by Dan Ames
“So now we’re approaching the south end of the island?” she asked.
“Yes, this is where you’ll be doing some fieldwork with the team. That is, if you really want to understand what we do.”
“Yes, I do.”
They drove in silence for several miles. Pauling was astounded continuously by what she saw. The landscape was like a huge tract of ocean front real estate that had yet to be discovered by the hotel people.
She could picture a Four Seasons Resort springing up or a tropical resort every mile or so. They would import tons of royal palm trees. They would have to make the island look lush and fertile, in a commercial sense. And that could certainly be accomplished, with a big enough landscaping budget.
But none of that would happen, after all, because the island was owned by the military. Pauling knew that the U.S. government was the biggest single owner of real estate in the country.
Dr. Sirrine continued to drive and Pauling was aware that he performed the task much better when he wasn’t talking. However, she was here to gather information.
“So how many people are on your team?”
“Well, the number is fluid. People are constantly coming in and out of here due to the nature of their careers. We have some summer grad students, people on fellowships, volunteer observers and students who are only available for a semester or two. So there is actually a very high turnover, although we do everything we can to maintain some kind of continuity.”
It was not what Pauling wanted to hear. She had hoped there would be more of a locked-room type of situation, so she could narrow the investigation as quickly as possible. But if people were coming and going on a regular basis it would make her job more difficult.
“Have you been working with Jack Reacher at all?” Pauling asked.
Dr. Sirrine looked at her. “Who?”
Pauling shook her head in reply.
“I’m going to turn here,” Dr. Sirrine said. It was a strange little intersection. A sign to the right said RESTRICTED and there was a gate across the road. Although, with four-wheel drive, it seemed it would be relatively easy to drive around it.
“There are quite a few of those around.” He glanced at her. “They don’t look like much, but you have to pay attention to what they’re saying. There are people with guns and live ammunition everywhere. If a sign says not to enter, take their advice and don’t enter.”
They continued on as the sun began to set. The ocean looked beautiful in the dying light.
“Is every sunset as spectacular as this?” Pauling said.
Dr. Sirrine looked up and out at the water.
“You know, I never really noticed.”
Chapter Fourteen
The road wound off to the side where a collection of buildings sat on a small rise. They were a combination of cinder block and aluminum. The main building had a row of parking spots in front of it. It was the cinder block building.
Above the main entrance was a wooden sign with the words THE NEST burned in by hand.
Dr. Sirrine pulled into the first parking spot next to the main building, and shut off the jeep.
“Welcome to The Nest as we call it,” he said. He held up his hands. “Don’t shoot me for the bad pun. Someone long before me came up with it.”
“I like it,” Pauling said.
“Bring your stuff in here and we’ll figure out where you’re staying,” he said.
He went to the back of the jeep and grabbed his gear which consisted of a battered, brown leather backpack.
Pauling brought her gear through the door that Dr. Sirrine held open for her.
The space was one large room. Off to the left, a full kitchen with a counter and a refrigerator and a few tables surrounded by plastic chairs.
The floor was industrial tile, plain white. The walls were standard beige and the ceiling was a classic dropped number that looked like it had come from an elementary school from the 1970s.
Directly ahead was a small living-room type area with a couch, love seat, and some mismatched chairs facing a large screen television that had been directly mounted to the wall.
Off to the right was a doorway that led to a hall.
Dr. Sirrine led her down the hallway where there were rooms spaced at lengthy intervals, with dark wood fiber doors that seemed more appropriate in a shoddily built office building.
The same tile floor was in place, and the hall smelled vaguely of disinfectant.
They came to the end of the hallway and one door remained.
“Ah yes, here you go,” he said.
He used a key to open the door and then he flicked the light on inside and handed the key to Pauling.
“Home sweet home,” he said.
Pauling stepped past him into the room. There was a dresser with a mirror above it. The dresser was made of flimsy particle board and it seemed to sag crookedly against the wall like it was too tired to hold up the mirror any longer.
There was a bed with a steel frame and no headboard. A mattress was on top of visible coiled springs and a stack of sheets and blankets were on top of the mattress.
A tiny bathroom was on the opposite side of the room.
There was a closet built into the wall across from the bed that looked like it could hold a half dozen t-shirts and not much else.
And next to the dresser was a desk that must have been rescued from a middle school that was about to be demolished.
“Well, someone will probably be throwing together some kind of meal in the next hour or so,” Dr. Sirrine said. “If you want to settle in and then come on up to the main room you can feel free. Nothing formal happens. But I think when someone is joining us, there is usually a meal.”
“Okay, thank you. I will,” Pauling said.
Dr. Sirrine backed out of the room and she could hear his footsteps down the hall.
Pauling unpacked, which took no time at all. She stuffed most everything into the shoddy drawers of the dresser, and hung a few things up in the tiny closet with a single bar.
