Monday, December 20
Quest Compound
Jonny Quest stirred slightly and rolled his head to one side in irritation. Bright sunlight shown on his face, causing him to rise sluggishly from sleep. A comfortable lethargy gripped him. He was warm and content and had no desire to wake. He stirred again, some part of his mind suggesting that if he turned over, he could get the sun out of his eyes and he would go back to sleep. As he tried to do so, he became aware of something pressing against his left side. His eyes snapped open and he stared down at the gleaming red head that was nestled snugly into the hollow of his shoulder. As he gazed down at Jessie, all of the memories of the night before came rushing back, and desire for her flared again. Hesitantly, he drew the blankets back from her body so he could look at her. He hadn't dreamed it. She really was here in his bed. Jonny ran a soft, caressing hand down her side and she stirred. He saw her eyes open lazily. For a moment, he could seem to sense her reluctance to wake, and then she said softly,
"Good morning."
"Yes, it is," he agreed, after a moment. He drew the blankets back over her again and laid his head back down on the pillow. Nuzzling her hair gently, he asked, "How do you feel this morning?"
"I feel . . ." Jessie paused, as though searching for the right word. Finally, she continued, " . . . wonderful." Then she laughed softly and added, "Although, I think that word is woefully inadequate. How about you?"
For a long time Jonny didn't reply and, finally, Jessie levered herself up on an elbow to look down at him in concern. He smiled at her fearful expression and stroked her face with his hand as he replied softly, "I don't even know how to describe how I feel. Happy? Fulfilled? Content? Nothing seems quite right."
Jessie's face cleared and she smiled happily. "No regrets, Jonny?"
Jonny shook his head.
"You're sure?" she persisted.
"I'm positive," he replied with conviction. "I'm not sorry, if that's what you're asking. I just feel so good, I don't know how to describe it."
Jessie laughed softly. "I know what you mean." She ran a gentle hand down his chest and watched him shiver. Suddenly, she laughed again and asked teasingly, "I do have one idea of a word to describe how you're feeling, though."
Jonny squirmed under her teasing hand. "And what is that?" he replied breathlessly.
She arched an eyebrow at him suggestively. "Horny?"
Sitting up abruptly, he caught her in his arms and laid her back on the bed again. As he leaned over to kiss her, he murmured, "There is that . . . "
Several hours later, they woke again. Jonny kissed Jessie gently and as he did so, his stomach growled loudly.
"Sorry," he said, blushing. "That wasn't a comment on your lovemaking, I promise."
Jessie laughed and rose quickly. She began collecting up her scattered clothing, saying, "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm absolutely starved! What time is it, anyway?"
Jonny sat up and peered down the length of the bed to the alarm clock resting on the desk near his computer. "10:47," he replied. Suddenly, a panicked look crossed his face, and he launched himself out of bed like a rocket. "10:47! Shit! If the roads got cleared last night and Dad got out of Bangor by 9:00, he could be here any minute!"
"Damn!" Jessie responded as she began pulling her clothes on frantically. "We canNOT get caught like this!"
"You got that right," Jonny agreed as he pulled his jeans on and began looking around for his socks. "This would freak Dad out totally."
"Okay, I'm dressed," Jessie said breathlessly as she hauled her shirt down over her head. "I'll go down and get something started for breakfast. You straighten up your room and make sure we cleaned up any evidence of last night."
"Got it," Jonny agreed. "Check the bathroom on your way down, though. I don't know what, if anything we left in there last night. I'll do a second check on it when I finish here. Your room okay?"
"Yeah, we didn't use it and I always make the bed and pick up in the morning anyway. I'll do a quick check on the bathroom." Suddenly, she stopped dead. "Oh, shit . . ."
"What?" Jonny paused, staring at her in concern.
"The in-house security monitoring system . . ."
Jonny shook his head and grinned at her. "Not to worry. It doesn't monitor the upstairs bedrooms. I shut it down yesterday when we were securing the house for the storm, anyway. I figured that no one was going to be able to struggle through the storm to reach the house, and the extra drain on the system wasn't necessary. Dad's done it before in exactly the same circumstances so he won't question why we did it . . . even if he thinks to ask. I'll get IRIS to restart it again as soon as I get downstairs. The most that might be there is some of our discussion, but we didn't make the decision to do anything until after it had been shut down.
"Cool!" Jessie replied, looking relieved. "Bacon, eggs, and pancakes for breakfast just as soon as I can get them made."
