police were sure to look, that led me to the conclusion that Schilling. wasn't ready to hang up his jersey yet. And there had been a load of firearms in the barn; it was probably moved the night my strange friend and I paid a visit there. Where was that shipment now? Probably on its way overseas on some freighter or fishing vessel. If it was the last shipment perhaps Schilling would reappear and claim the Rose. No, maybe not. That depended on how well he'd covered his tracks.
Jim sat in the cabin instead of up on the flying bridge. It was too cold now for that. He eased the twin throttle knobs forward and the Whimsea lifted herself up out of the water a bit and began to plane. We clipped right along. I stood in the cockpit and watched the wake fan out behind us. The white and turquoise water mixed with the bluish exhaust smoke and rolled away behind us. The engines rumbled and spat and gurgled under my feet.
"Whatcha thinkin?"
I went forward and joined him at the helm. I squinted at a long brownish-red freighter in the distance.
"I'm thinking that James Schilling and I are going to meet face-to-face before very long," I answered. "We've scraped sides twice. I think the next meeting will be definitive."
"Just so I'm not involved in it. If you seek him out, you do so alone."
"Don't. worry. The police and the Coast Guard know where we'll be going; I saw to that. All I want to do right now is slide around the southern end of the Bay and keep my eyes open."
We poured coffee and sat and chatted as he kept the boat headed straight on. We had the VHF on and tuned to channel 16, the distress frequency. Nothing interesting was happening. I switched a couple of times to the commercial bands used by cargo boats and fishermen, and got nothing but the usual technical lingo about course changes, gross weights, ETAs, cruise plans, and the like.
We kept the VHF on for a while. Behind the voices and the static was a constant drone that resembled an aircraft engine, or the rocket ships in the old Flash Gordon movies: "mmmmmmrrrrm·rmmm-vessel taking water-rrrmmmmmmm-snap! Yeah we have her sighted 'bout sixty meters off Spectacle Island snap!-mmmmmmmmmmmrrrr…"
And so on, and on. It got a bit monotonous. We switched to the more lively CB scanner. "fffftttt!… eeeoow!.. fffft!… my port engine's down, come back…" "Jimmy' Hey Jimmy?" "fffft! Yeah. .. said my mother-lovin' port diesel's down. No go-over." "You check out that fuel pump? Come back-" "Don't think that's it-fffft!-Maybe it's the effin' injectors or else I gotta clogged-fffft."' "You gonna stay out, Jimmy?" "Look I'll limp home on the starboard engine. You comin' out or what, come back?" "Soon's I get some bread to top her up. I'm hockin' my old lady's socks right now to get fuel… where are you, come back?" "I got-sszzzznapp! mmmmmmrmnmm… you there? OK, heading due north with Little Gurney Light off my port quarter 'bout three miles-you know where those deep troughs start? Over-" "Yeah, gottcha, good buddy. But look, you get an RDF fix or loran fix and let me know exactly. You shouldn't be effin' around out there with one side down-" "Yeah. I got-ffft.-so when I call you back you'll have it. I'm gone."
Back to the VHF: "-Coast Guard Station in Boston with the latest weather-at two o'clock the temperature is fifty-six degrees and steady, winds south southwest four to six knots, gusting to nine… barometric pressure twenty-nine point seven and falling…seas two to five feet… visibility eight miles and closing. Light fog and drizzle-"
The number of vessels increased dramatically as we passed Boston about eight miles offshore. Especially predominant were larger vessels: freighters and tankers, large trawlers, and a few big yachts. We all intermingled and crossed paths at big distances and continued on our separate ways with remarkable ease. I glassed all the boats continually, especially the medium-length trawlers and smaller powerboats. If I were running guns and had abandoned my boat, I'd want a fast powerboat, like a sport-fisherman. But peering through binoculars at the boats that dotted the sea was a bit futile.
Shortly after three-thirty we were entering the breakwater at Plymouth. We slid around in the big harbor for an hour while I glassed everything in sight from Whimsea's cabin, looking for anything interesting or unusual. We went over to the smaller harbor of Duxbury with the same negative results. Then we cruised around the north side of the big bay across from North Plymouth. I showed Jim the Cowyard, Gray's Beach, and where I'd seen the Rose. We went in real close to the big cordage pier where the draggers were tied up. The boats floated on the still brown water. A man on the wharf came out of a warehouse underneath a big corrugated steel door. He was wheeling a dolly with steel wheels on it. The cart was piled high with cartons and the steel wheels made a racket on the concrete. That was all that was happening.