At least the room was spotless. Someone had thoroughly cleaned the place since its last inhabitant. Pauling suddenly wondered if this had been Paige’s room. She made a mental note to ask.
Finally, she unpacked the laptop, phone and all of the chargers and power cords that she would need and placed them all on the desk. There was an outlet just behind the desk and Pauling was glad she had thrown in a power strip. She plugged everything in.
Lastly, she took Paige’s journal out of her backpack and tossed it onto the bed. She would read it before she went to sleep tonight.
One last stop into the bathroom where she splashed water on her face and then she closed the door, locking it behind her.
It was time to meet everyone.
And hopefully find Jack Reacher.
Chapter Fifteen
Pauling smelled the food first. She thought she detected onions, peppers and maybe a dash of cumin. If she had to guess, she would predict tacos were going to be the main course at tonight’s dinner. Mexican food, for sure.
She came around the corner and saw a woman with dark hair, black glasses and a gray t-shirt standing over a large frying pan. The woman looked up at her.
“Hi,” she said and smiled, revealing a row of teeth, tinged slightly red by the glass of wine next to her on the counter.
“Hello,” Pauling responded. “Smells good.”
“My standard chicken fajitas,” the woman said. “If you see me cooking, odds are that nine out of ten times I’ll be making fajitas. Kind of a one-hit wonder.”
The woman put down the wooden spatula she had been using to stir the contents of the frying pan and stepped out from behind the counter. She thrust her hand out toward Pauling.
“I’m Janey Morris,” she said. She was a small woman with pale skin and had the look of a nerdy librarian.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Pauling.”
Janey smiled. “Abner said you’d be arriving today. How was the flight in?”
Janey moved back to the pan and started to stir around the fajita ingredients.
Pauling looked around for a bottle of wine but didn’t see one. She wouldn’t mind a cocktail right about now, she thought.
Pauling noticed a second pan with a few tortillas warming.
“The flight was interesting,” Pauling said. “I thought the plane was an antique for display purposes only. Didn’t realize I’d actually be flying in it.”
“I did the same thing,” Janey said. “It was kind of cool. I felt like I was in an old Humphrey Bogart movie. And the guys are so funny. It was a really cool experience.”
“They’re funny the first time, but the routine gets old,” a voice said from the living area. Pauling turned, realized she hadn’t noticed the person sitting on the couch.
He was tall and thin with a face that sported an enormous jaw and big ears.
“Pauling, this is Ted. Ted, this is Pauling,” Janey said, making the introductions.
Ted put down the book he had been reading, came over and shook Pauling’s hand. Probably the kind of kid who was told by everyone to play basketball but was terribly uncoordinated. It was a hunch, but Pauling figured Ted wasn’t very athletic.
“Want a beer?” he said.
“Sure.”
While Ted went to the refrigerator Pauling said to Janey, “Is there something I can do to help out?”
“You can shred some cheese if you want,” Janey answered, pointing at the chunk of cheddar on the counter next to a well-used grater. Pauling started the process while Ted handed her a bottle of beer. She raised the bottle, said ‘cheers’ and took a long drink. Still a little tired from the trip, the beer tasted great. Ice cold.
“Do you normally all eat together?” Pauling asked.
“Hell no,” Ted said. “This place is chaotic with everyone on different schedules. We all kind of chip in and grab food or cook whatever’s in the fridge. Abner does most of the supply ordering, so we’re stuck with whatever’s around. It’s not like there’s a grocery store around the corner.”
Just then, Dr. Sirrine emerged from the hallways behind the kitchen. Pauling had a strange notion that he’d been standing there listening and now decided to come into the room. She wasn’t sure why she felt that way, but it felt right.
“Yes, I’m in charge of the ordering,” he said. “And this is the most important part.” He held up a beer from the fridge and also gestured toward some chilled bottles of white wine in the door’s shelves and a vast array of red wine on the counter to the left of the fridge.
“Not everyone drinks here,” Janey said, rolling her eyes a bit at Dr. Sirrine and Ted. “These guys make it sound like we’re a bunch of lushes. But since there isn’t a whole lot to do around here after the work is done, let’s say that most of us enjoy the cocktail hour on a fairly regular basis.”
“Cocktail hours, would be more accurate,” Ted said, putting emphasis on the plurality of the word.
He chugged his beer and got another, raised an eyebrow in question at Pauling. She smiled and shook her head. Her beer was still pretty much full.
“So you’re here to help with our computer systems?” Janey said.
Pauling heard Ted snicker under his breath.
A quick glance at Janey’s wide and expressionless face made Pauling groan inwardly because the picture of innocence was total bullshit. Nathan’s efforts to place Pauling here secretly hadn’t worked. Pauling instantly knew that no one had bought the cover story.