"I'll be right there . . ." As Jessie disappeared, Jonny finished dressing and then turned back to the bed. After scrutinizing it for a moment, he decided that a trip to the laundry room was in order. Rapidly, he stripped the sheets, tossed the blanket haphazardly over the mattress, collected up the pillowcases and a few other odds and ends, and headed down the hall for the bathroom. A cursory glance showed him that Jessie had already picked up the used towels and everything appeared in order. As he descended the stairs, he could hear the sound of a male voice drifting from the direction of the kitchen. Sweat broke out under his arms and across his forehead as he stopped dead about halfway down the staircase. Oh, God, Dad's home, he thought frantically. Now what do we do? But in the next instant, the voice was replaced by the bright, bouncy sound of the local radio station's jingle and a new voice could distinctly be heard saying,
"WRMA Radio . . . serving Rockport, Rockland, Camden, and the central Maine coast. The time is 11:00 a.m. on this snowy Monday morning. Please stay with us for an update on weather conditions, business and school closures, road conditions, and the five day forecast . . . coming up next."
Jonny could feel his heart start to beat again as he heaved a sigh of relief and descended the last of the stairs. He strode through the house and commented to Jessie, as he entered the kitchen. "You just about gave me heart failure!"
She looked up from the griddle where she was flipping pancakes and said, "What? Why? What did I do?"
Jonny laughed. "I didn't realize you'd turned on the radio and when I heard voices, I thought Dad was home."
She grinned at him impishly. "Someone would think you have a guilty conscience or something." Then she shook her head. "No, and from what I'm hearing, I don't think we have to worry about expecting Dr. Quest anytime soon. The radio says that virtually everything is closed down because of the blizzard. I guess that storm started with ice and then turned to snow. And once it started to snow, it dumped about 26 inches of the stuff all along the coast. Then it turned windy and all that snow started to drift. They've got Route One closed, all of the secondary roads are drifted shut, and the local law enforcement agencies are saying that if you don't have to go out, stay put at home."
"You know if the phones are down?"
"I checked. The house phones don't seem to be working, but I did get a dial tone on the cellular."
"I'll bet that there are a lot of lines down due to the ice, but the satellite services are probably working. I'm a little surprised Dad hasn't tried to call. I'm gonna put this stuff in the washer and then I'll try giving the Phenix Inn a call."
Jessie laughed. "Did we make a mess? Put the stuff in and then come have breakfast while it's hot. You can try the call after that."
"Okay."
They had just finished breakfast about half an hour later, when the cell phone rang. Jonny relaxed back into his chair with a sigh, saying, "Man, that was good, Jess," as he reached to pick up the phone from the middle of the table.
"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it," she replied, "because you're up for dinner detail. It's your turn to cook. If that's your dad, say "hi" for me."
"Hello?" Jonny said into the phone as he waved vaguely at Jessie. She smiled at him in relief as she heard him say, "Dad! Are you okay?"
Benton's voice was clear as he replied, "Yes, I'm fine, Son. Still in Bangor, though."
"We figured. We've had the radio on and it sounds pretty bad."
"I've talked to the State Police and they say they think they'll have the main roads open by late this afternoon, so I should be able to make it home sometime tonight."
"What about Hadji?"
"I was never able to reach him," Benton responded, sounding worried. "I tried calling the hotel this morning, but couldn't get through."
"The land-based phones aren't working around here due to the storm. Maybe they're having the same problem in New York. Did you try the cell phone?
"Yes, that's what I was using, but it was acting like I couldn't get a cell connection.
"That makes sense. If only cell lines are working right now, they are probably jammed. But I don't think you need to sweat it. We spoke to him yesterday, right after you called, so he knows that we were all snowed in. We also talked him out of driving back here with Kefira and her father. He said they'd stay at the hotel until he could talk to you. I don't suppose the airport is in any shape to be taking planes this morning, is it?"
Benton snorted. "I'm not sure they've even managed to get snow plows out there yet."
"Well, there's no need to hurry." Jonny had moved to a window that looked out over the front grounds of the Compound. Abruptly, he started to laugh and commented to his father, "If you were to get here now, you'd probably end up staying in town or needing a dog sled to get here. It's gonna take me several hours to get the drive and the access road cleared so you can get to the house."
"I take it you have a lot of snow there, too."
"Radio's saying 26 inches."
Benton whistled. "That's even worse than it is here."
"Sounds like you got more ice, though."
"That could be." Benton chuckled ruefully, "I hope this melts off before Christmas. Neither Race nor Estella are going to like having to fight snow on their wedding day."
Jonny laughed, "Are you kidding? As long as we could get the minister to the house, Race would be perfectly happy . . . Estella, too, for that matter. The one you'd have to live with would be Jessie!"
"What are you saying about me, Jonny Quest?" Jessie called from the kitchen and Jonny could hear his father chuckle as the distant voice carried to him over the phone.
"You've got a point," Benton agreed. "So are the two of you alright? No problems there?"
"No, we're fine. Right after you called, we did a Compound sweep to make sure we were set and I did shut some of the systems down to minimal levels just in case the power went out, but everything held up just fine. I reset everything to optimal levels when I got up this morning so we're secure."
