Tiffani and Commander Winters both realized at virtually the same time that their hands were still intertwined. They looked at each other for a moment and then, embarrassed, awkwardly separated them. Melvin Burton slipped between his players and put his arms around their shoulders. “So go on home now and think about what I’ve said. And come back tomorrow and really break a leg.”
Vernon Winters drove the Pontiac into his driveway in suburban Key West just before eleven o’clock. The house was quiet, the only lights were in the garage and the kitchen. As regular as the stars, Vernon thought, Hap to bed at ten, Betty to bed at ten-thirty. In his mind’s eye he saw his wife go into his son’s bedroom, as she did every night, and fiddle momentarily with his sheets and coverlet. “Did you say your prayers?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hap always answered.
Then she would kiss him good night on the forehead, turn out his light as she left the room, and go into her bedroom. Within ten minutes she would have changed into her pajamas, brushed her teeth, and washed her face. She would then kneel beside her bed, her elbows on the top of the blanket and her hands clasped right in front of her face. “Dear God,” she would say aloud, and then she would pray until exactly ten-thirty, moving her lips silently with her eyes closed. Five minutes later she would be asleep.
Vernon was aware of a vague disquiet as he walked through the living room toward the three bedrooms on the opposite side of the house from the garage. There was something stirring in him, something that he could not identify exactly, but he assumed it was associated with either the nervousness of opening night or the sudden return of Randy Hilliard to his life. He wanted to talk to someone.
He stopped at Hap’s bedroom first Commander Winters walked in quietly in the dark and sat on the side of his son’s bed. Hap was fast asleep, lying on his side. A tiny nightlight beside his bed illuminated his profile. How like your mother you look, Winters thought. And act. You two are so close. I’m almost a trespasser in my own home. He put his hand gently against Hap’s cheek. The boy did not stir. How can I make up for all the time I was gone?
Winters gently nudged his son awake. “Hap,” he said softly, “it’s your dad.” Henry Allen Pendleton Winters rubbed his eyes and then sat up quickly in bed. “Yes, sir,” he said, “is anything wrong? Is Mom all right?”
“No,” his father answered, and then laughed. “I mean yes. Mom’s all right. Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to talk.”
Hap looked at the clock beside his bed. “Ummm, well, okay, Dad. What do you want to talk about?”
Winters was quiet for a moment. “Hap, did you ever read the copy of the script that I got for you and your mother, the one from my play?”
“No, sir. Not much,” Hap replied. “I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t get into it. I think maybe it’s above my head.” He brightened. “But I’m looking forward to seeing you in it tomorrow night.” There was a long pause. “Umm, what’s it about anyway?”
Winters stood up and looked out the open window. Beyond the screen he could hear the gentle susurration of the crickets. “It’s about a man who loses his place with God because he can’t or won’t control his actions. It’s about . . .” Winters turned his head around quick1y and caught his son eyeing the clock. A sharp emotional pain raced through him. He waited until it had abated and then drew a breath. “Well, we can talk about it some other time, son. I just realized how late it is.”
He walked to the door. “Good night, Hap,” he said.
“Good night, sir.”
Vernon Winters walked past his wife’s room to the third bedroom at the end of the hall. He undressed slowly, now even more aware than before of an unfulfilled longing. He thought for a fleeting second about waking Betty up to talk and maybe . . . But he knew better. That’s not her style, he said to himself, never was. Even before when we slept together. And after Libya and the dreams and tears at night who could blame her for wanting her own bedroom.
He slipped into his bed in his undershorts. The soothing melody of the crickets enveloped him. And besides. She has her God and I have my despair. There is nothing left between us except Hap. We couple as strangers. both fearing any discovery.
10
“THE communication room will close in five minutes. The communication room will close in five minutes.” The disembodied, recorded voice sounded tired. Carol Dawson was weary herself. She was talking to Dale Michaels on the videophone. Photographs were strewn all over the desk underneath the screen and the video camera.
“All right,” Carol was saying, “I guess I agree with you. The only possible way for me to decipher this puzzle is to bring all the photos and the telescope recording unit back to Miami. “She sighed and then yawned. “I’ll come up there first thing in the morning, on the flight that arrives at seven-thirty, so that IPL can get an early shot at the recorded data. But remember, I must be back here in time to pick up the golden trident at four. Can the lab process all the data in a couple of hours?”
“That’s not the hard part. Trying to analyze the data and piece together a coherent story in an hour or two will be the tough job. “Dr. Dale was sitting on the couch in the living room of his spacious condominium in Key Biscayne. In front of him, on the coffee table, was a magnificent jade chess board with green and white squares. Six carved chess pieces were still on the board, the two opposing queens and four pawns, two from each side. Dale Michaels paused and looked meaningfully at the camera. “I know how important this is to you. I’ve cancelled my eleven o’clock meeting so I can help you.”
“Thanks,” Carol said automatically. She felt a trickle of irritation. Why is it, she thought while Dale talked about one of his new projects at MOI, that men always demand gratitude for every little sacrifice? If a woman changes her schedule to accommodate a man, it’s expected. But if a man revises his precious schedule it’s a big fucking deal.
Dale droned on. Now he was enthusiastically telling her about a new Institute effort to survey the underwater volcanoes around Papua, New Guinea. Whew, Carol smiled to herself when she realized that Dale’s self-centered focus was bothering her, I must really be beat. I believe I’m on the verge of being bitchy.
“Hey,” Carol interrupted him. She stood up and started to pick up the scattered photographs. “Sorry to bring a halt to this party, but they’re closing the room and I’m exhausted. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Aren’t you going to make a move?” Dale replied, pointing at the chess board.
“No, I’m not,” Carol said, showing just a trace of anger. “And I may not ever. Any reasonable player would have accepted the draw that I offered you last weekend and gone on to more important things. Your damn ego just can’t deal with the idea that one game out of five I can battle you to a tie.”
“People have been known to make mistakes in the end-game,” Dale answered, avoiding altogether the emotional content in her remark. “But I know you’re tired. I’ll meet you at the airport and take you to breakfast.”
“Okay. Good night.” Carol hung up the videophone a little brusquely and packed all the photographs in her briefcase. As soon as she had left the marina, she had taken her camera and film straight to the darkroom at the Key West Independent, where she had spent an hour developing and studying the prints. The results were intriguing, particularly a couple of the blowups. In one of them she could clearly see four separate tracks converging to a spot just under the fissure. In another photo the bodies of the three whales were caught in a pose that looked as if they were in the middle of a deep conversation.
Carol walked through the spacious lobby in the Marriott Hotel. The piano bar was almost deserted. The lithe black pianist was playing an old Karen Carpenter song, “Good-bye to Love. “ A handsome man in his late thirties or early forties was kissing a Rashy young blonde in a nook off to the right. Carol bridled. The bimbo must be all of twenty-three, she said to herself, probably his secretary or something equally important.
As she wound her way down the long corridor toward her room, Carol thought about her conversation with Dale. He had told her that the Navy had small robot vehicles, some of them derived from original MOI designs, that could easily have made the tracks. So it was virtually certain that the Russians had similar vehicles. He had dismissed the whales’ behavior as irrelevant but had thought that her failure to find out if anything else was under the overhang had been a serious mistake. Of course, Carol had realized when he had said it, I should have spent another minute looking. Nuts. I hope I didn’t blow it. In her mind’s eye she then had carefully revisited the entire scenario at the overhang to see if there were any clues that something else may have been hidden there.