Part Sixteen
He'd known they had to be close to some kind of civilisation. Even so, Scott had mentally resigned himself to a walk of indefinite, and quite possibly infinite, length. When Gordon had spotted the camera, Scott assumed it would be the first of many. He'd forgotten they were already in the heart of the island, behind layers of traps and cameras, many of which they'd probably avoided without ever realising it.
He certainly wasn't expecting the dense tree canopy overhead to change. He didn't even notice at first. His eyes, like Gordon's, were on the path they were stumbling along. It was only when he realised that the densely packed tree trunks were missing from his peripheral vision, the scatter of dead leaves thinning underfoot, that he glanced up, puzzled to find the light still muted, green and dappled despite the lack of vegetation. He studied the canopy overhead in confusion. His hand tightened on Gordon's shoulder, and astonishment flooded him as he realised that the leaf-clad branches had been replaced by a metal framework and a vast expanse of painted canvas sheeting.
"Scotty!"
Gordon's gasp dragged his eyes back down, towards a view so unlikely that they had slid across it on their way up. Metal girders, painted a raw, anti-corrosion red, formed a bewildering lattice directly in front of them. At first, he could see no hint of form or function, only a confusion of steelwork as if a bridge had suddenly collapsed, filling a small, circular valley set into the hillside as it did so.
Instinctively, he grabbed for Gordon, pulling the astonished younger boy to one side of the path and searching for something for them to take cover behind. He hadn't seen any sign of other people, or even of a camera, but he didn't doubt that this place was under some form of surveillance, electronic or otherwise. As quickly as he was able, he bustled Gordon around the perimeter of the valley, and into a narrow gap between the ironwork and a rock outcrop.
Gordon allowed himself to be manhandled, looking about him with wide-eyes and turning a baffled look on his elder brother.
"What is it, Scott?"
"No idea!"
Breathless, panting in the heat and confused, Scott looked around him, making sure that he couldn't see any hint of a camera lens from their temporary refuge, and hoping that meant none could see him. Wiping his brow to clear it of the sweat that had been getting heavier all day, he sank to his knees by Gordon's side, peering around the edge of the nearest girder and trying to take in the larger picture.
At first the metal lattice defied comprehension. It was built on a concrete platform, scattered with dirt and leaves. On the eastern edge of the valley, the floor was level with the access track and the hillside. As it stretched westward, both clockwise and anticlockwise, the circular valley cut into the steeply sloping hillside, so that rock walls rose gradually from ankle height near where the boys huddled to almost fifty feet at their highest point, towering over the far side of the structure and over a metal door set into the rock itself. The painted canvas canopy stretched overhead on a thin metal frame, jointed so that it would concertina back on demand and reveal the construction, whatever it was, to the sky.
"Why does it need to see the sky?" Scott wondered aloud, not expecting any sensible response. Gordon's mouth opened and closed, the little boy frowning as he tried to think of a suggestion. Scott didn't give him time. He waved a hand to take in the structure. "Circular. Look, Gordy, the valley is kind of a circle, see?" He coughed, wheezing a little as he tilted his head back. "And up there… the girders are in a circle too. It's kind of filled in by those panels."
Gordon's frown faded into a grin of recognition. "It's like the satellite dish on the roof."
Scott stared down at him. "What?"
"Remember that time Johnny wanted to see the stars and he sneaked out to lie on the roof, and I followed him, but I slipped, and ended up holding onto the gutter, and Johnny got upset, and then you got upset, Scotty, and then Daddy shouted a lot when he got us down?"
The earnestness of the small boy's question tickled something inside Scott. He knew it wasn't funny, but nonetheless, he felt somewhat hysterical giggles rising and tried hard to swallow them down.
"It was kind of a memorable day," Scott told his brother, deadpan. Not to mention being young John's introduction to the family 'what if my little brother copies me?' rule. Gordon seemed oblivious to his eldest brother's inappropriate amusement. His expression was completely serious as he nodded hard.