"I think I'll let you go then and see if I can get hold of Hadji. Call me if he reaches you and hasn't talked to me, yet, will you?"
"Sure, Dad. Not a problem. Call us once you have a better idea of when you're gonna leave. We'll want to know when you're on the road so we know when to start to panic if you don't make it home."
"Well, aren't you starting to sound like the mother hen," Benton commented.
"No," Jonny replied, grinning into the phone, "just starting to sound like my dad."
Benton laughed. "I suppose I deserved that one. Alright, you take care and I'll talk to you again later this afternoon."
Jessie came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, reaching for the phone.
"Hold on a second, Dad. Jess is here and wants to talk to you for a second." Jonny passed the phone to Jessie and moved into the entryway to hunt for his snow boots. He could hear Jessie saying,
"You're okay, then, Dr. Quest? That's good . . . we were just a little worried. No, we're fine. Oh, okay. We'll wait for your call then. Good. You need to talk to Jonny again? Okay, I'll tell him. Alright. Bye." Jessie punched the off button on the phone and turned to Jonny, saying, "Your Dad says to be careful on the snow plow."
"Of course he does," Jonny replied, pulling on one of his boots. "I'm going to start clearing the drive and the road out to the highway."
"Okay. I'll finish cleaning up the kitchen, and then I'll get the front patio and the back porch cleared. Oh, and I also want to finish that load of laundry so we can get your bed remade." She paused, thinking a minute. "I suppose we should clear a path to lighthouse, too, shouldn't we?"
"Yeah, we better. I'll take care of it once I have the road cleared."
"I can work on it with the smaller snowcat, too."
"Okay. Be sure and keep the phone handy, though. I suspect we'll be hearing from the rest of the family, too."
"Got it."
As Jessie turned to go back to the kitchen, Jonny began shrugging into his coat. As he did so, he thought about his father's comment about being a "mother hen". It's funny how true that is, Jonny thought quietly to himself. I didn't used to be this way. But things had changed in recent months. No, Jonny corrected himself, I've changed in recent months. And he knew what it was, too. He'd grown up . . . a lot. His problems with Jessie, his decision to care for Brandon Simmons, and a whole host of smaller things had all come together to change him somehow. Oh, he was still impulsive. He probably always would be. But other things had changed . . . the way he interacted with other people . . . his relationship with his family . . . and, in particular, his feelings for Jessie . . . had all changed him in ways even he couldn't pin down. He supposed that his father was sensing this and was struggling to come to terms with it. Jonny shrugged to himself as he pulled on his gloves and hat. All he could do was give his father some time. Jonny had accepted the changes in himself . . . now it was up to his father to do so.
Bangor, Maine
Benton Quest pressed the disconnect button on his cellular phone and set it in his lap. For a while he simply sat, staring sightlessly out the window in front of him. The glittering beauty of the snow-swept streets was lost on him as his mind fixed on his youngest son. Somehow, Jonny seemed infinitely older than he had even a month ago. When did things change so much? he asked himself in bewilderment. What happened to my little boy who was so reckless and never worried about anything? But Benton knew that that little boy was gone and would never return. He could even pinpoint the exact time when that carefree child had disappeared for good. Unbidden, the image of Jonny's fierce, accusatory look directed at Benton over the head of a sobbing, confused Brandon Simmons rose to the front of his mind. Yes, Benton thought, that was the night. He was never the same after that.
Brandon Simmons had come running to Jonny at a time when he had been emotionally vulnerable. His normal, cocky self-confidence had been undermined by problems with Jessie and the natural changes in his own body. And then Brandon had turned up on their doorstep . . . abandoned, abused, and terrified. The emotional distress both boys had been under had formed an almost immediate bond between the two of them, and Brandon's desperate situation had provided a framework for Jonny's own personal integrity, value system, and responsibility to blossom. Benton had watched helplessly as Jonny had taken Brandon in and allowed the boy to shift his emotional dependence to him. And no matter how Benton had tried to discourage Jonny and explain to him the potential for disaster in that situation, his son had accepted the responsibility and run with it. In the end, everything had worked out, but Benton had aged years as a result of the subsequent events.
Benton thought about how secretive his son had become during recent months. Oh, Jonny was still bright and talkative, but when it came to his inner-most thoughts and how he was feeling . . . well, that seemed to be a taboo subject. He didn't talk about personal matters at all any longer. And if you asked him point-blank, he would simply shut down and refuse to answer. Benton was at a total loss to figure out how it had happened that Jonny felt he couldn't talk to him any longer. Did he feel like I was too busy to take time for him? Benton asked himself. Could that be it? Benton was reminded of the day in England when he and Jonny had gone salmon fishing. They had taken the trip as a way to just spend some time together away from everything else . . . Jonny had laughingly called it father-son bonding. Benton remembered painfully how Jonny had reminded him that it had been Race that had taught him to fish. He had laughed it off at the time, but down deep Benton knew the comment had struck a nerve. Race had taught both Jonny and Hadji to do a great many things . . . things that Benton should have been doing. But somehow, other projects always seemed to demand his time. Race just filled in where needed . . . including when it came to Benton's sons.