“That, and more,” Pauling said. The rest of them seemed to wait for her to explain, but she didn’t. It wasn’t a lie. And the tone in her voice conveyed the message that she didn’t care what they thought. She was going to do her job and do it right.
Clearly, the message got through because Ted’s smirk dropped immediately from his face and Janey quickly became more interested in her meal preparation.
And suddenly, Dr. Sirrine was gone.
Chapter Sixteen
After dinner, the fajitas were surprisingly tasty, Pauling stopped at the bulletin board in the hallway on the way to her room. There were various schedules posted, some Dilbert cartoons and a few articles on the Bird Conservatory, mostly pertaining to funding issues. There were also a few military articles about various internal notices regarding construction projects on the island.
Pauling went down to her door, unlocked it and stepped into her room. She suddenly had a flashback from college. It felt like a dorm room to her and reminded her of her freshman year at the university. Her roommate had been a strange girl from Oklahoma who spent most of the year at the health clinic on campus. A true hypochondriac. For Pauling during that freshman year, it had been like not having a roommate at all. She remembered initially trying to do everything she could to help the poor girl. It had been a roommate’s duty, after all. But by the fifth or sixth mystery illness, Pauling realized the girl was just coping with the transition to college the only way she knew how.
After that recognition became clear, Pauling barely even asked the girl what was going on or how she was feeling.
Now, Pauling locked the door behind her. She glanced at the satellite phone and the computer on her desk and thought about calling Nathan Jones to try to get more information on Jack Reacher. Where was he? He was supposed to get in touch with her once she was on the island, but so far, there had been no word. And she had no way of contacting him.
So instead, Pauling thought about the investigation.
The police report had been a major disappointment. No report, really, at all. No investigation, certainly. It had been deemed a drowning and that was that.
Still, she knew she was going to have to confront the police at some point, if she could dig up some kind of information to get them interested.
But right now, her plan was going to be straightforward. She was going to try to figure out with whom Paige had spent the majority of her time while working here. Once she identified that person, Pauling would go after him or her hard and try to garner as much information as possible. Once she had a better idea of Paige’s closest circle, she could rule them all out and go back to Nathan with the most likely answer; that Paige really had drowned.
It was Pauling’s opinion that no human being ever really understood another. It was an impossible assumption. Understanding required full knowledge. And no one had full knowledge of another human being. It simply didn’t exist. There were things spouses, married for decades, still kept from one another. There was no expiration date on secrets. Pauling suspected that Paige, just like every other human being ever to exist on the planet Earth, had had a few secrets of her own. Nathan was convinced that his daughter was one thing, but the truth was, she was probably that along with a few other things. The world was only black and white in fancy art galleries showcasing the latest avant-garde photographer’s work.
In the real world, there were as many different shades of reality as there were people who perceived them. Hell, half the time people had trouble admitting to themselves who they were, how could anyone expect them to be honest with others?
Pauling stretched out on her single bed, amused that her feet nearly hung over the edge and that her mattress felt like a glorified piece of plywood. She stared at the dropped ceiling tile, noticed a brown water stain at the corner of one of the sections.
She pulled Paige’s journal off the table next to the bed and opened it to where she’d left off.
The contents continued to be field notes, broken up only occasionally by a sketch of certain plants, or a lizard. Paige had also included observations on the weather, amount of sunlight, and levels of moisture in the soil. There were quite a few notations on specific birds, naturally, most coded in a combination of letters and numbers that were indecipherable to Pauling. She made a mental note to show the codes to Dr. Sirrine and see if he could decipher them for her.
She was just about to close the journal when a section of text centered on the page as opposed to all of the other writing that w
as flush left caught her eye.
It was four lines, written in the same block letters that Pauling had come to appreciate as the penmanship required of a scientist.
Pauling read the words with great interest.
smooth blue oceans of calm
hidden currents twisting
vestiges of desert guns
here but still there too
She read them two more times and then closed the journal.
One of her literature professors in college had told the class that in his opinion great poetry by itself meant nothing. That there was no internal message required. Rather, the value of a great poem was that it could mean something different to each person who read it. That even if a poem did carry a specific thought, originated by its author, the greatness of the writing was that it had the potential to be interpreted emotionally on a highly individual basis.
A lot of students disagreed, and Pauling knew that some of the other professors argued just the opposite. It was their belief that a good poem conveyed a very specific idea or emotion, one the poet intended to convey with precision.
But the theory of multiple possible interpretations had always stuck with Pauling.
And now, she wondered about the four lines Paige had penned.
It could be about the ocean.
It could be about time.
It could be about the shifting tides of memory and perception.
Or, it could be about a man with blue eyes just back from serving overseas in the military.
Chapter Seventeen
It was a horrible night.
She went from being freezing cold to insanely hot. There were bad dreams, along with explosions.
Her eyes snapped open.
She was covered in sweat.
