Cradle. Part 13

Troy stopped for a second to see if Nick and Carol were following him. "Just to make certain I understand." Nick was now walking slowly around the room with the list in his hand, "what you want, or they want if you will, is for us to return to their laboratory or vehicle or whatever it is with all this information plus the lead and gold?" Troy nodded. "But fifty-eight pounds of gold? That's about a million dollars' worth. Where would we get it? And what would they do with it anyway?"

Troy acknowledged that he didn't know the answers to those questions. "But I have the feeling," he added, "again based upon what I think they are telling me, that partially satisfying their needs will make their task that much easier. So I guess we do what we can and hope that it's enough."

Nick shook his head back and forth. "You know, Carol," he said as he handed the list back to her, "never in my wildest flights of imagination could I have concocted such an intricate and crazy scheme. This entire thing is so unbelievable and fantastic that it just begs to be accepted. It's pure genius."

Troy smiled. "So you will help after all?" he asked.

"I didn't say that," answered Nick. "I still have lots of questions. And of course I can't speak for Miss Dawson. But somehow, even if it's all make believe, the idea of playing the good Samaritan for an extraterrestrial ship is very appealing."

During the next half hour both Carol and Nick questioned Troy extensively. Troy dismissed Homer and Greta in a hurry, simply stating that he had agreed on Thursday night to keep them informed about what was happening onboard the Florida Queen in exchange for a short-term loan. He also indicated that he never intended to really give them any information, but that was all right because they were crooks anyway. Nick was not completely satisfied with Troy's explanation. He felt that he was not being told the whole truth.

In fact, the more questions he asked, the more doubt there was in Nick's mind about the entire story Troy was telling. But what are the other options? Nick thought to himself. I have seen that carpet with my own eyes. If it is not an ET, or at least made by one, then it must be a very advanced robot designed by us or the Russians. As he continued to question Troy, Nick's facile mind began to construct an alternative scenario, admittedly wild and improbable, but one that nevertheless explained all the events of the previous three days in a way that Nick found just as reasonable as Troy's crazy story about the alien s.p.a.ce vehicle.

Suppose somehow Troy and that t.u.r.d Homer are working with the Russians. And this entire thing is just an elaborate cover for a rendezvous where illegal information will be pa.s.sed. Homer would do anything for money. But why would Troy do it? Having Troy partic.i.p.ate in a scheme to sell U.S. secrets to a foreign country was the acknowledged weakness in Nick's alternative explanation, but he rationalized it by convincing himself that perhaps Troy needed a lot of extra money to pay for all the electronic equipment in his computer game.

He certainly couldn't have saved enough money from his paltry salary, Nick continued thinking. So suppose these computer discs of Troy's have secret military data instead of all that crazy information he just listed. Then the gold could this payoff . Or someone else's. Nick asked several more questions about the gold. Troy admitted he did not understand very well what they were telling him, through the bracelet, about why they needed the lead and the gold. He just mumbled something about those two elements being difficult to produce by trans.m.u.tation and then added nothing else.

For her part, Carol grew more and more convinced that the story Troy was telling was true. His inability to answer all the questions did not disturb her; as a matter of fact, given the rather fantastic nature of his story, if he had had pat answers to all the questions, she would have felt less a.s.sured of its truth. Despite her critical journalistic background, she found herself intrigued and a little enchanted by the idea that some superaliens from another world needed her help.

Carol's intuition was just as important as her rational thought processes in the formation of her opinion. First of all, she trusted Troy. She watched him very carefully when he answered the questions and did not see the slightest indication that he was lying. She had no doubt that Troy believed he was telling the truth. But whether Troy was indeed telling the truth, or was instead being manipulated and directed by the very ETs that he was purporting to represent, was another issue altogether. But for what purpose? she reasoned. There's not much that the three of us can do for them. Even the information they requested, except for the weapons stuff, is relatively innocuous. She temporarily set aside the notion that her friend Troy had become some kind of p.a.w.n for the aliens.