Benton was startled by the spurt of jealousy that flared as he considered Race Bannon. For a long time now, both Jonny and Hadji had turned to Race when they needed to talk or were confused and needed advice. In subtle ways, Benton had tried to draw his sons back into talking with him about issues that concerned them, but somehow none of them had ever worked. Most of the time, the two boys seemed to rely on each other to work out their issues, but when things reached the point where they needed the advice of one of their elders, it seemed that it was Race they always turned to. No matter what he tried, he always discovered that some minor crisis had arisen and Race had dealt with it while he was busy with business. Benton sighed softly. He really couldn't blame Race, though. The younger man had come into their family at a very difficult time and had provided emotional support to Jonny at a time when Benton was simply not capable of giving it. Rachel's death had left him devastated and adrift for a long time. Eventuall1y, only throwing himself into his work seemed to provide an avenue of dealing with that loss. In time, things had gotten better, and for a long time it seemed as though it had not damaged his relationship with Jonny. But now Benton was beginning to wonder. He knew that he was lucky to have had Race there to provide the support his son had needed while Benton was incapable of providing it. That Race gained much needed solace from the relationship was something none of them had realized until much, much later. Lately, however, Benton had found himself wondering more and more often if maybe Race's constant presence had undermined his relationship with his sons more than he realized.
Of course, now Race was in much the same situation with his own daughter . . . as well as with Jonny. Neither of them talked with Race about the issues that arose in their relationship. Benton smiled to himself in rueful humor . . . he couldn't say he blamed them much. Heaven alone knew, Benton had shied away from giving serious thought to just how far that relationship had gone, and he knew that Race steadfastly refused to consider it. Estella had tried to talk reasonably to both of them about it, but Race and Benton had both refused to even discuss the possibility that Jonny and Jessie had become sexually active. He remembered Race becoming almost angry and telling Estella that they were too young and the very idea wouldn't even have crossed their mind. Benton shook his head. He might be in denial, but he certainly wasn't stupid, either. Oh, yes, it had crossed their minds, all right. Benton had seen the telltale signs of heavy necking sessions and the smoldering glances that were exchanged between those two all too often to doubt that. After the night when Jonny admitted how he really felt about Jessie and how the desire for her was so strong, Benton knew he needed to address the issue directly. He had tried to talk with his son about it later, but it had been an awkward, one-sided discussion that Jonny simply refused to participate in. Fleetingly, Benton wondered if that particular discussion was always that hard.
Benton sighed deeply. What a mess. How could it be that he hadn't seen the situation with Jonny and Jessie coming? He had really believed that he was more attuned to his son than that. The entire relationship had simply blindsided him, and by the time he realized what was going on, it was well past the point where he, or Race, for that matter, could have done anything about it. Benton stopped at that thought. "Done anything about it?" Would he really have tried to prevent it if he had seen it coming? Benton was shaken at the line his thoughts were suddenly taking. Was he trying to cling to Jonny so hard that he would have deliberately tried to interfere in the developing romance between his son and Race's daughter?
"How about a cup of coffee, Benton?" a voice said to him, and suddenly there was a cup hovering in his line of sight. "Looks to me like you could use one."
Benton looked up and saw Myron Dawson standing next to his chair. Benton accepted the steaming cup with a smile of gratitude and watched as the elderly man moved gingerly to a nearby chair and sank into it with a grateful sigh. Myron was a life-long resident of Bangor, Maine, as his father had been and his father before him. When you first met him, the thought that immediately came to mind was that he was probably a troll. Myron Dawson was ugly. There was simply no other way to put it. He was small and stooped, had a lumpy face with a large, hairy mole on the end of his nose, and absolutely no hair. His hands were twisted and claw-like, and he had one eye that was milky white and sightless. All in all, his appearance was one that seemed custom-designed to frighten children.
But in truth, Myron was one of the sweetest, kindest men that Benton knew. He had turned 96 this past summer and was proud to proclaim his age to anyone who would listen. He suffered from a crippling form of arthritis that had twisted all of his joints into warped shapes and caused him to move with a slow and shuffling gate. Within recent months, he had begun to develop cataracts. Unfortunately, the doctors had been unable to remove them because of other health risks. So, in addition to everything else, Myron Dawson was rapidly going blind. And yet, in spite of all of this, he was always friendly, kind, happy, and eternally optimistic about the future. When asked how he could maintain that attitude, he would reply that the future would arrive whether we wanted it to or not, and worrying about it or cursing it would do nothing other than give a person ulcers . . . and since he had enough health problems as it was, he saw no point in encouraging another one to develop.
