Nick crushed a beer can in his hands. ‘It’s fabulous. Really. But I don’t know about the sex business. And why do you have the player register his race at the beginning of the game? Don’t you think that will offend some people? I never saw anything in the game that was based on the racial information.’
Even though he was drunk, Troy became momentarily serious and almost sombre. ‘Look, man,’ he said firmly, ‘sex and race are both a part of life. It may be true that people play computer games primarily for entertainment, and that they would prefer not to be confronted by some topics when they are amusing themselves, but I must be allowed some creative licence. Race is with us every day and ignoring it, it seems to me, only contributes to the problem.’
Troy brightened up. ‘Hey, Professor. That lizard-man who warned you on Thenia was black. You went ahead anyway, despite his warning. What if he had been white? Would you have turned around and gone back to the shuttle? A black man playing the game encounters a white lizard-man on Thenia. It’s part of the show, man. There are twenty or so changes in the scenario that are based on racial input.’
Nick’s expression was disbelieving. ‘Really,’ Troy said, standing up to return to the room where they had played his game. ‘I’ll show you. Watch how the game starts if you register that you are a black male.’
Nick followed Troy back into the computer room. His curiosity was piqued. Troy turned the game on and Nick entered the biographical data, changing his race to black. This time, when the television picture in his space station cabin came into focus, Princess Heather was black! The princess this time was, in fact, Angie Leatherwood. ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ Nick said, looking over at a beaming Troy. ‘You are one clever dude, Mr. Jefferson.’ Nick walked out of the room whistling and shaking his head again. Troy turned off the game and followed.
‘Okay,’ Nick began, once they were back in Troy’s living room and seated on the couch, ‘one last question and then let’s forget the game for the time being. How did you get my name into it? I thought that was very impressive.’
‘It was originally Lanny’s idea, based on a movie he watched about a speech therapist. Lanny had all the minor characters spend a day mouthing all the vowel and consonant sounds in a test session. Then we just put the sounds together with what are called audio analytic continuation techniques.’ Troy laughed. He was feeling ebullient and basking in the compliments. ‘But it does have its drawbacks. Our interpreter only knows how to read simple English words. We may have to suppress that feature if we sell the game abroad.’
Nick stood up. ‘Well, I’ve run out of superlatives. By the way, are there more of you, brothers, sisters, anything? I guess I’d like to warn the rest of the world.’
‘Only me now,’ Troy replied, a faraway look fleetingly crossing his face. ‘I had a brother, Jamie, six years older than me. We were very close. He died in an automobile accident when I was fourteen.’
There was an awkward silence. ‘I’m sorry,’ Nick said, again touched by Troy’s openness. Troy shrugged his shoulders and struggled with the sudden memory.
Nick changed the subject. They talked about the boat and then about Homer and his crew for several minutes. Suddenly Nick looked at his watch. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said. ‘It’s after four o’clock. Weren’t we supposed to meet Carol Dawson at four?’
Troy jumped out of his chair. ‘We sure were. Some partners we turned out to be,’ he was grinning again, ‘spending the entire afternoon drinking beer and playing games.’ The two men shared a small hug, threw the empty beer cans in the wastebin, and went out of the door toward Nick’s car.
7
Carol was plainly irritated as she sat in the communications room at the Marriott. She was drumming her fingers on the desk while she listened to the telephone ring. There was a click and then Nick’s voice said, ‘I am not at home at the present time. But if—’ She flipped the switch off hastily and completed the sentence, her sardonic mimicry releasing some of her frustration, ‘But if you’ll leave your name, your number, and the time that you called, I’ll get back to you as soon as I return. S-h-i-t. Shit. I knew I should have called before I left Miami.’
She dialled another number. Bernice answered and put her right through (on video) to Dr. Dale Michaels. Carol did not bother with a greeting. ‘Can you believe that I can’t even find the stupid bastard? He’s not on his boat, he’s not at home. Nobody knows where he is. I could have stayed in Miami and taken a nap.’