Carol could tell that Nick was growing more suspicious. Nick thought it was very peculiar that there were three Navy divers in the water at the exactly correct location when one of the carpets ushered Troy to the surface. And Troy's report of the interrogation process after they had flown him to Key West was so confused that Nick became exasperated again.

"Christ, Jefferson," he said, "you either have a very short or a very convenient memory. You tell us that the Navy kept you in custody for almost an hour, yet you hardly remember any of their questions and have no idea why they were interrogating you. That just doesn't sound right to me."

Troy was becoming a little angry. "s.h.i.t, Nick, I told you that I was tired. I had been through a traumatic experience. Their questions didn't make sense to me. And the entire time I felt as if a little voice was trying to make itself heard inside my head."

Nick turned to Carol. "I think I'm changing my mind. I don't want to play in this game, no matter how clever it is. Homer and Greta annoy me, but I can deal with them if it's necessary. On the other hand, the Navy scares me. There was some reason they were following us. It's just too d.a.m.n unlikely to be a coincidence. Maybe Troy knows something about it and maybe he doesn't. I can't tell. But I don't like the smell of it."

He stood up to leave. Carol motioned for Nick to sit down and took a deep breath. "Look, you two," she said in a low voice. "I have a confession to make. And it seems as if this is the perfect time to make it I did not come down here to Key West to look for whales." She glanced at Nick. "And not for treasure either. I came here to check out a rumor that a new Navy missile had gone astray and crashed in the Gulf of Mexico." She paused several seconds to let her message register. "I probably should have told you earlier. But I never found the right time. I'm truly sorry."

"And you thought the missile was in the fissure," said Troy a few seconds later. "Which was why you came back yesterday."

"We were going to salvage it for you and give you a worldwide scoop," added Nick, his feeling of betrayal softened somewhat by the obvious sincerity of her apology. "You were using us all the time."

"You could call it that," Carol conceded, "but as a reporter, I don't see it that way." She noticed the tension in the room. Nick seemed especially guarded. "But now it doesn't matter anyway," she continued. "What is important is that I have given an explanation for the Navy's presence at the dive site. During the last two days I have made several inquiries at all levels about the clandestine activities that the Navy currently has underway to search for the missile. Last night that Mexican lieutenant got a good look at our best close-ups of the missile in the fissure. Undoubtedly someone put two and two together."

"Look, angel," Troy spoke after another short silence, "I don't know anything about a missile. And too much is going on for me to be hurt because you lied to me. I'm sure you had your reasons. What I need to know now is whether or not you will help me take this stuff back to the ETs or aliens or whatever you want to call them."

Before Carol could answer, Nick stood up again and started walking toward the door. "I'm very hungry," he announced, "and I want to think through this entire situation. If you don't mind, Troy, I'll have an early supper and meet you later on tonight with my answer."

Carol realized that she also was extremely hungry. It had been a long, exhausting day and she had not eaten anything significant since breakfast. She was also a little concerned about Nick's response to her confession. "Why don't I join you for a bite?" she said to Nick. He gave a noncommittal shrug, as if to say suit yourself. Carol gave Troy a hug.

"Let's all meet at my room in the Marriott around seven-thirty. I have to go there anyway to dress for my interview with the triple creeps. You guys can give me some pointers."

Her humor did not lighten the atmosphere in the room. Troy was clearly worried about something. His face was very earnest, almost stern. "Professor," he said to Nick in a soft and deliberate monotone, "I know I didn't have all the answers to your questions. I don't even have the answers to my own. But I do know one thing for certain. Nothing like this has ever happened on the Earth before. At least not in recorded history. The creatures who built that s.p.a.ceship are, when compared to us, as we would appear to the ants or the bees if they could comprehend us. They have asked the three of us for help in repairing their vehicle. To say that this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity would be a colossal under-statement.

"It would be great if we could sit around and debate this issue for weeks or even months. But we can't. Time is running out. The Navy is certain to find them soon, maybe they have already, with possibly dire circ.u.mstances for the human beings on this planet. They have made it clear to me that their mission must be fulfilled, that they must repair their vehicle and continue their voyage, even if they must interfere with the Earth system to achieve their goal.

