Reluctantly, he fell in line behind her.
Isabella propped her front paws on the woman’s shoulders. As they left Union Square, her blue eyes focused on the young man who had followed them through the tunnel.
• • •
RUPERT MET HIS person, Isabella, and Monty at the front door to the Green Vase, his blue eyes eagerly searching for his regular afternoon fried-chicken package. After such a long absence, his stomach had high expectations—no matter that his person had left through the basement instead of the showroom.
He stared with disappointment at the drippy package Monty held in the front doorway.
Chicken imposter, he sniffed sulkily.
• • •
WITH A WEARY sigh, the niece set Isabella and the flashlight on the front cashier counter. She quickly crossed to the basement’s open hatch and slammed the door shut before returning to the front door to take the soggy butcher paper–wrapped bundle from Monty.
Sending Monty on his way, she climbed the stairs to the kitchen, holding the package at arm’s length as she reflected on the journey through the tunnel, the chaos at Union Square, and the sight of Sam and Clive getting into the elevator.
“I’ve missed something,” she said, her forehead wrinkling as she replayed the images once more in her mind.
Still contemplative, she slid the melting package into a large garbage bag and propped it upright in the freezer compartment of her refrigerator.
Much as she wanted to throw the wet heap into the trash bin behind the building, there was no telling when she might need it again, she thought with exasperation—either for feeding a wayward alligator or for throwing it at Monty’s stomach.
• • •
AFTER A THOROUGH hand washing, the niece put a kettle on the stove for a cup of hot tea. A crisp breeze had begun to blow through San Francisco. Even with Isabella pressed up against her chest, the woman had felt chilled by the time she returned to the Green Vase.
Rubbing her arms, which were sore from over an hour’s worth of carrying her cat, the niece wandered into the living room.
At the far end of the couch, she bent down in front of the end table and turned on the switch for the brass lamp.
“How did Sam get involved in this?” the niece pondered as the bulb began to glow, illuminating the exterior scene of the Steinhart Aquarium. The last she’d heard, Sam had been working up in the Sierras with a team of frog researchers.
Slowly, the niece rotated the lamp to the image on the globe’s opposite side. The albino alligator sat on his heated rock inside the Swamp Exhibit, a golden glow surrounding his pale body.
“And what’s it all got to do with Clive?”
• • •
STILL PERPLEXED, THE woman glanced out the front window to see Monty leaving his art studio. He had changed into a fresh suit and tie, and he had slicked his hair back with a thick layer of gel. Given his allergies to the stiffening hair product, she reasoned, he must be heading to a special meeting. Most likely, Monty had an appointment with the Mayor.
Clive’s disappearance had temporarily bumped the interim-mayor discussion from the top of the news feed, but with the board of supervisors scheduled to vote on the matter the following afternoon, the topic would soon retake the headlines—unless, of course, the alligator made another surprise appearance.
As the niece considered the conspicuous overlap in the news stories, she began to wonder whether her uncle’s current caper was about something more than hidden treasure. It wouldn’t be the first time he had meddled with city politics. Given the magnitude of the interim-mayor decision, she reflected, it wouldn’t be surprising if he were trying to influence the outcome.
The kettle whistled from the kitchen, and the woman flicked off the lamp. After a rejuvenating cup of hot tea, she would head over to the Academy of Sciences to see for herself.
Chapter 47
THE MAN IN THE MIRROR
BY MID-AFTERNOON, THE marble corridors at City Hall had started to empty out. Many of the building’s government workers had left their offices a few hours early in preparation for the following night’s festivities.
Thursday’s board of supervisors’ meeting promised to be a long, drawn-out affair. It was expected to last late into the evening. Most of City Hall’s regulars planned on camping out in the supervisors’ chambers until the decision on the mayor’s replacement was finalized, so a preparatory good night’s rest was in order—curled up in front of the television set watching the latest peculiar news on the Academy of Sciences’ missing albino alligator.
But on the east side of City Hall’s second floor, important business was being conducted. The lights were still on in the Current Mayor’s office suite.
• • •
MABEL CARTER, THE Mayor’s long-serving administrative assistant, switched off her computer and reached into the bottom desk drawer for her purse.
After spritzing a squirt of lemony perfume against the sides of her neck, she stood from her chair and turned to stare apprehensively at the heavy wooden door leading to the Mayor’s office.
She really should be clocking out. She was meeting a friend at a restaurant across town, and it would take forever to get there if she got caught in rush-hour traffic.
Mabel glanced down at her watch and then back to the door. She was afraid to leave the reception area without first checking on the Mayor. He had been acting strangely lately—more so than usual.
With a sigh, she tiptoed across the room and leaned against the door for a discreet listen. The Mayor’s even voice resonated through the wood, a steady, reassuring sound. She smiled and gently patted the door with the palm of her hand.
Gripping her purse handle, she took one more note of the time and turned for the exit.
The sooner the Mayor completed his transfer to Sacramento, the better, she thought as she headed down the second-floor hallway, the heels on her sensible dress shoes smartly clicking against the marble.
At the top of the central staircase, she paused and shook her head.