"The satellite dish on the roof. It's got kind of metal things behind it to keep bent into shape. It looked a bit like this from the back."
Scott choked back his grin at his little brother's sincerity, coughing as the suppressed laughter tickled his throat. He looked up again at the filled circle of wire-mesh panels, tilting his head as he tried to see what Gordon meant. The mention of John's developing interest in astronomy gave Scott the mental stepping-stone he needed.
"It is a dish," he realised. "A very, very big one." He frowned. "You remember John talking Mom and Dad into taking us to that observatory last summer?" he asked a little breathlessly. "Where they use radios to look at the sky? You and Alan coloured in pictures of the spectrum – the rainbow. Well, Allie mostly just scribbled a lot of different colours, but you made us a nice rainbow. Well, it's like that."
He'd seen a structure like this before. What had confused him at first was that while the dishes there had been vertical, raised on structures that would support and rotate them, this one was lying flat on its back, with the two boys looking up at its rear side. The dish's focus was directly above it, and if it hadn't been for the vast array of girders, joints and pivots in which it nested, he might have thought it was designed that way, waiting for the Earth's rotation to bring its target overhead. With the example of the radio telescopes to train his mind's eye though, Scott could begin to get a feel for just how it might unfold. He stared, dumb-founded, at the intricate piece of engineering.
"Wow."
"Scott?"
Scott looked down into his brother's worried face.
"You see there, Gordy?" he asked, pointing. "Well, if that folds up, and that bit there rotates…" He stopped in the face of Gordon's obvious confusion. He swayed gently, a little dizzy from his rapid survey of their surroundings. Sweat was pouring off his forehead, trickling into his eyes. He felt drained and slightly unreal, the sheer unlikeliness of what was in front of him adding to his daze. "You'll have to ask Virge to explain."
Scott had already lifted the pack from his little brother's back and started to untwist it to get at their water before Gordon's confused, upset expression registered. Scott's flushed cheeks drained of colour as he realised what he'd said. His world narrowed to his little brother's face. Gordon's features blurred, amber eyes replaced by chestnut brown, copper hair blending into rich mahogany. Scott shuddered hard, swaying, and not even Gordon's quick grab for him was able to stop his legs from giving way under him or the wave of blackness that swept over him.
"Scotty? Scotty, talk to me? Please?"
Gordon's desperate plea was the first thing Scott became aware of. His eyes were struggling to focus, and his voice had vanished, his throat so dry and closed that he seemed barely able to breathe let alone speak. Gordon was babbling, saying he was sorry and he didn't really need to know how it worked. Scott closed his eyes against the distress in his little brother's apology, trying to find his balance in a world coloured by pain and lacking its two foundation stones.
Water splashed across his lips and his tongue swept across them, desperate for the moisture. More water trickled, and this time Gordon had managed to lift the bottle high enough for it to reach his parched mouth. He gulped and choked, and sipped some more, groaning, before the stream stopped.
He heard and felt Gordon drop down beside him, and his brother's hands lifting Scott's head into his lap. Gordon's fast, tearful voice gradually slowed, silence descending.
"Do you think Allie will remember us?"
The question, and the quiet, sad tone in which Gordon asked it, broke through the fever-dream.
"Gordy?" he asked softly, opening his eyes and wheezing as he tried to lift his head.
"Virge and Daddy went with the Santa Anna and the storm took them away. Now the bad men are looking for us, and you're really sick and I don't know what to do, Scotty. I reckon they're going to find us, and they didn't want us to see anything, and I bet they really didn't want us to see this." Gordon swam into focus. There were tears on his face, but his eyes were fixed in the middle distance. He stroked Scott's hair reassuringly, tears rolling down his cheeks and off his chin to land on his big brother's face. Despite that, his voice was calm, just very, very sad. "We're not going to get back to Mom, are we, Scotty? I think it'll be okay, because you'll be with me, and we'll get to see Daddy and Virgil again, but Mom and Johnny will be kind of upset, I think, and Allie's just going to get confused, 'cause he's only little. He'll think we've gone away to school or on a really long holiday or something, and he'll grow up without us and I'll never get to be his big brother, not properly. He won't have you or Virge to look after him, or Daddy to read to him and that's just not fair because I've had all that and he ought to too, and I think he's too little to understand that we don't want to go away. Johnny's a good big brother too, of course, but he's going to be sad for a long time." Gordon paused, dropping his head and closing his eyes. "I just want Allie to know that I wanted to be the one to go to school with him his first day, and when he grows up and gets old like you are, all this will be a long time ago, and we won't have been there, and I think it'll be kind of okay if Alan and John are happy, even without us, but I just don't want him to forget about us."