"I know all this sounds incredible, maybe even absurd. But I am going to collect some lead weights from my diver friends and pick up the compact discs at the library. With or without your help, I want to be over their s.p.a.ceship at dawn tomorrow."

Nick studied Troy very carefully during this speech. For an instant in the middle, it seemed as if it were not Troy speaking at all, but someone or something else speaking through him. An eerie chill raced down Nick's spine. s.h.i.t, he thought. I'm as bad as they are. I'm now caught up in this thing too. He gestured to Carol to follow him and walked out the door.

7.

As I have told you twice before?" the voice sounded tired and bored, "I was out diving with my friends, Nick Williams and Carol Dawson. She had a problem with her equipment and decided to make a quick return to the boat. We had found a particularly interesting reef, with some very unusual features, and we weren't certain we would be able to locate it again. So I decided to stay and wait for her to come back. When I finally surfaced half an hour later, there was no sign of them or the boat."

The recorder clicked off. The two lieutenants stared at each other. "s.h.i.t, Ramirez, do you believe that b.a.s.t.a.r.d's story? Any part of it?" The other man shook his head. "Then why the h.e.l.l did you let him go? That black s.h.i.ta.s.s sat there for an hour, making fools out of us with ridiculous answers to our questions. and then you summarily released him."

"We can't detain someone without positive evidence of wrong doing," responded Ramirez, as if he were quoting from a military manual. "And swimming in the ocean ten miles from the nearest island, although strange, does not const.i.tute wrong doing." Ramirez could see that his colleague was scowling. "Besides, he never slipped up. He always told exactly the same story."

"The same bulls.h.i.t, you mean." Lieutenant Richard Todd leaned back in his chair. The two men were sitting around a small conference table in an old room with white plaster walls. The tape recorder was on the table in front of them next to an empty ashtray. "He didn't even believe his own story. He just sat there, that c.o.c.ky grin on his black face, knowing that we couldn't charge him with anything." Todd put all four of his chair legs back on the floor and pounded the table for emphasis. "An experienced diver would never stay down by himself for five minutes, much less thirty. Too many things could go wrong. As for his friends, why the h.e.l.l did they leave him?" Now Todd stood up and made gestures in the air with his hands. "I'll tell you why, Lieutenant. Because they knew he was all right, that he had been picked up by a Russian submarine. s.h.i.t, I told you we should have taken one of the new vessels. We probably could have spotted the sub with the upgraded electronic gear."

Ramirez was playing idly with the gla.s.s ashtray while Todd was giving his lecture. "You really believe that those three are involved with the Russians in this, don't you? It sure seems farfetched to me."

"f.u.c.king A," replied Todd, "nothing else makes even a t.i.ttle sense. Every engineer we have talked to says there are no conceivable failures that are consistent both with the observed behavior of the missile and the telemetry we received at our tracking stations. So the Russians must have commanded it off course."

Todd grew excited as he explained the rest of the plot. "The Russians knew they would need some local help to find the exact location of the missile in the ocean, so they hired Williams and crew to search for the bird and then tell them where it was. They planned to pick it up with one of their subs. Adding that Dawson woman to their team was a master stroke; her inquiries have slowed down our own search by making us more concerned about the press."

Lieutenant Ramirez laughed. 'You always sound convincing, Richard. But we still do not have even one shred of evidence. I don't believe Troy Jefferson's story any more than you do, but there could be many reasons why he lied, only one of which is any of our business. Besides, there still is a fundamental problem with your explanation. Why would the Russians go to all this trouble just to seize a Panther missile?"

"You and I and even Commander Winters may not know the true story of the Panther missile," Todd countered quickly. "It may be designed to carry some new breakthrough weapon that we haven't even heard about. It's not all that unusual for the Navy to represent a project falsely and to keep its true purpose hidden." He stopped to think. "But what's motivating the Russians is not that important to us. We have evidence of a conspiracy here. Our job is to stop it."

