"Mat's asleep. I gave him two Thiobarbs and he's snoring like a baby. Unless you need me for something, Mom, I'm going back to bed myself. I figure I've got a couple of hours before half-pint gets up."
"Don't worry about Vickie, son. I think I'll stay home today."
"Thought you were interviewing that geneticist this morning."
Ellery could feel the muscles in her shoulders tightening. In all the chaos, she'd forgotten about her meeting with Bianca Raborman. Under ordinary circumstances, not even the Pope himself could have talked her into calling off this appointment.
"I'll just have to reschedule. Matthew may need—"
"Nothing that I can't handle. You know that. Look, Mom, the best thing for all of us is for you to get that position filled—take some of the load off before we have you out for the count." He started back down the hallway. "So go do your thing. We'll see you whenever."
Ellery tried to suppress the surge of relief that threatened to flood her face. Never one to mince words, her younger son had cut right to the core of it. This morning's interview was important. Try as she might, she could no longer keep up with the Transnational research demands; their projects had doubled this past year and so had the hours—not a schedule she could maintain much longer. Out of all the applications she had received, Bianca Raborman appeared to be the most promising. Today's verbal exam was the last hurdle. If all went well, she would have a new geneticist on staff before noon.
John's right, Ellery thought. Keeping that appointment is the sensible thing to do. Still . . .
Feeling a little guilty, she grabbed a throw blanket off the couch, slung it around her shoulders, and padded across the living room into the kitchen. Coffee pot in hand, she headed for the sink. Flashing lights cast a yellow glow across the counter top. Peering out the window, she spotted three figures dressed head to toe in fluorescent green slickers, hallmark of the San Francisco Water Department. A column of water spewed from an ever-widening crack in the street. Yellow warning lights thrust intermittently through the fog-shrouded area, painting the lawn with bizarre shadows. "Oh, no," she muttered. "Not this morning." Watching the column of water, she turned on the faucet. Pipes gurgled, belched twice. Nothing. Sighing, she set the pot on the counter. So much for coffee. Might as well call Jack and tell him to get the cruiser ready for crossover.
At 6:15 a.m., Ellery boarded the cabin cruiser Pelican and made her way to the bridge. Jack Harmon, the Pelican's captain, looked up. He grinned. "Ellery, if we start leaving any earlier, I'll have to add a bottle of NoDoze to my shopping list."
"I know, Jack. Hang in there, though. These hours won't last much longer."
"Ahhh—that's right. Today's the day you interview that scientist, isn't it?"
"Yes. I just hope I'm not disappointed."
"Lord, so do I." He powered up the motor and eased the cruiser away from the dock. "Coffee's fresh. Want some?"
"Do I ever! We didn't have water this morning. Main line blew." Pouring herself a cupful of the steaming brew, Ellery returned to his side. "How does it look out there?"
"The usual. Nothing we can't get through." Jack Harmon's voice was confidently jovial. Once into San Francisco Bay, he reached over and punched a button on the communication board.
"Pelican Island—Clark, here." Static squealed through the cabin.
"Cruiser One on crossover," Jack said. "You prepared to leave?"
"As we speak. Word of caution, though: Take it easy coming around the south side of the island. Visibility's down to a quarter mile or so and dropping. Wouldn't want to see the Pelican bust up on the rocks. What am I going to find on your side?"
"Same as always this time of year. Nothing to worry about. Thanks for the warning. Pelican out."
Ellery chatted with her helmsman a moment, then settled into a chair on the far wall and lapsed into a comfortable silence. She loved the quiet serenity of the bay in its early morning dress of moisture. Thirty-five years she'd been making this crossing between San Francisco and Pelican Island; more if you counted the childhood times she'd tagged along with Papa Victor. She had never grown tired of the mists, the salty odor that pervaded the air, the sound of water slapping against a boat's hull. Off to their right, a faint horn blast drifted out of the fog; the second launch was passing. Watching wraithlike streamers of fog slide across the boat deck, Ellery sipped at her cup of coffee, her thoughts on Bianca Raborman. In keeping with the morning ritual of crossover, Jack sounded the Pelican's horn in answer and she waved, even knowing Captain Clark couldn't see her.