Scott's eyes opened wide. His brother's voice had been a lifeline, guiding him back to consciousness. His body was still shivering, the heat he'd been feeling suddenly turned ice cold. The world was fuzzy around the edges, his vision narrowed down to a tunnel. Despite that, he struggled to make his aching limbs and spinning head respond. He blinked his eyes clear, swallowing past his swollen throat, and forced his elbows under him, lifting his head out of Gordon's lap and taking some of his own weight.
"Gordy…"
Gordon shuffled forward, hurrying to support his brother.
"You're sick." Gordon's voice was uncertain. He sniffed, trying to suppress the tears and offer his big brother something halfway between a reassuring smile and a cross frown. "You ought to lie down."
Scott made it to sitting upright through stubbornness and force of will. Gordon's plaintive lament for their baby brother rang through his head. He pulled the six-year-old into his arms, hugging him tightly. "Al… Alan won't forget us," he gasped. His voice was still hoarse and not making it much above a whisper. The water, the last of their water, had helped a little there, although he still felt more breathless than even his sore throat could account for. Scott pressed his flushed cheek against the top of Gordon's head. "'Cause we're not going to let him. We're going to… going to get out of this, Gordy."
Gordon squirmed free, looking up into his brother's barely-focused blue eyes. Whatever he saw there both worried and comforted him. He nodded, coming to one of Scott's sides and getting a hand around his waist to help support him.
"Gor… Gordy. There was a door." Scott waved a hand vaguely in what he thought he might be the right direction. "This…" Again he waved a hand, this time up at the dish. "There's a radio… we've just got to find it."
"Scott…" Gordon's voice was deeply uncertain. "Can you get over there?"
Scott twisted from sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, to kneeling, Gordon steadying him through every move. Gritting his teeth, Scott got one foot flat on the ground, using Gordon and the girder beside him to reinforce limbs that felt like burning jelly. He would have gone on, even if he had to crawl. Gordon's desperation and the thought of Alan waiting for them at home gave him the strength to stand instead. Gordon threw his arms around Scott's waist, taking most of his brother's weight. Scott leaned hard against him, and against the ironwork, making an enormous effort to lift each foot and effectively pulling himself along the girder before it fell back to the ground.
Twenty yards felt like twenty miles, Scott struggling the whole way, Gordon obviously frantic with anxiety but helping as much as he could. Scott took a deep breath, fighting against the tightness of his chest, and managed to take most of his own weight as he staggered the few steps between the last of the metal structure's girders and the rock wall ahead of them.
They collided with the wall as Gordon concentrated on moving forward rather than steering, sliding down against it until Scott was on his knees, Gordon crouched beside him. Scott swallowed back a wave of dizziness and nausea, pressing his forehead to the cool metal of the door. It was basic, utilitarian, a steel plate with a lock that Scott had no chance of picking, even if he knew where to begin. He might as well close his eyes and wish it open. He had about as much chance of getting through it that way as any other. Scott tried to hide his sense of despair, aware of Gordon's eyes on him, expecting him to explain their next move and never doubting that there was one. His little brother had turned to face the enormous radio dish, sitting with his back to a metal grille beside the door as he took a minute to catch his own breath.
