The Scorpio Illusion (21 page)

“That’s
it
,” said Tyrell. “Your machines were right, Basin Street. We’ve got it.”

“What have we got?” asked Neilsen.

“A wall. A goddamned man-made
wall
that bounces back the radar. Steel-encased is my guess; it’s concealed but it repulses the beams.”

“What do we do now?”

“Circle the island, then come back here if we don’t find any surprises.”

They slowly rounded the small island, barely breaking the surface, the undetectable radar beams scanning every foot of the coastline. For visual sighting, Poole squeezed up into Tyrell’s open hatch, a pair of night-vision binoculars at his eyes.

“Oh, boy,” said the lieutenant, angling his head down to be heard. “They’ve got detectors all over the place, every twenty or thirty feet, I figure, and definitely in series sequence.”

“Describe what you see,” said Hawthorne.

“They look like small glass reflectors, some on the palms, others on poles deep in the ground. Those on the tree trunks have single black or green wires going up through the leaves, the ones on the poles—lucite or plastic sticks—don’t seem to have any wires, not that I can tell.”

“They’re threaded,” explained Hawthorne, “buried four to six feet under; you couldn’t see them unless you were ten inches in front of them in broad daylight, and maybe not even then.”

“How come?”

“They’re clear blank veins, the contact colors at each end to connect the series. You were right about that part, the series.”

“Christmas tree lights?”

“Yes, but with backups. You can’t short one and knock out the series. The wires lead to batteries, above or below, that override the shorts and maintain contact.”

“Well, listen to the tech man! What are they?”

“Trip beams, and your computer mumbo jumbo is part of the mechanism. The beams can measure density—mass, if you like—so as to prevent small animals and birds from setting off the alarms.”

“You impress me, Tye.”

“They’ve been around since you were playing video games.”

“How do we get through ’em?”

“We crawl on our stomachs. It’s no big deal, Lieutenant. In the old days—five or six years ago—the boys from the KGB and we pure fellows on our side would drink up a storm in Amsterdam, telling one another how stupid we all were.”

“You did that?”

“We all did that, Jackson. Don’t ponder it. But don’t push it either.”

“You know, Commander, you really do puzzle me.”

“Like somebody once wrote, it’s all a puzzlement, young man.…
Hold
it, Major!” Catherine Neilsen looked up from the controls. “There’s the cove, the same one where we got the repelled beams before. From the wall.”

“Should I head in?”

“Hell, no. Proceed straight west, about a quarter of a mile, no more than that.”

“Then what?”

“Then your ‘darling’ and I are going to jump ship.… Get down from there, Poole. Check your weapon and zip-lock your equipment.”

“I’m on your side, Commander. You sound real purposeful,” replied Poole.

The telephone rang, its harsh bell starding Bajaratt out of her sleep, causing her instinctively to plunge her hand beneath the pillow for her automatic. Then, sitting up, blinking, her breath suspended, she imposed a control over her reactions that in no way diminished her astonishment. No one knew where she was—
they
were! From the airport, only fifteen minutes away, she had taken three different taxis to get to the motel, the first two in her disguise as a middle-aged former Israeli Air Force pilot, the third as an unmade-up harridan who spoke only broken English. Such motels as the one they were in did not require references, much less authentic names. The ringing started again; she instantly picked up the phone to cut it off, glancing at Nicolo beside her. He was fast asleep, his breathing steady, his breath reeking of stale wine.

“Yes?” she said quietly into the telephone, looking at the red numbers of the screwed-down clock radio on the bedside table. It was 1:35
A.M
.

“Sorry to wake you,” said the pleasant male voice on the line, “but our orders are to assist you, and I have information you may want to think about.”

“Who are you?”

“Names aren’t part of our instructions. Suffice it to say that our group holds a sick old man in the Caribbean in great esteem.”

“How did you find me?”

“Because I knew who and what to look for, and there weren’t that many places where you could be.… We
met briefly at Fort Lauderdale customs, but that’s not important, my information could be. Come on, lady, don’t give me a hard time. I’m taking a risk some people would say I’m out of my mind to take.”

“I apologize. Frankly, you surprised me—”

“No, I didn’t,” the pleasant voice interrupted. “I shocked you.”

“Very well, I’ll accept that. What is your information?”

“You did a hell of a job this afternoon; the Palm Beach barracudas are in a social feeding frenzy, as I’m sure you expected.”

“It was merely an introduction.”

“It was a lot more than that. You’ve got a small press conference tomorrow.”

“What
?”

“You heard me. This isn’t the New York—Washington orbit by a long shot, but we’ve got some decent newspeople down here, especially where the Beach society is concerned. It wasn’t difficult to figure where you’d be staying, so a few of them descended on The Breakers. We just felt you ought to know. You can refuse, of course, but we didn’t think you’d want to be … surprised.”

“Thank you. Is there a number where I can reach you?”

“Are you crazy?” The line went dead, replaced by a dial tone.

Bajaratt hung up the phone; she got out of bed and for several minutes paced back and forth in front of the pile of luggage and boxes from the shops on Worth Avenue. It was a minor thing, she thought, looking at the packages and complimenting herself on her foresight, but she had requested that all price tags and marks of the newly-purchased be removed from the clothing. Packing everything would be far easier in the morning. That was minor; something else was not.