Stifling a yawn with her hand, she rose, strolled to the window, and peered out.
"Oh, my God," she whispered. A mountain of gray reared upward as far as she could see. "Jack—"
"I see it." Before he could throttle down the engine, the monstrous cloud surged over the bridge of the cruiser like an avalanche of dirt-laden snow.
Ellery stiffened, her fingernails digging into the palms of her hands. Her heartbeat drummed in her head. It was as if they'd been sucked into the maw of a ghostly nightmare. Any minute now, the boat would come to a grinding halt, unable to penetrate further. She was sure of it.
Her gaze shifted to the man beside her. Shoulders hunched, gaze focused on the screen in front of him, the Pelican's captain twisted dials, pressed buttons, and made minute adjustments to the course they followed. His hand swiped at a thin film of moisture beading his upper lip and her heart skipped a beat. If Jack Harmon could break into a sweat, there was nothing ordinary in what now engulfed them. She turned back to the window.
Vague forms seemed to ebb and flow within the cloud surrounding the cruiser: great wings whipped the gray mists into boiling confusion; snakelike tendrils twisted and turned, streamed away from darker chunks that reminded her of hollow-eyed faces. Ellery squeezed her eyelids closed. The Furies themselves, she thought. Avengers, riding into battle. Her hand flew to her mouth, barely stifling a gasp. Her eyes popped open and her jaw went slack. Good God alive. From where in her psyche had that idea surfaced? She was a scientist. There was no room in her brain for such primitive beliefs.
A quick glance outward—the fog was only fog.
Still, the way things were going this morning, why tempt fate? Scientist or no, she didn't have to talk to Bianca Raborman today. She glanced at her watch. If they returned to San Francisco now, she had time to reschedule the meeting.
"Turn the boat around, Jack. This is too dangerous. We'll have to wait until it thins out."
He glanced up and shook his head. "Just as bad behind us, Ellery. Probably worse by now. Besides, we're almost there. We'll make it—don't you worry about that."
Minutes later, the cabin cruiser inched around the south side of Pelican Island and slid into its docking berth. Ellery unclenched her fists and uttered a silent prayer of thanks.
"Forgive me for showing up so early, Jack. Had I known the fog was this dense, I would have stayed home."
Wiping his face with his handkerchief, Jack Harmon grinned. "Sure you would've. When Angels grow horns and Beelzebub flies."
Ellery tried to smile at his attempt to settle her down. "That may be, Jack, but I'll not put any staff member, potential or otherwise, in a position of jeopardy and this fog bank could do exactly that. Radio Captain Clark. Tell him to stay docked at the San Francisco pier until he has clear visibility."
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Ellery. That thing slammed down out of nowhere. Probably has something to do with that deep sea eruption last night. Or maybe the big boss in the sky is trying to slow you down, make you think about what you’re doing to yourself."
"I rather suspect your big boss has better things to do than baby-sit Ellery Jensen, Jack."
"You know what I mean, Ellery. Fatigue creates its own kind of fog bank—stuff happens. One of these days, if you don't slow down and get some rest, your ship's going to plow into the biggest damned mess of rocks you never saw and you'll be too tired to care. You need some R & R."
"But not t
oday. Not tomorrow either. I may be tired, Jack, but I'm not oblivious to what's going on around me. A day off isn't on my calendar."
"You're sixty-five years old, for Christ's sake. Tartarus won't collapse if you miss a day now and then, you know."
"You sound just like my son," she said, glancing at her watch. "Oh, my—it's almost eight o'clock. Leann's going to think I did stay home."
"Yeah, right. When Angels—"
Ellery charged from the bridge, calling out over her shoulder. "Don't forget to radio Captain Clark—and it’s sixty-four not sixty-five. There’s a difference."
"You're too damned stubborn for your own good, Ellery Jensen." His voice boomed behind her as she hurried along the dock toward the stone steps that led to the administration building. "And watch those stairs—they're probably slick."