Scott gazed at him, then past him, squinting his eyes to force them to focus. He shuffled a few inches towards his brother, numb fingers probing the edges of the grille and hesitating over a recessed screw. His concentration narrowed to the single task, he frowned.
"Screwdriver," he mouthed silently. No, that was wrong, there was another option. Something he knew he ought to be remembering. "Penknife!" he exclaimed aloud, pleased with the hints of his own returning rationality. He fingered the screws for a few seconds longer before he looked around, frowning, suddenly aware of something important missing. "Gordon?"
His little brother came running back. Neither of them was worrying about cameras any more. It was too late for that. Gordon carried the grey tarpaulin pack in both arms, stumbling as he hurried back to his brother's side. Scott was still reacting slowly, not sure whether to berate his brother for running off, or thank him for bringing their supplies. Instead he watched in silence, saving his breath, as his little brother unwound the pack and scrabbled through it, pulling out the Swiss army knife with a satisfied air.
They'd carried the metal tool for two days. Now it proved its worth. Scott fumbled the screwdriver attachment open. He held his breath, putting all his strength into an initial twist before letting Gordon take over the effort of loosening each of the four screws holding the grille in place. They pulled the wire mesh out between them, sharing a small smile of satisfaction for the achievement. The shaft they revealed was perhaps three feet by two, leading off into the depths of the hillside. Gordon crouched down towards it without hesitation, obviously planning to dive straight in. Scott moved to block him, dropping onto his belly and peering into the darkness.
"What is it, Scotty? Where does it go?"
"Probably ventilation," Scott suggested, keeping his statement short and still wheezing out the end. Cautiously he shook his limbs. He had all the strength of a day-old kitten and knew it. Should he let Gordon go ahead, feeling his way through the darkness? Scott was pretty sure he could still crawl, but he also knew his brother would probably move faster. The last thing he needed was Gordon racing ahead. And the last thing Gordon needed was Scott passing out again, potentially blocking their only escape route if the shaft turned out to be a dead end. No, better to lead the way, and leave his brother free to back out the way they came if necessary. "I'll go first, Gordy. Let's be careful, okay? Follow me."
The jigsaw puzzle wasn't coming close to holding Virgil's attention. He fiddled with it in a desultory manner, reaching out from time to time for a likely looking piece and trying it in a variety of orientations before letting it drop between his fingers. Mostly he just sat and thought, the puzzle no more than a distraction for the adults who hovered around him, and a deterrent against the two little girls playing a short distance away.
He jumped, startled and a little annoyed, when a slender hand reached past him and selected a puzzle piece to add to the edge of the barely started picture.
"John!" he protested automatically, shaking his head. His younger brother never had been able to resist an incomplete jigsaw. There was something about them that seemed to offend the other boy's deep-seated need for order.
Blinking, Virgil twisted around. John was beside him, changed and showered, but looking more rather than less tired for his few hours away from the hospital. There were deep shadows under his eyes that suggested his sleep had been disturbed, if it hadn't eluded Virgil's newly-returned brother completely. He mustered a smile that didn't reach his pale blue eyes.
"Sorry," he apologised, glancing down at the puzzle.
Virgil shook his head, returning his brother's weak smile and dismissing his apology with a wave. "I've never liked these things," he observed, as John's hands twitched towards another component of the broken picture. "Help yourself, Johnny."
John gave in to temptation, selecting the piece he'd noticed and fixing it into place. Task accomplished, he sat back, still looking down at the board but as unenthused about the jigsaw as Virgil, even if he was couldn't stop himself working on it. Virgil hesitated. John's subdued demeanour worried him. He just wasn't sure whether he could, or should, put his concern into words. It wasn't as if he had any doubts about what was troubling his younger brother.
A movement at the doorway to the children's ward distracted Virgil from his dilemma. Mom was there, bending down to Alan with a harried expression on her face. Alan was looking far brighter, his nap having recharged his energy and exuberance, in stark contrast to John's weariness. He looked a little chastened as his mother scolded him for whatever had delayed their arrival, but his eyes kept darting towards the play area and the tempting piles of toys there. Mom finally released Alan's hand, watching with a fond smile as he ran across the room to the soft toy bin. It felt good to see her smile.