Carol had not told Dr. Dale much about Nick and Troy. And what she had said about Nick had not been flattering. ‘Well, what did you expect?’ Dale responded. ‘You wanted to go out with amateurs as a cover. Why would you think that he would be easy to find before your appointment? That kind usually stays in bed with his dame of the day until he has some reason to greet the world.’ Dale chuckled to himself.
Carol found herself strangely annoyed by Dale’s disdainful comment about Nick’s love life. She started to say something but decided against it. ‘Say, Dale,’ she said instead, ‘is this phone line absolutely secure? I have a couple of sensitive items to discuss with you.’
He smiled. ‘Nothing to worry about. I have sensors that flash if there is the slightest unexplained break anywhere in the line. Even on your end.’
‘Good,’ Carol replied. She pulled out her notebook and scanned a handwritten list. ‘As far as Arnie Webber knows,’ she said, looking up at the video camera, ‘there are no legal prohibitions against salvaging any US government property, provided it is returned to its rightful owner very soon after its retrieval. So I wouldn’t technically be committing a crime if I pulled the missile up.’ She checked the first item off her list.
‘But Dale, I thought about something else on the flight down here from Miami. This thing is, after all, some kind of guided missile. What if it blows up? Am I crazy to worry about such a thing? Or is it somehow incapacitated or whatever by sitting down there in the sand and salt water for several days?’
Dale laughed. ‘Sometimes, Carol, you’re divine. I am fairly confident that the new missile is designed to operate either in the air or in water. And I don’t think that the sand would be able to foul up its critical parts in a short period of time. However, the fact that it hasn’t exploded yet suggests to me that it probably wasn’t armed in the first place, except possibly for a small destruct device that may or may not already have failed. You are taking a calculated risk in retrieving that missile. I still strongly suggest that you make your dive, obtain the photographs, and then go public with the story. Dredging the missile up for display purposes seems to me to be more of a stunt than journalism. Besides, it’s dangerous.’
Carol was curt. ‘As I said in the car, you are entitled to your opinion. The Navy could make a case that I faked the pictures somehow. But they cannot argue with a missile that has physical presence and can clearly be seen by a nationwide television audience. I want maximum impact for the story.’
She checked another item off the list in her notebook. ‘Oh, yes, I forgot to mention this morning that I met another boat captain down here, a bit of a creep actually: an older fat man named Homer. He seemed to recognize me almost immediately. Wealthy, big yacht and all that. Strange crew—’
‘Was his last name Ashford? Homer Ashford?’ Dale interrupted her.
Carol nodded. ‘So you know him?’ she asked.
‘Certainly,’ Dale replied. ‘He was the leader of the expedition that found the Santa Rosa treasure in 1986. You’ve met him too, although it’s obvious you’ve forgotten. He and his wife were guests at the MOI awards banquet early in 1993.’ Dale stopped to think. ‘That’s right. I remember now, you were real late coming to the party because of that threat made against you by Juan Salvador. But I’m surprised you forgot them, the wife especially. She was a great big fat woman and she thought you were the cat’s pyjamas.’
Slowly but surely it all clicked in Carol’s memory. She recalled a bizarre evening right after she first started going with Dale.
She had run a piece in the Herald on cocaine trafficking and had suggested that the Cuban city council-man, Juan Salvador, was deliberately inhibiting the police investigations. At noon that day, a usually reliable source had called her editor at the paper and told him that Señor Salvador had just purchased a contract on Carol’s life. The Herald had assigned her a bodyguard and recommended that she alter her normal schedule so that her whereabouts would always be uncertain.
The evening of the MOI banquet Carol was in a fog. The bodyguard had been with her for only three hours and already she felt confined and restricted. But Carol had been genuinely frightened by the threat. At the banquet she had scrutinized every face, looking for an assassin, waiting for someone to make a move. As she sat in the hotel communications room fourteen months later, she did vaguely remember meeting Homer (he was wearing evening dress) and some jolly fat woman who had followed her around for twenty minutes or so. Dammit, Carol thought. It’s my memory again. I should have recognized him immediately. How stupid of me.
‘Okay,’ Carol said to Dale, ‘I remember them now. But why were they at the MOI awards banquet?’