Ramirez did not reply right away. He continued to push the ashtray around on the table. "I guess I no longer view it that way," he said at length, gazing directly at Todd. I see no substantial evidence of any conspiracy. Unless Commander Winters himself orders additional work from my department, I am abandoning my investigation." He looked at his watch. "At least I can still spend Sat.u.r.day night and Sunday with my family." He rose to leave.

"And what if I bring you proof?" Todd asked, making no effort to hide his disgust with Ramirez.

"Proof will convince Winters as well," Ramirez answered coldly. "I have taken enough risk on this project. I will not take any more action unless instructed by the proper authority."

Winters wasn't really certain he would find something appropriate. Ordinarily, he carefully avoided shopping malls, especially on a Sat.u.r.day afternoon. But while he had been lying on the couch, watching one of the NCAA basketball games and sipping a beer, he had remembered how pleased he had been when Helen Turnbull, who had played Maggie, had given him a set of unusual tile coasters after the opening weekend of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. "It's a fading tradition in the theater, I fear," the experienced actress had said when he thanked her, "but giving small presents after the opening night or nights is still my way of congratulating those people I have enjoyed working with."

The mall was crowded with Sat.u.r.day shoppers and Commander Winters felt oddly conspicuous, as if everyone were looking at him. He walked around for several minutes before he even thought about what kind of gift he might get for her. Something simple of course, he thought. Nothing that could be misinterpreted. Just a nice memento or souvenir. He saw Tiffani in his mind's eye as she had appeared in his fantasy just before he had fallen asleep the night before. The image embarra.s.sed him in the shopping crowd and he nervously called up another picture, this one wholesome and acceptable, of the little girl Tiffani during his conversation with her father. Her hair, he thought, remembering the pigtails. I'll buy her something for her hair.

He walked into a gift shop and tried to make some sense out of the jumble of bric-a-brac that lined the walls and was a.s.sembled on top of an a.s.sortment of tables in no identifiable pattern. "Can I help you?" Winters jumped when a salesgirl approached him from behind. He shook his head. Now why did you do that? he said to himself. Of course you need help. Otherwise you'll never find anything.

"Excuse me, young lady," he almost shouted at the retreating salesgirl, "I guess I could use some advice. I want to buy a present." Winters again felt as if everyone were watching him. "For my niece," he added quickly.

The salesgirl was a brunette, about twenty, very plain, but with an eager face. "Did you have anything in mind?" she asked. Her hair was long, like Tiffani's. Winters relaxed a little.

"Sort of," he said. "She has beautiful long hair. Like yours. What could I get her that would be really special? It's her birthday." Again he felt a strange anxiety that he did not understand.

"What color?" the girl asked.

The question didn't make sense. "I don't even know yet what I want," he replied with a puzzled expression, "so I certainly don't know the color."

The salesgirl smiled. "What color is your niece's hair?" she said very slowly, almost as if she were speaking to a mental r.e.t.a.r.d.

"Oh, of course," Winters laughed. "Reddish-brown, auburn," he said. "And it's very long." You said that already, a voice whispered inside of him. You are acting like a fool.

The salesgirl motioned for him to follow her and they walked back to the rear of the store. She pointed at a small round gla.s.s case full of combs of all shapes and sizes. "These would make excellent gifts for your niece," she said. There was an inflection in her voice when she said the word "niece" that bothered Winters. Could she know something? One of her friends? Or maybe she was at the play? He took a breath and calmed himself. Again Winters was astounded by the volatility of his emotions.

On one of the small shelves were two beautiful matching brown combs with gold filigree across the top. One of the combs was large enough to hold all that magnificent hair in a chignon against her neck. The other smaller comb was a perfect size to adorn the side or back of her hairstyle. "I'll take those," he said to the girl, "the ones with the gold work along the top. And please giftwrap them for me."