It had always been Benton's belief that Myron Dawson had lasted to the ripe old age of 96 because he insisted on keeping a positive attitude and looking to the future. One of the ways he did that was to remain forever involved in his community and the people around him. He loved children and always kept small sweets handy for the town kids who regularly ran in and out of the hotel. He was affectionately known as "Uncle Myron" to all of the town children, and most dropped by every day to see him. Many of them were the second and third generation of children who had come to visit the old man, their parents having stopped in regularly when they were small, as well. Even Jonny and Hadji, coming to this community as older children, had been drawn in by the old man's warmth and affection.
"That obvious, huh?"
The old man laughed. "You look like the weight of the world is resting on your shoulders."
Benton laughed, as well. "Nothing so easy to solve, I'm afraid."
Myron looked at the younger man shrewdly. "Your boys?"
"Where does the time go, Myron?" Benton asked plaintively. "Yesterday they were just children. And now . . . now, Jonny, of all people, is dithering after me like a mother hen after her chicks. I just don't know how to deal with this."
Myron thought about that for a while, allowing a comfortable silence to surround them. Finally, he nodded to himself and looked at Benton. "In my experience, Benton, there's only one way to deal with it."
"How?"
"Seems to me that both of your boys have good heads on their shoulders. You've raised them well and what you've taught them will serve them in the coming years. I don't think you need to worry about the choices they will make."
"I suppose."
"Don't mistake me, Benton. You won't like all of their decisions . . . parents never do. And eventually they will look back and see that some were right and some were wrong. But that's the way life is. All of us have our own lives to lead. You've prepared them well and you can't protect them forever. So be proud of them, Benton, and let them grow up. They'll be all right."
Myron rose slowly and gingerly to his feet. Benton glanced up and saw a man he didn't know standing at the main desk. As Myron moved past him toward the desk, he patted Benton's shoulder gently.
"And so will you."
Benton sighed as Myron moved off. Picking up the phone out of his lap, he slowly started to dial. Time to try Hadji again. As he waited for the connection to go through, he thought about the things Myron had said. Yes, he would be all right. He really didn't have much choice. But that knowledge wasn't any consolation. And it didn't give him a handle on how to deal with the way he was feeling. The steady ringing in his ear was suddenly interrupted by a voice.
"Plaza Hotel. How may I be of service?"
"Executive Suite, please."
"Certainly, Dr. Quest. Just one moment. I believe Mr. Singh is still in the hotel."
Benton shook his head in bemusement. After all these years and the multitude of times he had stayed at that hotel, you would think he would be accustomed to the way the staff there knew voices and who was staying where. But it still disconcerted him every time he called and didn't have to identify himself to the desk staff. Benton heard the phone begin to ring in his ear again as the call was transferred through.
"Hello?" The voice that answered the phone was not Hadji's. Rather, it was a low, warm contralto . . . a woman's voice, from the sound of it.
Benton hesitated for an instant, then said, "May I speak to Hadji Singh, please?"
"Just one moment. I will get him for you." Benton could hear the phone being set down and footsteps moving away. Then, distantly, he heard the voice say, "Hadji, there is a telephone call for you." The accent marked the woman as Indian. Kefira, Benton thought, feeling slightly strange. Again, he felt that uneasy jolt . . . as though time and life were getting away from him. For some reason, he hadn't expected her to answer the phone. Then he heard the phone being lifted from the table and his son's voice said,
"Hello?"
"Hello, Hadji."
"Father! I am very glad to hear from you. I was becoming concerned. You are safe and unharmed?"
Benton laughed. "Yes, I'm fine. Safely enthroned in the main lobby of the Phenix Inn watching people trying to struggle through the snow. And you? I take it that Kefira and her father arrived safely?"
"Yes, it was Kefira who answered the phone."
"I suspected as much. Did you get snow?"
"Some, but nothing that has caused any problems. I believe the storm moved offshore before it got this far south."
Benton sighed. "Well, the same can't be said here. Things are a mess and from what Jonny says, they are worse at home."
"You have talked with him this morning, then."
"Just got off the phone with him," Benton agreed. "They are snowed in, but all the systems at the Compound held up and he and Jessie are secure."
"I am not surprised. We have made it as self-sustaining as possible."
"He had the forethought to minimize the demands on the system at the peak of the storm, too, so as not to overload it."
"A wise precaution. So how do you want to deal with getting home? Shall I retrieve the car from storage again and drive?"