She came over, embracing Virgil gently, sitting behind him so her arms encircled him. He leaned back against her, eyes closed, taking a moment just to feel safe and comfortable. Then he opened his eyes to the children's ward, saw John watching Alan anxiously and the frequent glances his baby brother threw back towards them. He tilted his head back, looking up into his Mom's pale face.
Talking to Dad had helped a lot. Virgil trusted his father implicitly. His heart might struggle to believe it, but his head had no choice other than to accept what Dad told him – that just possibly losing Scott and Gordon to the waves hadn't been his fault. It didn't stop the guilt tearing at him now. He had no right to his mother's comfort when his brothers were lost and afraid without it. He sat up, pulling out of Mom's arms. She held him for a moment before letting go, shifting so Johnny was on her left and Virgil on her right, both sons close enough to feel her warmth.
"Have you been awake long, Virgil honey?"
"No, Mom. Not long." Virgil sighed, shaking his head and poking again at the piled puzzle pieces. "Dad's still asleep," he volunteered
Mom echoed his sigh. "I know, darling. His doctor told me." She gave another small smile. "He's making their lives a misery whenever he's awake, but that's your Dad. Now, what's this puzzle meant to be?"
Mom stayed for an hour or so, talking quietly to Virgil and John, the three of them cooperating over the puzzle, with occasional over-enthusiastic 'help' from Alan. Despite everything, Virgil's shoulders had lost a little of their tension by the time the picture was half-finished, and his dull headache had faded. The situation was forced, unnatural, truly horrible, but it was somehow easier to deal with surrounded by his family.
He didn't want to let Mom go when Dad woke, even knowing that his father needed her too. John looked just as unhappy, but simply nodded, promising Mom that he'd look after their little brother as if the duty nurse, and the porter who'd been hovering around the ward, were insufficient guardians. Alan seemed to have been adopted by Amelia and Susie, the two little girls charmed by his blue eyes and blond curls, but he looked up, scared and hugging Mom tightly, as she told him to be good until she came back. All three boys watched her to the door, Alan's lips trembling until the girls made a deliberate effort to distract him with their toys.
Virgil was silent for a few seconds after Mom left the ward, his eyes on his middle brother.
"Johnny, are you okay?"
John frowned, meeting his elder brother's eyes for the first time. Virgil could see all his own doubts, fears and desperate hope reflected in Johnny's tired gaze. John gave a slight shake of his head, turning away.
"Do you think Mr Vaughan will find them?"
Sighing, Virgil gave John a steady look.
"I think he and Inspector Travis will try."
Rummaging in the bag of toys and snacks Mom carried around for Alan, John pulled out a wad of folded newsprint. He lifted it out onto his lap, smoothing the pages. On the top sheet, Virgil could see an old NASA photograph of their father under banner headlines that tried to reduce their family tragedy to mere sensation.
"There are press people all around outside," John told him, his eyes downcast. "Mom didn't want me to read the papers at the hotel. She says that there was a storm and the boat sank and that's all I need to know, but… I want to know what people are saying, Virgil. I've got to know what's going on. Read with me?"
Virgil baulked at the idea. He didn't want to know what the media was saying about his family. He caught sight of his own name in one of the sub-headings, and those of his brothers, and his eyes blurred. He wanted to say no, to tell John it wasn't important. Johnny's worried expression persuaded him otherwise. Virgil's bright younger brother was never happy until he understood a situation. As bad as this one was, hiding anything from him when he already suspected the worst would only upset John further.
His brother was desperate for some way to process the situation, if only through an analysis of the media's lies. Swallowing hard, Virgil held out his hand for the paper.
"I'll read. Stop me if you want to ask anything."
Of course, John could already understand pretty much anything his eleven-year-old brother could explain, but Virgil wouldn't let John try to figure all this out alone. Scott wouldn't have.