The efficient salesgirl reached inside the display case and pulled out the combs. She told Winters to wait a couple of minutes while she wrapped the present. She disappeared into the back of the store and winters was left alone. I'll leave them on her dressing table at the end of intermission, he was thinking. He conjured up a picture of Tiffani going into the dressing room, by herself, and finding the present under her nameplate against the mirror. Winters smiled as he imagined her reaction. At that moment a woman with her eight- or nine-year-old daughter brushed by him in the store. "Pardon me," the woman said, without looking around, as she and the little girl rushed to finger some Easter baskets hanging on the wall.

The salesgirl had finished wrapping the present and was standing next to the computer cash register. When Winters reached the counter, she handed him a small card that had "Happy Birthday" imprinted on the upper left corner. Winters stared at it for a few seconds. "No," he said finally. "No card. I'll buy another at the stationery store."

"Cash or charge?" the girl asked him.

Winters panicked for a moment. I don't know if I have enough cash on me, he thought. And how would I ever explain the charge to Betty? He opened his wallet and counted his money. He smiled at the girl and said "Cash, please" when he realized that he had almost fifty dollars. The bill was only thirty-two dollars, including the tax.

Commander Winters felt a rush of Joy as he nearly skipped out of the store. His earlier nervousness had completely disappeared. He even began to whistle just before he pushed open the door and left the enclosed air-conditioned environment of the mall. I hope she likes the combs, he said to himself. Then he smiled again. I know she will.

8.

NICK poured the last of the bottle of Chablis into Carol's gla.s.s. "I don't think I could ever be a journalist," he said. "To be successful it sounds to me as if you have to be a sneak."

Carol moved a piece of broiled catfish mixed with some cauliflower onto her fork and put the bite in her mouth. "It's not that much different from any other job. There are always questions of ethics, as well as places where your personal and professional lives come into conflict. " She finished chewing her food and swallowed before she continued. "I had thought that maybe I would tell you and Troy on Friday evening. But things just didn't work out, as you know."

"If you had," Nick pushed his plate away to indicate that he was finished with his meal, "then everything would have been different. I would have been aware of the possible danger and most likely it would have been you and I in that place together. Who knows what might have happened then."

"I've had worse conflicts before." Carol took a drink from her gla.s.s of wine. She wanted to finish with this subject. In her way. "Right after I graduated from Stanford, I worked for the San Francisco Chronicle. I was dating Lucas Tipton a little at the time that the Warrior drug scandal broke. I used the social contacts I had made through him to obtain a unique slant on the story. Lucas never forgave me. So I'm used to problems. They go with the territory."

A waiter came by and poured them some coffee. "But now that I have finished apologizing, for the third time," Carol said pointedly, "I hope we can go back to more important matters. I must tell you, Nick, that I find your Russian plot idea absolutely off the wall. The weakest element is Troy. There's simply no way he could be a spy. It's preposterous."

"More preposterous than a super-alien s.p.a.ce vehicle in need of repairs at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico?" Nick countered stubbornly. "Besides, I have a definite motive. Money. Did you see all the equipment he has wrapped up in that computer game?"

"Angie probably makes enough off her royalties in one week to cover all that computer stuff," Carol replied. She reached across the table and put her hand on Nick's forearm. "Now don't overreact, but you know there are some relationships where the woman carries the financial load. I can tell that she loves him. There's no doubt in my mind that she would offer to help him."

"Then why did he try to borrow money from me and then Captain Homer on Thursday night?"

"h.e.l.l, Nick, I don't know." Carol was becoming slightly frustrated. "But it's irrelevant anyway. I can't imagine any set of conditions, unless I was convinced that I was going to be killed, that would prevent my going back out there with Troy. Whatever the truth is, it is certainly a sensational story. I'm surprised you are so hesitant. I thought you were an adventurer."

Carol stared directly across the table at Nick. He thought he saw a flicker of flirtation hiding behind her unwavering gaze. You are one fascinating woman, he thought. And you're taunting me a little now. I caught your double meaning. He remembered how good he had felt when he held her on the boat in the afternoon. Underneath that aggressive veneer is another person. Beautiful and intelligent. Hard as nails one minute and a vulnerable little girl the next. Nick was certain that any hope he might have of continuing his relationship with Carol was dependant on his helping Troy. She wasn't interested in men who were not willing to take chances.