Benton thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. "No, I think not. I don't know how far south the storm got, but it's a certainty that you would hit bad roads before you got too far. It's also possible that you would only get part way and then be stranded. I suspect that rooms are hard to find in the storm zone. I think we would probably be better off following our original plan and have you fly up once they get Bangor International open again. I talked with the County Sheriff's Department this morning and they said they thought it would be open by late tonight or first thing tomorrow morning, providing we don't get any more snow."
"They are not predicting any. I was talking to the weather service not long before you called."
"That's the thing to do, then," Benton replied decisively. "No point risking travel if there's no need." He chuckled suddenly. "I'm sure you can keep yourself and the Subramanians occupied in New York for an extra day."
Hadji smiled. "Yes, I am sure I can."
"Just do me a favor and keep them out of the old subway tunnels, okay?"
Hadji laughed outright at that comment. "Yes, Father," he replied with feigned meekness.
"So do you want to call Jonny, or shall I."
"I will call. I promised him that I would call today, anyway."
"Fair enough. Let me know when you have a flight and when you will arrive."
"Certainly. You will be all right where you are?"
"Yes, yes, I'll be fine. You and Jonny, I swear."
"We are just concerned. You have no one there to protect you right now."
"I'll be fine," Benton repeated, with an edge of irritation in his voice. He paused, hearing himself, and then apologized. "I'm sorry, Hadji. I didn't mean to snap. I just . . ." He paused, searching for words. "I guess it's just that I'm not accustomed to having us all so strung out. What with Race and Estella in Colombia, you in New York, me in Bangor . . . "
"Yes, I know. It does feel strange." Hadji stopped. Then, abruptly, he said, "I liked it better the way things used to be."
"What?" Benton said, confused.
"It is just . . . sometimes I miss the way things used to be. I think life was simpler then."
Benton smiled to himself, suddenly feeling better. "Yes, I know. So do I. Look, I had better go. I've promised to play chess with Myron Dawson and he's already got the board set up."
"All right. I will talk with Jonny and then call you once I have a flight time. I hope it will be today, but it may be tomorrow."
"Probably tomorrow, but that will be fine. Tell Kefira and her father that I am looking forward to meeting them."
"I will. Take care. Goodbye, Father."
"Goodbye, Son."
Estella walked up to the table set up in the center of the work site and sank into a chair in relief. It was late in the afternoon and it had been hot and mercilessly humid all day. Everything she wore was sweat-soaked and clung to her uncomfortably. For all that it had been clear, she was fairly certain that they were going to have a tropical downpour very soon. It was unusual that it hadn't rained all day, and she had the feeling they were in for it. Letting out a deep sigh, she wiped her forehead with her forearm, leaned back in her chair and gazed at Race who sat opposite her across the table. But the expression on his face caused her to sit forward again in concern.
"What is it?"
"I can't get through."
"Who are you trying to call?"
"Benton and the kids. All I get is an overload signal every time I try to call the Compound."
"That's odd," Estella commented with a frown.
"It's a whole lot more than odd," Race said grimly. "I don't like it . . . not a bit."
"What number are you trying?"
"The main one at the house. I've also tried the separate line in Benton's study and the one in the lighthouse. I keep getting the same thing."
"How about the cell phone?"
Race punched the disconnect button on the phone, then keyed in a different one and put the phone to his ear again. "I don't know. I haven't tried that one yet. Let's see what we get." Both of them sat tensely, waiting for the connection to be made. Suddenly, he said, "It's ringing." The expression on Race's face darkened steadily and he became more and more tense as the phone continued to ring emptily. "Something wrong. This isn't . . ."
A sudden, sharp click in his ear interrupted him and, distantly, he heard his daughter's breathless voice say, "Hello?"
"Jess? Jessie is that you?"
"Dad?"
"Jessica, are you all right? What's wrong? Are Jonny and Benton . . ."
Race could hear the laughter in Jessie's voice as she cut across his flurry of questions. "Dad! It's okay. Really. Everyone is fine."
"Then what's wrong with the phones?"
This time Jessie laughed outright. "Oh, you are missing some serious fun."
"What kind of fun," Race asked suspiciously.
"The 26 inch kind."
"The what kin . . ." Then he stopped as what she had said registered. "You mean snow? Twenty-six inches of snow?"
"Uh huh. And ice. And blizzard conditions. And drifting. It finally cleared up around sunrise. All the land-based phone lines are out and have been all day long. Jonny and I have been in and out for most of the day trying to dig our way out to the main road and to the lighthouse."
"What about Hadji? And Benton?"
"Dr. Quest is stuck in Bangor. They have less snow but more ice. And Hadji is still in New York. Kefira and her father got in fine, and they have virtually no snow, but the Bangor airport is closed, as well as most of the roads, so he's stuck there, too. Hadji and Dr. Quest are supposed to be trying to make contact to coordinate arrangements to make it home while Jonny and I hold the fort here."