That poor man was still convinced the building was infested with frogs.
• • •
ON THE OPPOSITE side of the heavy wooden door, the Mayor sat at his wide desk, gazing thoughtfully at a mirror mounted onto a nearby wall.
The board of supervisors would be meeting the following day to select his successor. He had a weighty decision to make, and he could delay it no longer.
He had one last card to play, a minute piece of leverage that might just be enough to swing the vote. Earlier that week, the supervisor from the Marina district had approached him about getting his nephew a paid internship in Sacramento. With the current statewide budget crisis, such spots were hard to come by, but the Mayor had managed to find room in his lieutenant governor’s payroll to squeeze in the slot.
Thoughtfully, the Mayor ran a hand over the top of his sculpted hair. He had been subjected to the board’s petty machinations for the last seven years. He knew its members well, and he had learned how to manipulate them.
He had a sneaking suspicion that, if timed correctly, the endorsement by one of the supervisors to just the right kind of candidate might cause the rest to fall in line—if for no other reason than to bring the haggling process to a close.
The Mayor folded his long fingers together contemplatively. After everything he’d been through during his tenure at City Hall, the prospect of going out on such a triumphant note was certainly tantalizing.
The only question now was which interim candidate the Mayor would use the Sacramento internship to support.
• • •
THE MAYOR STARED pensively into the mirror. This was one of the most important decisions of his political career—given his inauspicious future as lieutenant governor, it might be the last important governmental decision he would ever make. He needed to ensure he made the right choice.
He took in a deep breath and then slowly released it.
“Well, there’s Jim H
ernandez,” the Mayor suggested to his reflection. “He was helpful the other day after the alligator incident.”
“Eh,” the reflection replied. Both images grimaced with displeasure.
“I think we can eliminate that option,” the Mayor concluded as the mirrored Mayor nodded in agreement.
“What about the Previous Mayor?” the reflection proposed. “He was, in many ways, your mentor.”
“Yes,” the Mayor agreed with himself. “But, I think the city needs someone new . . . someone who would bring a fresh perspective to the office . . . someone who would still allow me to have some influence here at home while I’m away in Sacramento.”
The reflection paused, stroking his chin with the tip of his finger. “Well, that leaves us just one option.”
“It’s the right selection,” the Mayor said confidently. “I sense it’s the right pick.”
“Shall we tell him together?” the reflection asked.
“Let’s not waste another minute,” the Mayor replied smugly.
• • •
THE MAYOR TURNED to the slender, slick-haired man in a suit, tie, and whimsical cufflinks sitting on the opposite side of his desk.
“What do you say, Carmichael? Are you up for this?”
“It would be my honor, sir,” Monty squeaked with excitement, jumping up from his seat to shake the Mayor’s hand.
• • •
SPIDER JONES LAY flat on his stomach on the wide balcony outside the Mayor’s office. Propping himself up on his elbows, he diligently began taking notes on the meeting he’d just watched on the opposite side of the glass. The open windows above Spider’s head had provided ample audio to the conversation between the Mayor, the Mayor’s reflection, and Mr. Carmichael.
Still amazed at what he had heard and observed, Spider once more peered through the glass as the Mayor picked up the phone and began dialing a number for a residence located in San Francisco’s Marina district.
“Hello, Supervisor? This is the Mayor . . .”
Chapter 48
MORE THAN FROGS
AFTER A SHORT walk through the financial district, Oscar’s niece skipped down a public staircase into one of Market Street’s underground mass-transit hubs, quickly falling in among the jostling crowds of commuters.
The cavernous concrete bunker sank several levels below the street, a network of multiple platforms connected with crisscrossing diagonals of escalators and stairs.
The niece found what she hoped to be the right landing and waited for the N Judah to arrive. A moment later, she took in a deep breath, as if preparing to dive underwater, and squeezed into a standing-room-only Muni car bound for the Sunset district.
The Muni train rolled slowly along, stopping every couple of blocks to let off passengers. As the car began to empty out, the niece took a spot on a plastic bench seat. Slipping her backpack from her shoulders, she pulled out the aquarium book and opened it on her lap.
She flipped through the pages to a black-and-white photograph of the Steinhart Aquarium’s original building, a less colorful rendition of the image than the one she’d discovered embedded in the ceramic shade of the brass lamp.
The Muni car swayed back and forth, weaving around a sharp corner as the woman shifted her attention to a second image on the page. Her fingers ran across the slick paper, tapping on the picture of the Steinhart’s first alligator Swamp Exhibit and the standing seahorse balcony framing its upper rim.
• • •
A WIND WHISTLED through the Sunset’s flat, empty streets as the niece exited the Muni train and set off on the short walk to Golden Gate Park. The blue had begun to drain from the sky, and the air carried the wet scent of a looming fog.
With a shiver, she zipped up her jacket. Hurrying across a busy intersection to the edge of the park, she removed a map from her backpack and unfolded it to show the western half of the city. She was determined, for once, not to get disoriented beneath the park’s thick redwood canopy.