“Nicolo!” she said loudly, slapping his bare feet that extended beyond the lifted sheets. “Wake up!”

“What …? What is it, Cabi? It’s dark.”

“It isn’t now.” The Baj walked to the floor lamp next to the sofa and turned it on. The dock boy sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “How much did you drink?” asked Bajaratt.

“Two or three glasses of wine,” he answered angrily. “Is that a crime, signora?”

“No, but did you study the information in those pages as you said you would?”

“Of course. I studied them last night for hours, then this morning on the plane, and in the taxis and before we went to the elegant stores. Tonight I read for at least an hour; you were asleep.”

“Can you remember everything?”

“I remember what I can remember, what do you want from me?”

“Where did you go to school?” asked the Baj harshly, standing at the foot of the bed.

“I was tutored at our estate in Ravello for ten years,” replied the young man, the answer an emphatic robotic reflex.

“And then?”

“L’École du Noblesse in Lausanne,” Nicolo shot back. “In preparation for—for—”

“Quickly! In preparation for
what
?”

“For the Université de Genève, that’s it!… And then my ailing father called me back to Ravello to absorb the family business … yes, he called me back, the family business.”

“Don’t hesitate! They’ll think you’re lying.”

“Who?”

“After your father called you back?”

“I employed my own tutors—” Nicolo paused, squinting, then the memorized words came rushing from his mouth. “… for two years to make up for my lack of university training—five hours every day! I’m told
that my scores on the
esami di stato
in Milano placed me in the highest levels.”

“Also documented,” said Bajaratt, nodding. “You did that very well, Nico.”

“I will do it better, but it’s all false, isn’t it, signora? Suppose someone who speaks Italian asks me questions I cannot answer?”

“We’ve gone over that. You simply change the subject, which I will change for you.”

“Why did you wake me up and go through all this?”

“It was necessary. You didn’t hear it, the wine blocked your ears, but I had a telephone call. When we arrive at the hotel tomorrow, there will be newspaper people who want to interview you.”

“No, Cabi. Who would care to interview a dock boy from Portici? They don’t want to interview me, they want to interview the
barone-cadetto di Ravello
, is it not so?”

“Listen to me, Nico.” The Baj, hearing the discontent in his voice, sat at the edge of the bed next to Nicolo. “You can really
be
that
barone-cadetto
, you know. The family has seen photographs of you, and they have learned of your sincere aspirations to become an educated man, a fine
nobile italiano
. They’re prepared to welcome you as the son they never had.”

“Once more you speak crazy words, signora. Who among the nobility wants their bloodlines tainted by the docks?”

“This family does, for it has nothing left but someone like you. They trust me, as you must trust me. Exchange your miserable life for another, far better, far richer.”

“But until that time comes, if it ever comes, it’s you who wants me to be the
barone-cadetto
, is that not so?”

“Yes, of course.”

“It’s very important to you, for reasons you say I must not inquire about.”

“Considering everything I’ve done for you, including saving your life, I think I deserve that respect.”

“Oh, yes, you do, Cabi. And I deserve to be rewarded for all the studying I’ve done on your behalf, not mine.” Nicolo raised his arms, placing his hands on her shoulders, and pulled her slowly across the bed. She did not resist the boy-man.

10

I
t was shortly past two
A.M
. when Hawthorne and Poole, in their black wet suits, crawled over the sharp rocks that were their point of entry on the unmapped island, the third of the volcanic atoll.

“Stay on your stomach,” said Tyrell into his radio. “Up ahead hug the ground like you were part of the dirt, have you got that?”

“Hell, yes, don’t you worry about it” was the whispered reply.

“Once we’re past the first trips, stay low for another fifty to sixty feet, okay? The trip beams will recede at various heights for about thirty feet on the premise that humans will stand up before then once on shore, but snakes and rabbits can’t, now do you read me?”

“There are snakes here?”

“No, there are
not
snakes here, I’m simply trying to explain how these systems work,” Tye said sharply. “Just stay down until I get up.”

“Whatever you say,” said Poole.

Sixty-eight seconds later, they had reached a flat stretch of the sun-scorched grass so common to the islands, a barren field incapable of nurturing palms or flamboyant trees. “
Now
,” said Hawthorne, getting to his feet. “We’re clear.” They raced across the acre of wasteland, suddenly stopping at strange, muffled sounds in the distance, animal sounds, high-pitched and erratic. “Dogs,” whispered Tyrell into the radio. “They’ve picked up our scent.”

“Oh, my God!”

“It’s the wind—it’s from the northwest.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we run like hell southeast. Follow me.” Hawthorne and Poole ran diagonally to their left toward the shoreline, entering a grove of traveler’s-palms. Breathless and standing next to each other under the cover of the spreading foliage, Tyrell spoke. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Why? The dogs aren’t yipping.”

“We’re out of their wind scent, but that’s not what I mean.” Tye looked around, angling his eyes up and around. “These palms are traveler’s; they grow out like fans, the kind you wave in front of your face.”

“So?”

“They’re the first to crack in heavy winds—see, a few have broken from the storms, but a lot of them haven’t.”

“So
?”

“What we saw from the sub, directly in front of the cove. Most everything had been leveled, uprooted, flat on the ground.”