"Have you found anything missing yet?" she asked.

"No," Nick replied, picking up another novel with a mutilated cover and shaking his head. "But the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds have really screwed up my books."

She stacked his Faulkner collection on the easy chair. "I can see why Troy was impressed," she said. "Have you really read all these novels?" Nick nodded. Carol picked one up that had fallen under the television stand. "What's this about?" She held up the book. "I've never even heard of it."

Nick had just arranged another dozen books on the coffee table. "Oh, that's a fantastic novel," he said enthusiastically, forgetting for a moment that his condominium had just been trashed. "The whole story is told through this exchange of letters among all the princ.i.p.al characters. It's set in eighteenth-century France, and the main couple, socially prominent and bored, cement their weird relationship by sharing details of their affairs. With other lovers of course. It caused quite a scandal in Europe."

"That doesn't exactly sound like your typical Harlequin romance," Carol remarked, trying to commit the t.i.tle of the book to her memory.

Nick stood up and walked into the smaller bedroom. He began to sort through the contents of the cardboard boxes. "There are things missing in here," he called out to Carol. She stopped arranging books and joined him in the bedroom. "All my photographs of the Santa Rosa treasure and even the newspaper clippings are gone. That's odd," he said.

Carol was beside him on the floor, in front of the boxes. She frowned. "Is the trident still on the boat?"

"Yes," he answered. He stopped rifling through the papers. "Down in the bottom drawer of the electronics cabinet. You think there's a connection?"

She nodded. "I think that was what they were after. I don't know why. It just seems right."

Nick picked up a large yellow folder that had been on the floor and replaced it in one of the cardboard boxes. A photograph and some sheets of typing paper fell out. Carol picked up the picture while Nick scrambled after the papers. She studied the photo and read the French inscription. She was surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy. "Beautiful," she commented. She noticed the pearls. "Also very rich and sophisticated. She doesn't look like your type."

She handed Monique's photograph to Nick. Despite his attempt to be nonchalant, he was blushing. "That was a long time ago," he mumbled as he hastily stuffed the photo back into the folder.

"Really?" Carol said, eyeing him carefully. "She looks as if she's about our age. It couldn't have been too long ago."

Nick was fl.u.s.tered. He packed some more loose material in the boxes and glanced at his watch. "We'd better leave soon if we're going to meet Troy at your hotel." He stood up. Carol remained kneeling on the floor, looking up at him with a steady gaze. "It's a long story," he said. "Someday I'll tell you all about it."

Carol's curiosity was piqued. She followed Nick out of his condominium and into the elevator. He was still ill at ease. Bullseye, she thought to herself. I think I have just discovered a major key to Mr. Williams. A woman named Monique. She smiled as Nick motioned for her to precede him out of the elevator. And the man does love his books.

Carol's room at the Marriott had two entrances. The normal approach to the room was by way of the corridor that led to the lobby. But there was another door that opened on the garden and the pool. When she exercised in the morning, Carol always used the garden entrance.

Nick and Carol were talking casually but quietly as they came toward her room from the lobby. She pulled out her electronic card key just before they arrived. As she started to insert the card into the lock, they heard an unusual sound, like metal banging against metal, from the inside of her room. Before Carol could say anything, Nick shushed her by putting his finger to his mouth. "You heard it too?" she whispered softly. He nodded his head. Using gestures, he asked her if there was another entrance to the room. She pointed out the door to the hotel grounds at the end of the corridor.

Palm trees and tropical hedges covered most of the area to the east of the Marriott swimming pool. Nick and Carol left the walkway leading to the pool and crept up to the windows of her room. The venetian blinds were drawn but they could still see into the room through a crack under the bottom of the blinds. At first the room was completely dark. Then a solitary beam from a flashlight reflected for an instant off one of the walls. In that split second they saw a silhouetted figure in the neighborhood of the television set, but they could not identify him. The flashlight came on again and it paused for a moment on the door to the corridor. The door was bolted. In the brief flicker of the light beam, Carol also saw that all her dresser drawers were open.

Nick crawled over next to Carol in the flower bed just under the windows. "You stay here and watch," he whispered. "I'll go get something from the car. Don't let them know you're here." He squeezed her shoulder and disappeared. Carol stayed glued to the window. Once more the flashlight came on, illuminating electronic parts spread out on the far bed. Carol strained for a look at who was holding the flashlight. She couldn't see him.

She became acutely aware of the pa.s.sage of time. Her intuition told her that the intruder was getting ready to leave. She suddenly realized she was completely exposed sitting out there underneath the window. Come on, Nick, she said to herself. Hurry it up. Or I may be chopped liver. The figure in the room moved toward the garden door and then stopped Carol felt her pulse rate increase. At just that moment Nick returned, out of breath. He had brought back a long crowbar from the trunk of his car. Carol motioned to him to stand by the door, that the intruder was about to come out.

She saw the figure put his hand on the doork.n.o.b and she flattened herself against the dirt. Nick was behind the door, poised to deliver a powerful blow to whoever exited from the room. The door opened, Nick started to strike. "Troy," screamed Carol from the flower bed. He jumped back just in time, barely missing the downward swoop of Nick's crowbar. Carol was on her feet in an instant. She ran up to a shaken Troy. "Are you all right?" she said.

His eyes were wide from fright. "Jesus, Professor," he said, glancing at the crowbar that Nick was wielding, "you might have killed me."