"I used to be," Nick finally replied. He twirled his empty wine gla.s.s in his hand. "I don't know what happened. I guess I got stung a couple of times and that has made me more cautious. Particularly where people are concerned. But I will admit that if I stand back from this situation and imagine myself as simply an observer, I find the whole affair absolutely fascinating."

Carol finished her wine and put the gla.s.s back on the table. Nick was quiet. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop and smiled. "Well," she said, fixing him with her eyes and picking up her coffee cup, "have you made a decision?"

He laughed. "Okay. Okay. I'll do it." Now it was his turn to reach out and touch her arm. "For lots of reasons."

"Good," she remarked. "Now that something has been decided, why don't you help me prepare for my interview with Captain Homer and the crew. How much was the stuff worth that you pulled up from the Santa Rosa? And who was Jake? I must act as if I'm serious about this story." Carol put her fountain pen tape recorder on the table and turned it on.

"We officially cleared a little over two million dollars. Jake Lewis and I each received ten percent, Amanda Winchester was reimbursed for the expense advance plus twenty-five percent of the profit. Homer, Ellen and Greta kept the rest." Nick stopped but Carol indicated for him to continue. "Jake Lewis was the only close friend I have ever had as an adult. He was an absolute peach of a person, honest, hard-working, intelligent, and loyal. And completely naive. He fell for Greta like a ton of bricks. She manipulated him completely and then used his love to her own advantage."

Nick looked away, out the window of the small seafood restaurant, at some seagulls who were soaring over the water in the fading twilight. "The night we came back with the big haul, Jake and I agreed that one of the two of us would always be awake. Even then there was something peculiar in the Homer-Ellen-Greta triangle. At that time they were not yet all living together, but I still didn't trust them. While Jake was supposedly on watch, Greta balled his brains out. 'To celebrate,' he said, when he apologized to me for falling asleep afterwards. When I woke up, more than half of the treasure was gone."

Anger long buried was seething in Nick. Carol watched him carefully, noting the intensity of his pa.s.sion. "Jake didn't give a s.h.i.t about the money. He even tried to talk Amanda and me out of going to court. That's the kind of guy he was. I remember he told me, 'Hey, Nick, my friend, we made two hundred thousand apiece out of this. We cannot prove there was more. Let's just be thankful and get on with our lives.' Homer had cheated him and Greta had s.h.i.t all over him, but Jake still wasn't p.i.s.sed. Not much more than a year later, he married a water ski queen from Winter Haven, bought a house in Orlando, and went to work as an aeros.p.a.ce engineer."

The light was vanishing outside. Nick was deep in a memory, recalling the full measure of his storm of righteous indignation from eight years before. "I've never understood them," Carol said quietly. She switched off the recorder. Nick turned and looked at her, a quizzical frown on his face. "You know," she added, "the people like your friend Jake. Infinite resiliency. No harbored grudges. Whatever happens to them they just shake off, like water, and go on living. Cheerfully." It was her turn to feel a little emotion. "Sometimes I wish I could be more like that. Then I wouldn't be afraid."

They stared at each other in the soft light. Nick put his hand over hers. And there's that vulnerable little girl again. He felt a deep emotional longing stirring in his heart. She's let me see it twice in a single day. "Carol," he said gently, "I want to thank you for this afternoon. You know, for sharing your feelings with me. I feel like I saw an entirely different Carol Dawson."

"You did," she said, smiling and making it clear that her protective shield was going up again. "And only time will tell if it was a huge mistake." She pulled her hand slowly away from his "For the moment, though, we have other business. Back to the menage a trois. What kind of facility is it that they manage and what do they do there?"

"Excuse me?" replied Nick, obviously confused.

