aboard who witnessed this?” Bishop asked.
“Dino Bacchetti, who is the police commissioner of New York City. His wife, Vivian, who is the executive vice president of Strategic Services. And the abandoned helicopter crew, who turned out to be a Key West police detective who was running drills with the Coast Guard. There were also the yacht’s captain and four crew. My secretary will give you their names and contact information.”
“And did you happen to notice the airplane’s cargo?”
“Yes, fleetingly.”
“Describe it.”
“A dozen or so aluminum suitcases, secured with cargo netting.”
“And did you bring it aboard?”
“No. The following morning, the Key West detective and I put on SCUBA gear and went down for a look at it. The cargo was gone.”
“And do you have a theory about how it departed or where it went?”
“Around sunset the day before, another motor yacht arrived and moored at the other end of the lagoon. During the night, we heard some noises, so we assumed they took charge of the cargo. They were gone by the time we did our dive.”
“Name and description of the other vessel?” Bishop asked.
“Fifty to sixty feet, dark color, maybe black, we didn’t get a look at her name.”
“And what did you do with the cargo?” Bishop asked.
“That is a non sequitur, and I won’t address it further.”
Bishop looked pained. “And of what did the cargo consist?”
“Never got a look at the inside of the cases. Anything else?”
“Let me put it another way. You and your friends must have discussed it among yourselves. Did you reach any conclusions?”
“We did, and we concluded that we don’t have a clue.”
“Two police officers and two formers, and you couldn’t come up with anything?”
“No. Apparently, all of federal law enforcement put together hasn’t, either. And surely, you’re collectively smarter than we are.”
“What did you do after that?”
“We departed for Key West the following morning, arrived four hours later, and went our separate ways.”
“Which were?”
“The detective returned to duty, and the other three of us flew to Miami for the Democratic Convention.”
“For what purpose?”
“For the purpose of attending the convention,” Stone said.
“And who did you see there?”
“We gave a dinner aboard for the secretary of state, by that time, the Democratic nominee, and, I don’t know, thirty or so large contributors. Anything else, gentlemen?”
“I have to say, Mr. Barrington,” Bishop said, “all this doesn’t make any sense to us.”
“Welcome aboard, it doesn’t make any sense to me, either. Is there anything else, gentlemen?”
“Not for the present.” They got to their feet.
“Good. Now you can go back out into the rain and get wet like everybody else.”
The feds departed.
39
Stone dialed Max Crowley’s cell number, and she answered immediately.
“Howdy, stranger.”
“Howdy, yourself, Max. What the hell is going on down there?”
“Key West is as quiet as I’ve ever seen it. What are you talking about?”
“I’ve just had two ATF agents in my office, wasting half my afternoon, wanting to know every little thing about the events at Fort Jefferson, and it was clear from the outset that they knew absolutely nothing about them, which means they hadn’t talked to anyone in Key West, like you.”
“That is kind of weird,” Max said. “The only contact I’ve had with the feds is to call the local FBI SAC, who finally provided the serial numbers of the airplane and engine and the name of the owners, which I already had.”
“Why would the feds have any interest in this business, anyway?”
“Oh, they were interested enough to salvage the remains of the airplane and move everything to their hangar at Opa Locka Airport.”
“I should think this was a Coast Guard matter, wouldn’t you?”
“You’d think,” Max replied. “I’m as baffled at the feds’ interest as you are.”
“Did you ever find the pilot, Dix, after his decampment from the hospital?”
“Funny you should mention that,” she said. “We found him landing the replacement aircraft—which I assume his employers had bought him—at a grass strip a couple of Keys up, and had a chat with him. We got nada, and he wasn’t committing a crime, so we couldn’t arrest him.”
“Anything of interest on the airplane?”
“Absolutely nothing. Tommy and I are back in the stolen bicycle business. By the way, I had a lovely time in L.A., and I think the Mercedes looks stunning in that setting.”
“So did I, and I agree. When can we repeat the experience in New York?”
“When can we repeat it in Key West? It’s your turn, and you fly more comfortably than I.”
“You have a point, but I’m embroiled at the moment in a