"Interesting technology." Vaughan picked up a remote control, studying it before tossing it casually onto Villacana's steel and glass table. It skittered across the smooth surface, landing at a jaunty angle, tilted slightly onto its side. Its owner followed it with his eyes, a noticeable frown crossing his brow.
Villacana was rattled. Travis watched in fascination as Vaughan played the man. From the moment their helijet had landed, thundering out of a clear blue sky before Villacana could so much as radio an objection, the NASA security man had had the upper hand.
"NASA technology?" Travis asked idly, playing along. He'd settled back in one of the pristine black leather chairs, sprawling casually, arms and one leg hanging over the chair arms. The look Villacana gave him was one of impotent fury.
"Oh yes." Vaughan's amused tone drew all eyes back to him. "Definitely NASA technology. Patented too. You must have paid a pretty penny for permission to make these, Auguste." He frowned, as if a new idea had only just occurred to him. "You did, didn't you?"
Travis echoed his frown. "Maybe we should look into that?"
He watched in amusement as Villacana's fists clenched.
Vaughan had explained his strategy during the forty-minute journey from Dominga. While Travis and Kearney had been making things up as they went along during their first interview with San Fernando's dictator, Vaughan had not only his ID file, but also his NASA psyche profile to call on. It was hardly a surprise to find that Villacana fitted a classic profile: obsessive, controlled and rigidly constrained by plans and routines. Some scientists, some software engineers, were apparently impulsive, imaginative free thinkers. Villacana evidently wasn't one of them.
The man's withdrawal, his strict control over his small world, and the distaste he'd shown at Travis and Kearney's visit, all told Vaughan that nothing in the last decade had changed Villacana's personality. And it told both Vaughan and Travis that if they wanted to get under his skin, there was one simple way to do it. From their unannounced arrival to their disrespectful treatment of his belongings, everything they were doing was intended to disrupt Villacana's control and routine.
"I must protest your quite unacceptable behaviour!"
Vaughan turned on him, eyes cold. The tall, bulky, middle-aged black man towered over the pale, young, wafer-thin programmer. That anyone could live for near a decade on a Domingan island without picking up a hint of a tan was astonishing. It made for a dramatic contrast between them. Vaughan took a step forward, the pleasant façade he'd adopted since their arrival almost an hour before dropping away.
"Villacana, I find you behaviour not just unacceptable. I find it inhuman."
Villacana backed up a step before raising his chin, his own expression frigid. "Do you even have any jurisdiction here, Vaughan? I left NASA quite some time ago."
"You were fired," Travis noted from the armchair. "For failing."
"Never!" It was almost a hiss. "My projects never failed. The fools I was working with – "
" – working for – " Travis corrected.
" – they didn't understand. They didn't have the wit."
"Your genius was never recognised?" Vaughan shook his head. "Do you know how many disgruntled ex-employees I've heard say that? How many people I've escorted off the premises because they just weren't good enough?"
Villacana's thin-lipped smile had all the warmth of a cobra's. "You have no idea how good I am."
"All your work built on a good idea you had as a teenager? A stray spark between otherwise quite unremarkable neurons." Vaughan drew one of the chairs away from the table and swung it around, sitting with a leg to either side of it, leaning on its back. "And it turns out that even that was a fraud."
Travis raised an eyebrow, recognising his cue, although he wondered where this was going. "I don't know why we're here. We might as well go, he doesn't know anything worth knowing."
Vaughan sighed, glancing in his direction. "You're probably right, Inspector." He shook his head, standing. "He doesn't even know that his great theory – those encryption codes you built your reputation on, Villacana – turn out to be full of holes."
"The codes are perfect," Villacana snapped. "No one has ever broken them! No one!"
The man drew in a quick, sharp breath. His expression flickered and then settled back into its blank mask as Villacana visibly fought for calm. He looked from Vaughan to Travis and back again, as if assessing their reactions. Travis was careful to keep his under control, his own neutral mask the product of long police training. Vaughan raised an eyebrow.
