At the entrance to the bridge, no northbound toll was collected. They drove onto
the span, where the speed limit had been drastically reduced because of the
weather.
Looking up at the ghostly skeleton of the bridge, which glistened with
condensation and vanished in the fog, Nora said, “You seem to think the world
will be paradise in a decade or two.”
“Not paradise,” he said. “Easier, richer, safer, happier. But not a paradise.
After all, there will still be all the problems of the human heart and all the
potential sicknesses of the human mind. And the new world’s bound to bring us
some new dangers as well as blessings.”
“Like the thing that killed your landlord,” she said.
“Yes.”
In the back seat, Einstein growled.
12
That Thursday afternoon, August 26, Vince Nasco drove to Johnny The Wire
Santini’s place in San Clemente to pick up the past week’s report, which was
when he learned of the murder of Ted Hockney in Santa Barbara the previous
evening. The condition of the corpse, especially the missing eyes, linked it to
The Outsider. Johnny had also ascertained that the NSA had quietly assumed
jurisdiction in the case, which convinced Vince it was related to the Banodyne
fugitives.
That evening, he got a newspaper and, over a dinner of seafood enchiladas and
Dos Equis at a Mexican restaurant, he read about Hockney and about the man who
had rented the house where the murder occurred—Travis Cornell. The press was
reporting that Cornell, a former real-estate broker who had once been a member
of Delta Force, kept a panther in the house and that the cat had killed Hockney,
but Vince knew that the cat was bullshit, just a cover story. The cops said they
wanted to talk to Cornell and to an unidentified woman seen with him, though
they had not filed any charges against them.
The story also had one line about Cornell’s dog: “Cornell and the woman may be
traveling with a golden retriever.”
If I can find Cornell, Vince thought, I’ll find the dog.
This was the first break he’d had, and it confirmed his feeling that owning the
retriever was a part of his great destiny.
To celebrate, he ordered more seafood enchiladas and beer.
13
Travis, Nora, and Einstein stayed Thursday night at a motel in Marin County,
north of San Francisco. They got a six-pack of San Miguel at a convenience store
and take-out chicken, biscuits, and coleslaw from a fast-food restaurant, and
ate a late dinner in the room.
Einstein enjoyed the chicken and showed considerable interest in the beer.
Travis decided to pour half a bottle in the new yellow plastic dish they had
gotten the retriever during their shopping spree earlier in the day. “But no
more than half a bottle, no matter how much you like it. I want you sober for
some questions and answers.”
After dinner, the three of them sat on the king-size bed, and Travis unwrapped
the Scrabble game. He put the board upside down on the mattress, with the
playing surface concealed, and Nora helped him sort all the lettered game tiles
into twenty-six piles.
Einstein watched with interest and did not seem even slightly woozy from his
half-bottle of San Miguel .
“Okay,” Travis said, “I need more detailed answers than we’ve been able to get
with yes-and-no questions. It occurred to me that this might work.”
“Ingenious,” Nora agreed.
To the dog, Travis said, “I ask you a question, and you indicate the letters
that are needed to spell out the answer, one letter at a time, word by word. You
got it?”
Einstein blinked at Travis, looked at the stacks of lettered tiles, raised his
eyes to Travis again, and grinned.
Travis said, “All right. Do you know the name of the laboratory from which you
escaped?”
Einstein put his nose to the pile of Bs.
Nora plucked a tile off the stack and put it on the portion of the board that
Travis had left clear.
In less than a minute, the dog spelled BANODYNE.
“Banodyne,” Travis said thoughtfully. “Never heard of it. Is that the entire
name?”
Einstein hesitated, then began to choose more letters until he had spelled out