Ignoring the admonition, Ellery took the steps two at a time, her hand curled loosely around the stair rail, her mind on Jack Harmon, friend as well as cruiser captain. Rocks indeed, she thought. First John and now Jack. Yes she was tired, but she didn’t need advice, she needed help. Didn’t anyone understand that? Breath catching in her throat, she slowed her upward flight. What was wrong with her? Jack wasn’t faulting her. Neither was John. Both worried about her well-being, she knew that. But right now, she needed to focus her energies on research requests, not on how thin her nerves were stretched. Shuddering, Ellery drew her all-weather coat a little tighter to her body, acutely aware of the moisture-laden silence, the seeming absence of everything familiar. It was colder than usual this morning. She'd be glad to get inside.
Seconds later, she pushed open glass entry doors and strode into welcome warmth.
Chapter 2
Ellery
Leann Carter, Ellery's administrative assistant, glanced up and flashed a deep-dimpled smile. Her hands, moving rapidly over sensor pads, stilled. The smile faded.
"You okay?"
"I am now."
Ellery brushed a wisp of damp hair from her cheek, shucked the coat from her shoulders, and folded it neatly across the crook of her arm. "Half way across the bay, the cruiser rammed into a fog bank unlike anything I've ever seen before."
"Uh—rammed, Doctor Jensen?"
"There's no other way to describe it, Leann. It was a nightmare. Jack says it was probably spawned by the Mariana eruption. I still haven't figured out how he kept us off the rocks."
"I suspect that's why you made him the Pelican's captain, Doctor Jensen," the young woman replied, her eyes sparkling. She handed Ellery a stack of envelopes and a gray folder with papers clipped in place. "Doctor Raborman's dossier." She tapped the folder.
"Thanks." Ellery flipped through the envelopes, glanced briefly at each return address, and gave the stack back to her assistant. "Nothing here you can't handle. How's Jerico?" She patted the edge of the desk. "Anything new go into his data banks that I should know about?"
"Not a thing," Leann said with affection, her fingers caressing the sensor pads. She nodded toward the folder in Ellery's hand. "Is she going to make the grade?"
"I'll know today. Although I've heard nothing but glowing praise from her professors and friends, Doctor Raborman comes from old money and people are often influenced by immense wealth whether they admit it or not. I can't afford to take that chance. As my grandfather always said—if it's there, you'll see it. If it isn't, you won't. I want to see it."
"Assuming she comes on staff, will all of the Transnational requests go to her?"
"Eventually."
"Then you'll want Jerico's impress on her file, right?"
"Absolutely." Ellery glanced toward the corridor on the left of Leann's desk. "Did maintenance get the surveillance system repaired?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Mr. Lakeland himself worked on it. He finished about thirty minutes ago."
"Good." Ellery turned toward the corridor. "Buzz me when Doctor Raborman arrives." Halfway down the hall, she made an abrupt turn and returned to Leann's desk.
"I almost forgot. According to the morning news, we're in for a rare treat this evening."
Leann's brow rose questioningly.
"In addition to boiling up my super-sized fog bank, that deep water eruption also created an unusual, slow moving wave pattern—one of the strangest on record. The latest predictions say it’ll funnel up through the Golden Gate and into the bay sometime around 7:30 tonight."
Leann's face grew pale. "Won't that be dangerous?"
"Not per the experts. It should produce some spectacular foam tunnels, though -- a real phenomenon. The rock ledge that juts out behind Lab One is a perfect place to watch from. Interested?"
"Oh, no," Leann said, shaking her head vigorously. "I'm afraid of the ocean, Doctor Jensen. I have nightmares about it all the time." She shivered. "I know it sounds silly, but I don't even like getting on the cruiser. That's why I spend most of my off time in quarters."
"I didn't know that, Leann." Ellery stared at her assistant's frightened eyes. "Doesn't working on the island bother you?"
"Not as long as I don't leave." Again, Leann's dimples flashed. "Which I don't often, I assure you. Thanks for asking me, though."
"That's okay. I'll watch for both of us." The Foundation's director patted Leann's shoulder, turned on her heel, and headed back into the corridor.