About a hundred yards later, she gave up on the map. She’d always had a poor sense of direction, and this instance was no exception—she had already lost her bearings. She would just have to follow the posted signs to the Academy of Sciences.
• • •
AS THE WOODS closed in around her, the woman tried to imagine the coastal forest where the Bohemian Club had held their secretive meetings.
The campsite where the elder Steinhart brother had found his inspiration for the aquarium would have looked much like the area where she now walked, the ground covered in sound-muffling needles, the air pungent with a musky redwood scent.
Reaching a fork in the trail, the niece stopped and glanced back and forth, trying to choose a direction. A scattered light filtered down through the trees, playing tricks with her mind, changing the scenery from one moment to the next.
It was the perfect setting, she thought as she threw up her hands and set off down the right-hand path, for pitching such a daunting plan. The mercurial landscape would have provided the optimal stage for the writer Mark Twain to conjure up the most fantastic challenge his vibrant imagination could divine—an elaborately designed aquarium, expansive in scale and stocked with fishes from all over the world—and lay it temptingly at Steinhart’s well-funded feet.
The woman sighed, reflecting as she stared skyward at the treetops’ identical spikes.
This same mystical outdoor arena was also tailor-made for the theatrical skills of her elusive Uncle Oscar.
• • •
WHEN AT LAST the niece emerged from the trees and stepped into the clearing that held the Academy of Sciences, she found the building—which had been much photographed and videotaped earlier that day—now devoid of activity. Large placards affixed to the front windows advised that the Academy was closed until further notice. A single figure manned the ticket station near the entrance. Otherwise, the exterior was unusually deserted.
The woman wandered halfway up the concrete walkway leading toward the glass-walled atrium and then veered off onto the grass. She placed the history book on the ground and opened it to the photograph of the original aquarium.
Stepping back from the picture, she gazed across the lawn. In her mind’s eye, she placed the wading pools filled with chubby sea lions, the concrete paths packed with meandering pedestrians, and the square stone facade ringed with stately Corinthian columns.
Beyond, just past the building’s entrance, she envisioned a seahorse balcony surrounding a large tank and, splashing in the water on his heated rock . . . an albino alligator.
• • •
A GUST OF wind swept across the yard, flapping the pages of the book. As the niece bent to the grass to close it, a taxi pulled up to the curb near the bicycle racks along the Academy’s front drive. Hearing the passenger door swing open and then quickly slam shut, the woman turned to see a broad-shouldered man with a slight limp charging up the walkway.
“Hoxton Fin,” she murmured with a small smile. He gave her a curious nod as he strode past. He wasn’t near as imposing in real life as he appeared on the television screen.
Scooping up her pack, she watched as the reporter approached the ticket booth. He was there about Clive, she realized. By now, the whole of San Francisco would be on the lookout for the missing gator.
She didn’t have much time left to inspect the Swamp Exhibit without the hindrance of its wide-mouthed occupant.
“I’ve got to figure out a way to get inside,” she concluded.
She thought back to her earlier experience in the tunnel. She could think of only one way to break into the locked-down building.
Turning, she set off through the woods, only getting lost a couple of times as she retraced her steps to the Muni stop on the opposite side of the park. Waiting on the corner for the streetcar to arrive, she pursed her lips resolutely.
“I’ve got to find Sam.”
• • •
HOX MARCHED UP to the ticket booth by the Academy’s front doors and nodd
ed authoritatively at the man seated inside.
Pushing a speaker button, the attendant bent his head to a microphone.
“Sorry, sir. The Academy’s closed.”
Hox replied with a sharp-eyed look. He pulled out his press badge and slapped it against the window.
“Got a quick question, if you don’t mind,” Hox said as the attendant leaned toward the glass.
“What’s up?”
Hox pushed a button on his cell phone and held it to the glass for the attendant to see.
“Do you recognize this man?” he asked. The phone displayed a picture taken during Clive’s brief Union Square appearance. Though blurry, the photo captured the head and shoulders of the red-haired handler who had led Clive through the square. The news station’s tip hotline had received the image from an on-scene witness half an hour earlier.
The attendant squinted through the glass.
Hox held his breath, waiting to see if his hunch would pan out.
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, yeah,” the man said, his face flashing with recognition. “I’ve seen that guy before. It was . . . let’s see, Monday afternoon. He came to see Dr. Kline.”
“Dr. Kline?” Hox repeated. “Are you sure?”
“Hold on a second; I’ll get you his name.” The attendant turned to his keyboard. After tapping through a few menu screens, he looked back up again.
“There he is. Sam Eckles. He’s a frog consultant. Kimberly brought him in to advise on a problem with the new amphibian exhibit.” The attendant let out a short chuckle. “They call him the Frog Whisperer—he’s got a badge and everything.”
As Hox scribbled the information into his notebook, he arched his thick eyebrows and huffed out a cynical grunt.
“It seems he’s got an expertise in more than just frogs.”
Chapter 49
THE BEARD IS WEIRD
HOX FLIPPED TO a clean page in his notebook. He looked over his shoulder at the dinosaur skeleton mounted inside the Academy’s front atrium before returning his gaze to the attendant manning the ticket window.
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