"You're both all right there alone?"
"Of course!" Even over that amount of distance, Race could hear the disgust in her voice at that question and he grinned reluctantly. "Why wouldn't . . . oh, hang on, Dad. I think I've got another call trying to come through. I'll be right back."
Abruptly, Race heard a click and then the line hummed at him emptily. He looked over at his red-headed companion with an expression of resignation. "It figures."
"They had a storm?" Estella asked in concern.
"A doozie, from the sound of it. And everyone is dispersed all over creation. Jonny and Jess are the only ones at home."
"Oh, wonderful," Estella said in disgust. "Right before our wedding. This is just great."
"Don't get upset. We've still got four more days. That's plenty of time for them to get the roads cleared and everything in order."
"Unless it starts to snow again!"
"Jess said it had cleared."
"Let's just hope it stays that way."
"Dad?" Jessie's voice sounded in his ear again.
"I'm here, Sweetheart."
"That was Hadji. He's talked with Dr. Quest and they are shooting for getting home sometime late tomorrow morning. He says that officials in Bangor say they should have at least one runway clear and usable by midnight tonight or so. So Hadji and Kefira and her father have reservations on a flight out of JFK at 8:05 tomorrow morning. They should get in by 9:15 or so and they'll meet Dr. Quest and start home from there. If all goes well, they should be here before noon."
"Well, you and Jonny lie low. Just stay there until Benton gets home. I don't want the two of you getting into trouble while all of us are so spread out."
"No can do, Dad. We've got school tomorrow."
"School? When it's that bad?"
"Yeah. I guess they figure the roads will be open enough by tomorrow morning that they're going to open the school. We're in the middle of finals and they don't want to cancel too many days or they won't be able to close the term before Christmas. They only need two days to finish up and they want to get them in."
"Well, just be careful. I don't care if the roads are open, they won't be safe."
"Yeah, I know. Jonny's been talking about taking one of the snowmobiles in tomorrow rather than trying to drive."
"Probably a wise idea."
Estella relaxed back into her chair again, aware by the tone of her ex-husband's voice that things were all right with their daughter. She thought grimly of the conditions back in Maine and wondered briefly if they might not be wise to postpone the wedding until things improved. But it was a brief thought only. She knew exactly the kind of response she would get from her daughter to that idea. She grinned to herself at the image her imagination painted of her daughter's face should she propose that to Jessie. No, that probably wasn't a wise thing to even suggest. A breeze gusted suddenly, stirring her hair. Looking up, she watched as the Malenquen pyramids on the far side of the dig site seemed to shimmer in the late afternoon sunshine and then disappear behind an opaque gray wall. Rain. Estella sat up abruptly and smacked Race on the shoulder as she rose to her feet. As he looked up at her, she pointed and ran to a nearby table to gather up the last of the paperwork. She could hear Race bidding Jessie a hasty goodbye as the two of them sprinted for their tent in the gathering rain.
"I tell you, Edgerton, this isn't going to work! The place is state of the art. There is no way to get in, free the target, and get him out without all of us ending up dead!"
Edgerton stood in the center of a room lined with bunks facing a man that towered a good 10 inches over him. And yet, none of the men who stood in a circle around the two watching the confrontation would have taken a bet on who would have come out the winner had things come to blows.
"You had better make it work," the smaller man replied coldly. "Mr. Baxter will accept no less. He wants Surd and he wants him now."
"I don't care what he wants," the other man replied belligerently. "I didn't buy into Baxter's organization to run suicide missions."
"Then what do you propose? Baxter wants Surd. Surd is being held in Brattleford Prison. That means we have to get the man out of it. Do you have a better idea?" Finally, something in Edgerton's voice seemed to get though to the man, and he shifted uneasily.
"I'm not saying it can't be done. I'm just saying we need more time to get it set up. This is the most secure prison in the United States, if not the world. It's going to be extremely difficult to break anyone out of it at all, let alone trying to do it with short set up time."
"Time," Edgerton replied with an edge in his voice, "is what we don't have. But perhaps we can give you a bit of an edge." He strode across the room and flicked a wall switch, "Communications, contact Dr. Shemanski and Dr. Nydek and send them down to me in Section G3 immediately. I need them."
"Yes, Sir," a disembodied voice replied from the speaker at his hand.
Edgerton turned back to the men clustered in a group on the other side of the room. "We will see if we can't eliminate a few of the obstacles. But I'm warning you, this job comes off tonight, one way or the other."
The tall man glowered back with an expression that said he hadn't given up on his argument. A few moments later, two people entered the room. Both were non-descript and seemed rather harried. The older of the two, a slightly stooped, gray-haired gentlemen with the air of someone's kindly grandfather spoke up first. "Katie said you wanted us, Nate?"