In her office, Ellery settled into her oversized chair and studied Bianca Raborman's file one more time. She drew a deep breath, slowly exhaled. Folder in hand, she strolled to the large window behind her desk, watched fog droplets trace crooked paths down the glass. The mist obliterated everything, including the small garden a few feet beyond: the garden she had named Concentration Point because it helped her to focus her mind.
Tapping the dossier against the side of her knee, Ellery mentally ticked off salient points of the woman described therein: impeccable references, impeccable education, impeccable background, impeccable intelligence. So where was the flaw? A gnawing anxiety followed the thought.
A distant foghorn bellowed a warning to ships unseen.
An old sea chantey leapt to the forefront of her mind: Beware ye sailors in the night when a siren sings her song of delight. A warning true for those who hear, a warning false for those who jeer. Beware, ye sailors in the night and hear the tale I tell.
Papa Victor's favorite song.
Long buried memories churned. Grandfather in his lab, his eyes glowing with a strange, frightening light when complex genetic theories proved true, his voice low and ominous as he sang the words. Hands pressed to mouth, she would watch, afraid to speak, aching to see this thing that so changed her Papa Victor. Later, he would invite her to take his seat, would let her once again peer into his microscope to see what he called the one true heaven.
Not until years later did she grasp the import of what she had viewed with such wonderment. Not until Matthew reached puberty did you understand the enormity of Papa's research, she reminded herself. Not until the growth, legacy of Papa's fabricated gene, matured.
She chewed at the sour taste flooding her mouth.
Damn. Now look what you've started, she thought. She knew better than to dwell on her grandfather and his distorted notion of ethical research. Every time she did, she got this scared churning in the pit of her stomach and a sourness in her mouth. His guilt had become her cross and sometimes it was almost more than she could bear.
She forced the memories from her mind.
Let it go, Ellery. Think about Bianca Raborman. She's the here and now. Papa Victor with his obsessions and his songs belong to another time and another place and that's where they'll stay, she thought. As long as she directed the Foundation's activities, Tartarus would never again play host to his brand of research, never again bring shame to the Dakotan name.
A gust of wind rattled the windowpane.
For just a moment, it seemed the fog pressed inward, a thing alive. Reaching out. Grasping.
Ellery stumbled backward, thrusting her hands before her as if holding at bay the ghosts of Tartarus
past. For the first time in her life, the gray mist that enveloped Pelican Island brought none of the mysterious intimacy she so loved; instead, it surrounded her with dread and a sense of danger.
Swearing softly, she whirled and strode back to her desk, Victor Dakota's song a mere breath of sound in her mind. Whether it was too much caffeine, not enough sleep, Matthew's attack, her fear that Doctor Raborman would fail the exam, or all of the above, enough was enough. She had other things to do besides indulge an active imagination. She tossed the dossier onto her desk and sat down. Raborman would be here soon enough. Then all of her questions would be answered.
Chapter 3
Ellery
Ellery could feel her brows pinching together as she studied the report from the disposal division. It was time to have a heart-to-heart with Doctor Xephram. He was losing too many animals.
The amber light on her communication console flashed.
"Yes?"
"Doctor Raborman is here."
"Please bring her down, Leann."
Ellery jotted two short comments next to Xephram's name, closed the report, and placed it in her follow-up basket. She turned her attention to the surveillance screen that monitored the corridor leading to her office and studied the tall woman walking beside Leann. Despite the screen distortion, it was easy to tell that not only was Bianca Raborman attractive, she was also sure of herself. She moved with a sinuous grace unusual for a woman just an inch shy of six feet.
Ellery frowned. There was something feral about that walk, as if a jungle cat had donned human form. Would Raborman be happy caged on this twenty-two acre rock?
When her secretary reached the outer door, Ellery switched off the monitor and thumbed an under-desk button.
The inner door opened.
Rising to greet her guest, she stared up into the blackest eyes she had ever seen; eyes gleaming with mystery, sensuous promise, and something else, something she couldn't define, hiding in their depths.
Shadows in the House With Twelve Rooms Page 2