"You seem very sure of that, Auguste," he noted. "But then you've been hiding your light under a bushel, haven't you? You've been keeping a good deal closer in touch with the world outside than you've been letting on, haven't you?"
Villacana's expression remained neutral, but his body language was wary, the slightest flicker of something that didn't look like guilt but might be irritation passing through his eyes.
"I have no idea what you mean," Villacana said coolly.
Vaughan shrugged, as if totally indifferent.
"Your radio dish, of course," he said casually, standing and striding towards the picture window.
Travis had been listening carefully. Blank as his expression might be, his eyes were intent on his host's face. He saw the reaction that Villacana was unsettled enough to reveal, or simply not quick enough to hide. The surprise was obvious, and baffling. Whatever Villacana had thought Vaughan was talking about, the radio dish wasn't it. And for the first time, their host seemed genuinely dismayed by something they'd said rather than merely angered by it.
Travis shot Vaughan a swift, puzzled look. Still facing out across the island, Vaughan caught Travis' eye in the reflection, acknowledging that he'd seen the same reaction.
"Well hidden, isn't it?" Vaughan observed, peering down over the tree canopy. "If we hadn't been looking for it when we flew in, we wouldn't even have noticed the cover amidst the trees. With a dish like that, you've got to have an impressive bandwidth. You must be more or less on top of things. I'm surprised you hadn't worked it out. What happened with the Weather Station, I mean."
Now Villacana froze. It wasn't just his expression that shut down. His body language itself came under his rigid control, as if the man was trying hard to deny his own presence in the room entirely.
"I have no idea what you mean."
This time the phrase couldn't be anything but a lie.
Vaughan turned his back on the window, his movement abrupt. He strode across the room until he was no more than a metre in front of the other man. "Someone got control of the Weather Station, Villacana. Someone broke through your 'perfect' unbreakable codes. Someone took control of a storm and aimed it slap bang at San Fernando! Who was it, Villacana? Who wants that badly to kill you?"
Vaughan meant it as the hammer blow that would break their host. Travis was on his feet, ready to back him up. Neither man expected the complex mix of emotions that Villacana displayed. The intense surprise shattered his mental shell, followed almost immediately by relief and then amusement, caution and a renewed, resurgent confidence. And then it was all gone, dark eyes unreadable in a pale face.
"Vaughan, you have no idea what you're talking about."
Vaughan blinked.
It was the turning point of the interview and all three men realised it. Villacana breathed coolly, glancing at a monitor on the wall behind Travis, apparently absorbing the information streaming there between breaths. Crossing to the window, he stood in front of it, hands folded behind his back as he surveyed the two confused detectives.
"I thought you were searching for these missing children," Villacana observed with mild disdain. "This 'Scott' and 'Gordon'." He glanced again at the screen, raised an eyebrow slightly, and moved a few steps closer to his information source before looking around again. "Scott and Gordon Tracy, it would seem, according to some of the reputable press." Travis winced before he could stop himself. As Vaughan had told them, it had only been a matter of time before the news broke. And again Villacana's hint of surprise seemed genuine. "You did say ex-NASA, I believe, Inspector."
"You weren't aware that Jeff Tracy and his family were in the area?" Vaughan demanded, realising he'd lost control of the conversation.
Villacana showed no hesitation in his answer. "As I told the Inspector and his colleague, I neither knew nor cared."
"Mr Villacana." Travis kicked himself the moment he accorded their host the deference inherent in even so mundane a title. "Can you explain why you require a communications dish as large as the one that has been identified on your island?"
Villacana's lack of reaction was interesting in itself, but there was no clue now as to what it might be hiding. "No."
Vaughan opened his mouth to speak and Villacana cut him off.
"I see no reason to explain myself or any of my activities to you."
"We're investigating the piracy of one of the most powerful weapons on the planet, Villacana," Vaughan's frustration burst to the surface. Travis frowned, realising that admitting the urgency of their mission handed Villacana more power over them. To all appearances the man appeared indifferent to it.