‘We were honouring our leading benefactors that night,’ Dale replied. ‘Homer and Ellen have been big supporters of our underwater sentry effort. In fact, he has field tested many of our prototypes at his facility there in Key West. Real solid test data too. Best compilation of sentry/intruder responses that anybody has catalogued. Why, it was Ashford who showed us how the MQ-6 could be fooled….’
‘Okay, okay,’ Carol said, realizing that her tolerance threshold was still extremely low. ‘Thanks for the information. It’s now a quarter to four. I’m going to go down to the marina to meet Nick Williams and make arrangements for tomorrow. If anything new comes up, I’ll call you at home tonight.’
‘Ciao,’ said Dale Michaels, trying without success to sound sophisticated. ‘And please be careful.’
Carol hung up the phone with a sigh. She wondered if she should spend a minute or two working out where she and Dale were going. Or not going. As the case may be. She thought about all the things she needed to do. She closed her notebook and rose from her chair. Not right now, she thought. I don’t have time now to think about Dale. But as soon as I have a break in this crazy life of mine….
Carol was really fuming when she walked back into the marina headquarters the second time. She approached the information desk with fire in her eyes. ‘Miss,’ she said nastily to Julianne, ‘as I told you fifteen minutes ago, I had an appointment here at four o’clock with Nick Williams and Troy Jefferson. It is now, as you can see, after four-thirty.’
Carol pointed at the digital clock with an impatient, sweeping gesture that commanded Julianne to look. ‘We have both established independently that Mr. Williams is not home,’ Carol continued. ‘Now are you going to give me Mr. Jefferson’s phone number, or should I make a scene?’
Julianne did not like Carol or her obvious attitude of superiority. She held her ground. ‘As I told you, Miss Dawson,’ she said politely but with a biting overtone, ‘marina policy prohibits our giving out the phone numbers of the independent boat owners or their crew members. It’s a question of privacy. Now if you had a formal charter through the marina,’ Julianne continued, enjoying her moment of glory, ‘then it would be our job to assist you. But as I said earlier, we have no record—’
‘Goddamn it, I know that,’ replied Carol furiously. She slammed the envelope of photos that she was carrying down on Julianne’s counter. ‘I’m not an imbecile. We’ve been through this before. I told you I was supposed to meet them here at four o’clock. Now if you won’t help me, I want to talk to your superior, the assistant manager or whatever.’
‘Fine,’ said Julianne, her eyes firing darts of contempt at Carol. ‘If you will just take a seat over there, I will see if I can locate—’
‘I will not take a seat,’ shouted Carol in exasperation. ‘I want to see him now. This is an issue of extreme urgency. Now pick up the phone and—’
‘Is something wrong here? Perhaps I can help.’ Carol spun around. Homer Ashford was standing right behind her. Just to the right, toward the gate in the direction of the jetties, Greta and a big heavy woman were talking quietly. That’s Ellen. Now I remember her, Carol thought. Ellen smiled at Carol. Greta looked right through her.
‘Well, hello, Captain Homer,’ Julianne said sweetly, ‘it’s nice of you to ask. But I think everything’s under control. Miss Dawson here has just indicated that she does not accept my explanation of marina policy. She is going to wait for—’
‘Maybe you can help.’ Carol interrupted Julianne defiantly. ‘I had an appointment here at four o’clock with Nick Williams and Troy Jefferson. They have not shown up. Do you by any chance happen to know Troy’s phone number?’
Captain Homer gave Carol a suspicious look and exchanged a knowing glance with Ellen and Greta. He turned back to Carol. ‘Well, it is certainly a surprise, Miss Dawson, to see you back here again. Why, we were just talking about you this morning, saying that we hoped you had a good time on your free day in Key West.’ He paused for effect. ‘Now, I wonder why you’ve come back here again, the very next day. And did I hear correctly, you need to see Williams and Jefferson on an issue of extreme urgency? It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with all that equipment you brought in here yesterday, could it? Or the little grey bag that Williams has been guarding since last night?’
Uh oh, thought Carol, as Greta and Ellen moved in around her. I’m surrounded. Captain Homer started to pick up the sealed envelope on Julianne’s counter but Carol stopped him.