Edgerton glared at the old man with obvious dislike. He hated the informality and the implied lack of respect the man always demonstrated to him, not to mention that he was capable of driving him absolutely crazy. Unfortunately, he was good at what he did and they needed him. The fact that the old man knew it didn't help Edgerton's temper, either.
"Yes, Dr. Nydek, I was," Edgerton replied. "These gentlemen have been assigned the responsibility for breaking an old associate of yours out of jail. They seem to be having some difficulty coming up with a way of doing that and I was hoping you might have a solution to their problem."
"Ah, yes, Jeremiah. Student of mine. Brilliant mind . . . truly brilliant. Such a shame."
"Yes, yes . . ." Edgerton snapped impatiently, "but what can you do to help get him out?"
Nydek contemplated that thought in silence for a long time. Just before the others in the room thought sure that Edgerton was going to erupt, he finally spoke. "Out. Yes. Well, perhaps. There are people, of course. Won't help with the computers. Naturally. But the people. Yes, yes, that would do."
"What are you talking about?" Edgerton practically shrieked.
The old man blinked at him owlishly. "Why, air, of course. What else would I be talking about?"
"What . . . about . . . the . . . air?" Edgerton said through clenched teeth, barely keeping himself from striking the old man.
"But that's the key, you see."
Edgerton turned pale and rigid and his hands clenched into fists. But before he could say a word, the other newcomer stepped forward. She was of medium height and heavyset with long, thick blonde hair. Shoving her hair back out of her face, she interrupted the old man hastily, cutting off the infuriated lead scientist.
"I'm sorry Peter, but I really don't understand. How is the air the key?"
"Put something in the air." The old man looked thoughtful. "Should be easy to do. My new nerve gas. Yes." He nodded, talking to himself absently. "Put it in the air. Kill all the guards. No opposition. Yes, that would do." He peered again at the woman. "Could get it in easily. Colorless. Odorless."
"But, Peter," the woman said patiently, "it would kill Surd, too."
Nydek looked at her with a frown and replied testily, "Kill Jeremiah? No . . . no. Own air. Won't hurt Jeremiah. No."
Edgerton looked disgusted. "But what's to stop them from calling for help as soon as one of them develops the symptoms? A big place like that, it will take time to filter through."
Nydek grinned suddenly and any resemblance to a kindly old grandfather disappeared. "Won't matter. Slow acting. Takes a while. Doesn't matter, though . . . already dead. They just don't know it right away. Shut off the phones. In a while, makes no difference." He looked at the woman standing near him and frowned, "Computers, though. Won't stop them. Stupid things," he ended petulantly.
The woman put her arm around the old man and turned him in the direction of the door. "Now, Peter, you let me worry about the computers. Let's you and I go figure out how we're going to get the nerve gas into the prison."
As the two moved toward the door, they passed the group of men assigned the task of getting Surd out of jail. One of them was heard to mutter,
"But what about all them poor bastards locked up in that place? Won't they die, too?"
Nydek stopped and looked straight at the man who had spoken. Abruptly, the absent-minded old man was gone and in his place was a cold, calculating, heartless person whose gaze seemed to bore a hole through the man that had spoken. "Dead. Yes. Very dead. Like lab rats. Your point?" The man shook his head wordlessly and backed away. Turning back again, Nydek said, "Hungry. I'm hungry, Katie."
"Come along, Peter . . ." and her voice faded as the two left the room.
"Will that do? The computers and all the automated security systems disabled and all the guards dead? Do you think you can handle the job, now?" The sarcasm literally dripped from Edgerton's voice as he turned back to the leader of the group. "Or do I find someone who can?"
The tall man, looked at Edgerton, shaken. "You mean you plan to kill everyone in the place? Just to get one man out?"
"Since you can't seem to find any other way of doing it, that does appear to be the plan."
"Oh, I don't think I want any part of this," he said, backing away from the slight scientist. "I don't want . . ."
"You have a choice," Edgerton replied and a gun suddenly appeared in his hand. "You can enter the jail alive and bring out Surd, or you can enter it dead and stay there. Either way, you're going to Brattleford. You pick." For the space of three heartbeats there was total silence. And then it was shattered by the sound of the gun. The tall man's eyes widened and slowly he began to sag. The question in his eyes was clear as he slumped to the floor. Edgerton stared at the man for an instant and then looked at the others. "He took too long to answer." At random, he pointed to another man in the crowd. "You. You're in charge now. You leave here at 1800 hours. Nydek and Shemanski will have things ready for you to move by 0200 hours. In and out quickly. Just get Surd and get out." He looked down again at the man slumped on the floor and then stepped over the body negligently. "Oh, and make sure to take the trash with you and dispose of it. Think you can handle that?"
"Yes, Sir!" the man replied quickly.
"Good." And with that, Edgerton turned and left.