"Do you have any evidence that I am in any way connected to it? A few stray tourists, albeit a celebrity and his offspring, founder near my home and I am subjected to interrogation, abuse and an intolerable intrusion into my privacy."
Travis took a deep breath. He met Vaughan's eyes, willing the other man to calm down, and summoned up his most professional tone.
"It is routine procedure to investigate all possible leads," he said calmly. "And the artificial induction pulse did fall very close to San Fernando."
"Hardly." Villacana waved a hand in a small, dismissive gesture. "The accuracy of the World Weather Control System is within tens of metres, Inspector. Not tens of miles. I don't know what gave you the idea that I might have been under attack. As I recall, no one at NASA considered my services worth retaining, or appreciated the ways in which my skills had developed. I can't imagine, Mr Vaughan, that their opinions have changed." In anything but a blank monotone, the words might have seemed bitter. As it was, they came out as a simple statement of fact. "I would have thought Jeff Tracy made a far more promising target."
Sighing, Travis rubbed the back of his head. They'd come full circle. As much as he disliked Villacana, as much as he was more certain than ever that the man was hiding something, he had to admit that it was a valid point.
It wasn't much more than half an hour before they were back on the helijet, strapped in and ready for departure. All in all, they'd been on San Fernando for barely two hours, most of that spent in a verbal jousting match with a man who'd seemed human for less than five minutes somewhere in the middle of it.
"He knows something," Vaughan thumped the arm of his chair in frustration as the vehicle dragged itself laboriously into the air. "When I mentioned the Weather Station there was something there."
"He practically laughed in our face when we suggested the storm was aimed at him though." Travis rubbed his face tiredly, not disagreeing, but sharing Vaughan's frustration. "Damn it! We had that one chance and we blew it! We still don't have enough. Not enough for a search warrant, or even to haul him back to Dominga for questioning. A few expressions, a few strange comments…" he shook his head.
Vaughan's eyes were deadly serious when they met his. "Travis, do you have any idea how much damage the Weather Station could do in unfriendly hands? We're not just talking about storms aimed at individuals. We're talking flooding and droughts, crop failure and mass starvation. Half the planet could be rendered uninhabitable within six months. We're talking about a madman holding the world to ransom, for reasons obvious to him, but incomprehensible to everyone around him. By the time the public realise the first storm wasn't a malfunction, it'll be too late to do anything to stop the next, or the next, or the one after that. If Villacana knows anything, anything at all, I have to get it out of him."
"You're going on a gut feeling. I'm not arguing with it, but he's right. There's not one shred of evidence that would justify another trip out here."
Vaughan grimaced. "We don't have time to figure this out the hard way. I've got people back at base scouring every transmission, every record we've ever made with Villacana's name attached. There has to be a connection to whoever is responsible. I just need more leverage before we try again."
Travis rubbed a tired hand across his face. "Vaughan, the space station is your responsibility. I'm so far out of my jurisdiction, I'd need a telescope to see it. God knows I want to help, but Domingan law means I can't force him off San Fernando unless there's evidence he's broken international treaties. So far, all I've got against him is bribery and attempted deceit, and those are petty charges at best. Nowhere near enough to get me an extradition order against San Fernando. He wasn't joking when he threatened me with a harassment charge before we left. The interference-free sovereignty of the islands is in our constitution, Vaughan! Maybe you can find a way to make this investigation stick – call in the C.I.A., or W.S.P., or whatever it takes to get you back onto the island. I can't take you."
Travis rested his head against the glass of the window, frustration and a sense of devastating impotence burning through him. He was aware of Vaughan already on his satellite phone, pulling every political lever and trying every law enforcement contact he had to muster the authority for a raid on San Fernando. It was clear even from his initial comments that it wasn't going to be a quick process. The island fell behind them, a tiny green speck in the vast ocean that had swallowed Scott and Gordon Tracy up whole. And if Vaughan was right, the two boys would only be the first of many.