‘If you don’t mind, Captain Ashford,’ she said firmly, taking his hand off the envelope and putting the photos under her arm. She lowered her voice. ‘I would like to talk to you privately.’ Carol nodded her head at the two women. ‘Can we go out in the parking lot together for a minute?’
Homer’s beady eyes squinted at her. Then his face broke into the same obnoxious, lecherous smile that Carol had seen on the Ambrosia. ‘Certainly, my dear,’ he said. He shouted to Greta and Ellen as he walked out the door with Carol, ‘Wait here. I’ll only be a minute.’
Necessity is the mother of invention, Carol thought to herself as she led Homer Ashford out of the door. So invent, bitch. And now. As in this moment.
They walked up the steps to the car park. Carol turned to Captain Homer at the top of the steps with a conspiratorial look on her face. ‘I can tell that you’ve figured out why I’m here,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want it this way, I thought it would make a better story if nobody knew what I was doing. But you’re obviously too clever for me.’ Homer grinned foolishly. ‘But I would ask you to tell as few people as possible. You can tell your wife and Greta, but please nobody else. The Herald wants it to be a surprise.’
Homer looked puzzled. Carol leaned over and almost whispered in his ear. ‘The entire Sunday magazine section the fourth week in April. Isn’t that unbelievable? Working title, “Dreams of Being Rich”, stories about people like you, like Mel Fisher, like the four Floridans who have won over a million dollars each in the lottery. On how sudden income changes your life. I’m doing the whole piece. I’m starting with the treasure angle because of its general interest.’
Carol could see that Captain Homer was reeling. She knew she had him off guard. ‘Yesterday I just wanted to check your boat quickly, see how you lived, see how it would photograph. I freaked out a little when you recognized me so fast. But I had always planned to go out with Williams first.’ Carol laughed. ‘My treasure-finding equipment from MOI faked him out. He still thinks I’m a genuine treasure seeker. I almost completed my whole interview with him yesterday. I only came back today to finish a couple of small items.’
An alert went off in Homer Ashford’s system when Carol talked about faking out Nick Williams. Homer wasn’t certain he believed this smooth reporter’s story even now. He mused to himself that her story was plausible, but there was still one big unanswered question. �
�But what is Williams carrying around in that bag?’ he asked.
‘That,’ said Carol, sensing his distrust, ‘is nothing.’ She raised her eyebrows and laughed again. ‘Or almost, anyway. We pulled up a worthless old trinket yesterday afternoon so I could photograph the salvage process for the story. I told him to have it appraised today. He thinks I’m an eccentric. He must be keeping it hidden in the bag because he’s embarrassed and doesn’t want anybody to see him with it.’
Carol lightly hit Captain Homer in the ribs with her elbow. He shook his head. Part of him realized he was being told a very clever lie. But somehow enough of it made sense that Homer couldn’t pierce the deception. His brow furrowed for a moment. ‘So I guess you’ll want to talk to us when you’re through with the other two….’
At just that moment, unbeknown to Carol, Nick and Troy drove into the marina parking lot. They were still slightly drunk and silly. ‘Lawdy, lawdy,’ said Troy, spotting Carol and Captain Homer in conversation, ‘I believe my eyes have screwed up. They’re sending a picture of a beauty and a beast to my brain. It’s Miss Carol Dawson together with our favourite fat captain. Now what do you suppose they’re talking about?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Nick, bridling instantly, ‘but I’m damn sure going to find out. If she’s double-crossing us….’ He pulled the car quickly into a parking place and started to jump out. Troy reached across and restrained him.
‘Now why don’t you let me handle this one?’ Troy said. ‘Humour may be just the right ticket here.’
Nick thought for a moment. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you go first.’
Troy walked into view just as Carol and Captain Homer were finishing their conversation. ‘Hello, angel,’ he said from forty yards away, ‘what’s happening?’
Carol held her hand up in acknowledgment but didn’t turn around to greet Troy. ‘So that’s 2748 Columbia, just beyond the Pelican Resort, at eight-thirty tomorrow night?’
Cradle Page 20