"A friend of mine, Dr. Dale Michaels of the Miami Oceanographic Inst.i.tute, told me that Captain Homer and Ellen have some kind of high-tech operation here. I don't remember exactly how he described it - "

"You must be mistaken," Nick interrupted. "I have known them for almost ten years and they are never anywhere except in that fancy house of his or onboard the Ambrosia."

Carol was puzzled. "Dale's information is always correct. He just told me, yesterday in fact, that Homer Ashford had field tested the inst.i.tute's most advanced underwater sentries throughout the last five years and that his reports - "

"Hold it. Hold it." Nick was leaning forward on the table. "I'm not sure I'm following you. Back up. This could be very very important."

Carol started again. "One of MOI's newest product areas is underwater sentries, robots, essentially, that protect aquaculture farms from sophisticated thieves as well as large fish or whales. Dale said that Homer contributes money for the research and then field tests the prototypes - "

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h." Nick was standing up. He was bursting with excitement. "How could I have been so stupid? Of course, of course."

Now Carol was lost. "Would you mind telling me what's going on?"

"Certainly," Nick answered. "But right now we're in a hurry. We have to go by my apartment to look at an old map and pick up another navigation system for the boat. I'll explain everything on the way."

Nick put his key card in the reader and the garage door opened. He pulled his Pontiac into his reserved spot and stopped the car. "So you see," he was saying to Carol, "he knew that we wouldn't find anything. He let us search both his house and the lot that he had bought for his new mansion, down at Pelican Point. We found nothing. At that time it was still hidden somewhere out in the ocean."

"Did you look in the water around his new property at that time?"

"Yes, we did. Jake and I each dove there, on separate days. We found a very interesting subterranean cave, but no sign of any of the Santa Rosa treasure. But we must have given him the idea. I bet he moved the stuff there a year or two after Jake left. He probably figured it was safe by then. And he had doubtless worried himself sick that someone would discover the treasure out in the ocean. You see, it all fits. Including his involvement with underwater sentries."

Carol nodded and laughed a little. "It certainly makes better sense than your idea that Troy was working for the Russians." They opened the doors and climbed out of the car. "So how much do you think they have left?" Carol asked as they headed for the elevator.

"Who knows?" Nick answered. "Maybe they stole three million out of five." He thought for a minute. "They must still have a bunch. Otherwise Greta would have split by now."

The elevator doors opened and Nick pressed the b.u.t.ton for the third floor. Carol heaved a big sigh. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"I'm exhausted," she said. "I feel as if I'm on a carousel that's spinning faster and faster. So much has happened in the last three days. I'm not sure I could deal with much more. What I need now is a second wind."

"Magic days," Nick replied as they walked out of the elevator. "These are magic days."

She looked at him with a curious expression. He laughed. "I'll explain an old theory of mine later," he said. He entered a sequence of numbers into the small plate on his door and the lock disengaged. Nick moved to the side with feigned gallantry and let Carol enter first. What she saw was chaos.

The place was a total shambles. In the living room, just beyond the kitchen area, all of Nick's precious novels had been scattered randomly about on the floor, the couch, and the chairs. It looked as if someone had taken each book out of the bookcase, held it up and shook it (trying to find loose papers perhaps), and then either dropped it or thrown it across the room. Nick pushed by Carol and stared at the destruction. "s.h.i.t," he said.

The kitchen had been plundered as well. All the drawers were open. Pots, pans, and tableware were strewn on the counters and on the floor. To Nick's right, the cardboard boxes containing his memorabilia had been pulled into the middle of the second bedroom. Their contents had been partially dumped onto the floor around them.

"What hurricane hit this place?" Carol asked as she surveyed the mess. "I didn't expect you to be a good house-keeper, but this is ridiculous."

Nick was unable to laugh at Carol's comment. He checked the master bedroom and found that it also had been ransacked. He then returned to the living room and started picking up his beloved novels and stacking them neatly on the coffee table. He winced when he found his worn copy of L'Etranger by Albert Camus. The spine of the book was destroyed. "This is not the work of vandals," he said as Carol knelt down to help. "They were searching for something specific."