"Your captain will be back-"

"I know, I know. And your buddies will be looking for you all the way from Chelsea to the Dover cliffs. But I just told my crew that the damn engine in this boat is acting up again. And my unreliable steering column-I meant to have it repaired in Nantucket. It would be a terrible thing if I lost control and it crashed up on the rocks," he said, pausing to glance down at me. "With one of us still aboard."

There had to be a knife or bottle opener or sharp-edged object in some compartment or other. Everything seemed to be stowed tightly in place, and I saw nothing loose that I could grasp for protection.

Hoyt went on. "I just told the captain that you insisted on seeing the Statue of Liberty up close. So this excursion will be, after all, your very own idea, Alex. That's the way he'll tell it."

I was sitting in a puddle now, and when Hoyt dipped the boat on its side to throw me off-guard from time to time, I shivered from my thighs to my shoulders as the cold water saturated my clothing.

With one hand, he unlatched a drawer beneath the windshield and reached in, removing a short length of rope and dangling it in front of my face.

Paige Vallis. What had Squeeks told me about her cause of death? She'd been strangled by some kind of ligature. Probably a thin rope.

Hoyt let go of the wheel for a few seconds while he made a sailor's knot, deftly, as if he'd done it hundreds of times before. Maybe even in the laundry room of Vallis's apartment building. Again he let it swing before my eyes.

"What was it that changed your mood, Alex? What did the detective tell you that seemed to frighten you so terribly?"

"Nothing scared me. I-uh, I was just worried about Mike. He was talking to me about Mike Chapman. Nobody's heard from him since he ran off after Andrew Tripping. Mercer's concerned, too."

Hoyt grabbed a handful of my hair in his left hand and smashed my head backward against the edge of the cockpit door.

"Lying never helps, Alex. You're smart enough to know that. I heard you say the name Fabian. Now why in the world would you be talking about him right now?"

I didn't answer. I had found the man who was the missing link between the two murders-McQueen Ransome and Paige Vallis.

"Something the friendly detective said shocked you. Why don't you slip this rope over your ankles while you think about telling me what it was exactly?"

He lowered the noose and I fumbled at putting my feet through the opening. Though I was a very strong swimmer, I couldn't do anything if I went into the water with a restraint around my legs.

"I thought about putting it over your neck instead, but then if one of us survives this little accident-and surely one of us will-I wouldn't want to have to explain those burn marks that would have been on your throat." Hoyt pulled up on the end of the rope and it tightened over the cuff of my pants, jerking me closer to him and lashing my head against the boat's floor.

My hands were free, and I thought about striking at his knees to bring him down with me. But the cord on my legs limited my mobility, and although he was shorter than I, he seemed to be strong-and determined.

"So you were saying to Mr. Wallace-something about a photograph and a boy-possibly Fabian Ransome?"

I couldn't speak. I didn't know what kind of answer Hoyt was looking for.

"Now's the time to talk," he said, lifting his leg to deliver a swift kick to my side. "Heard you're never at a loss for words in the courtroom."

I looked up at him, everything coming into focus. "So you're the one paying for Tiffany Gatts's lawyers. You're the one she's afraid will have her killed if she talks."

He was weaving between a ferry and some smaller boats, maneuvering through heavier traffic as we got down to Battery Park City and its busy marina, nearing the southern tip of Manhattan.

I could see the majestic statue of Lady Liberty straight ahead of us, green copper skin glinting in the sunlight, her torch raised high as she appeared to be striding forward. She loomed over the harbor, welcoming the tired, poor, and huddled masses, her "mild eyes," as Lazarus described them, blind to my dilemma.

I thought of the image of Liberty on the face of the Double Eagle. Was I going to die because of a useless twenty-dollar piece of gold?

Hoyt was clear of some of the traffic and ready to talk again.

"All this for what?" I asked. "You and Peter Robelon are both chasing after the same thing, aren't you?"

"Don't spend too much of your time thinking, Alex. You should be admiring the view."

"I can figure out Tiffany's role in this. Tiffany and Kevin Bessemer. Who's Spike Logan working for? Which of you sent that bastard after me?"

"Watch how you speak of the dead."

I looked up at Hoyt.

"The sea is a treacherous place, Alex. I told Spike I'd pick him up in the tender, from Stonewall Beach, the morning after the storm. He seemed to have lost his footing on the swim platform when he tried to get on board. I went to save him with the grappling hook, but-well, I missed the mark."

That must have been just shortly before I saw Hoyt on the Pirate yesterday, gassing up in Menemsha. "You killed him because he didn't bring back what you sent him for?" I was rolling the words slowly off my tongue, trying to understand what had been going on around me. "You killed him because his mission was to get from me whatever it is you think I have?"

"Paige set you up, Alex. Right before she died. I know you've got it."

I could see the seven points in Liberty's diadem, one for each of the world's seas and continents. "That's not true, Graham. She didn't send me anything. She-"

He kicked my side again with the bottom of his shoe. "It's ugly when you dissemble. Think about it. Paige didn't want to die, Alex. She really didn't. She pleaded with me, on her knees, on the cold cement of the basement floor. I gave her one chance, and she told me she sent it to you. Help me, Alex," Hoyt said, patting me on top of my head. "Help yourself."

"What is it, Graham?" I pleaded. "How the hell can I tell you when I don't know what you're looking for?"

We were almost in front of Bedloe's Island now, circling the star-shaped foundation of Fort Wood, on which the great lady stood. I could see the broken shackles at Liberty's feet, and envied her escape from tyranny, when all that held me was a length of rope.

I tried again. "The coin. Is it the Double Eagle you're looking for?"

"Not anymore, Alex."

I put my head in my hands and tried to shake the image that had appeared. I was thinking of the photograph of Queenie and the Tripping boy, taken just before her death. "You took Dulles with you when you killed McQueen Ransome? That's how you-"

Liberty was behind us now, and Hoyt was going full throttle into Upper New York Bay, with Staten Island straight ahead. If he veered left, under the Verrazano to the ocean, I would be running out of shoreline as fast as I was running out of ideas.

"Don't be stupid, Alex. You know how I feel about kids. He just came in for a bit of a tease, to warm the old lady up, remind her of her lost little boy. See if she'd part with her precious gold treasure, which was worthless to her anyway. That's what she'd promised me, as long as I'd bring the kid by every now and then to visit her. Pay some of her expenses. Find her a nicer place to live. Dulles performed like an angel. Then I sent him out to the car, and-"

"And Queenie changed her mind, didn't she?"

"Tough old bird. She struck a hard bargain, then tried to welsh on it. She knew something was up."

"So Kevin and Tiffany were just the fall guys. You sent them to break in later on, and if caught, they'd take the weight for what you had stolen-or who you had killed."

"Every plan needs a backup, Alex. I never intended to hurt Queenie. Why should I? She was playing into my hands. I made a big contribution to the Schomburg just to mount a permanent exhibit of her photographs."