"s.h.i.t, Jefferson," Nick replied, the adrenaline still coursing through his system, "why didn't you tell us it was you? And what were you doing in Carol's room?" He looked at Troy accusingly.

Troy backed into the room and turned on the lights. The room was a disaster. It looked like Nick's condominium when Carol had first walked through the front door.

Carol turned to Troy. "Why on earth . . ."

"I didn't do it, angel," he replied. "Honest Injun." Troy looked at his two friends. "Sit down," he said. "This will only take a second."

Meanwhile Carol's eyes were scanning the room. "c.r.a.p," she said angrily, "all my cameras and film are gone. And virtually the entire telescope system, including the post-processor unit. Dale will shoot me." She looked in one of the open drawers. "The a.s.sholes took my photographs from the first dive as well. They were in a large envelope on the right side of this top drawer."

Carol sat down on the bed looking a little dazed. "All the film from the photographs that I took inside that place has been stolen. So much for my sensational story," she said.

Nick tried to comfort her. "Who knows. Maybe they'll turn up. And besides, yal still have all the negatives from the first dive."

Carol shook her head. "It's not the same thing." She thought for a minute. "d.a.m.nit," she said, "I should have kept the exposed film with me when we left the hotel to go to Troy's apartment." She looked at the two men and then brightened a bit. "Oh well," she said. "There's always tomorrow."

Troy was still waiting patiently to give his explanation. He indicated for Nick to sit down on the bed next to Carol. "I'll make this short and sweet," he said. "Just the facts. I arrived here about seven o'clock. I came early because I wanted to make some modifications to your television set. I'll explain why in a minute.

"The people in the hotel wouldn't give me a key to your room so I came down here and fooled the card reader." He smiled. "It's no problem for someone who knows how these things work. Anyway, as soon as the green light came on and the guard bolt released, I heard the garden door slam. Someone had been in the room while I was opening the door. I caught a fleeting glimpse of him as he hightailed it around the corner of the building. He was a big man, not someone I recognized immediately. He was moving with difficulty, as if he were carrying something heavy."

"Part of the ocean telescope," Carol said.

"Go on," added Nick. "What happened next? I want to hear why you were in Carol's room working in the dark. I bet you'll come up with a good story for that too."

"That's easy," Troy said to Nick. "I was afraid the thief or thieves might come back. I didn't want them to see me."

"You're amazing, Jefferson," Nick responded. "You're the kind of person who would tell a cop that you were exceeding the speed limit because you wanted to get to a filling station before you ran out of gas."

"And the cop would believe him," Carol remarked. They all laughed. The tension in the room was diffusing.

"All right," said Nick. "Now tell us what you've done to the television. Incidentally, how did you get inside it? I thought these hotel sets were all alarmed."

"They are," Troy replied, "but it's very simple to disable the alarm system. It always cracks me up. Somebody sells the hotel the idea that they can protect their property with these alarms. But the burglars can easily find out what system has been installed, buy the circuit data sheets, and completely disable the protection."

Troy glanced around the room. He then checked his watch carefully. "Let's see," he said. "Why don't you two move over here in these chairs. I think you'll be able to see better." Nick and Carol exchanged puzzled looks and arranged themselves as Troy had requested. "Now," he continued in a surprisingly serious tone, "you will see what I believe is incontrovertible proof that my story about the aliens is true. They have told me, through this bracelet, that they are going to televise a short program from inside the vehicle at exactly seven-thirty. If I have translated their directions properly and made the correct modifications, this television should now be able to receive their transmission."

He turned on the set and put it on channel 44. There was nothing but snow and static. "This is great, Troy," Nick commented. "It will probably steal rating points from soap operas and music videos. Watching this requires even less intelligence - "

A picture suddenly appeared on the screen. The lighting was poor, but Carol immediately recognized herself in the scene. She was standing with her back to the cameras, her fingers moving around on top of what appeared to be a table.

An orchestral version of "Silent Night," featuring an instrument not unlike an organ, accompanied the picture.

"That's the music room I told you about," Carol said to Nick. "I guess that warden thing had a video camera in all his paraphernalia."

The television scene switched immediately to a close-up of Carol's eyes. For five seconds her marvelous, frightened eyes filled almost the entire screen. She blinked twice before the camera pulled back and revealed her in front view. terrified, standing and shaking in her bathing suit. Carol shuddered as she recalled the horror of those seconds when the warden's appendages intruded upon her person. It was all shown in the video, some parts even in slow motion. One of the featured scenes was the deliberate movement of the bristles across her chest, including both her erect nipples. Oh my G.o.d, she thought. I hadn't realized they were erect. Maybe fear does that. Carol squirmed. She felt surprisingly embarra.s.sed in front of Nick.

There was a jump discontinuity in the program. In the next scene the three of them were looking at Troy, lying on his back on the floor somewhere, with enough wires and cords attached to him that he could have been Gulliver bound by the Lilliputians. The camera panned around the room. Two wardens were in one of the corners. Their upper body attachments were not even similar, but they both had the same central body, amoebalike, that had confronted Troy and Carol. On the other side of the room a pair of carpets were standing together. From their motions it looked as if they were engaged in a conversation. Nick and Carol and Troy watched while the camera stayed fixed for about ten seconds. The carpets apparently finished conferring and then flipped off in separate directions.

The final frames of the transmission were a close-up of Troy's head showing more than a hundred probes and inserts connected to his brain. Then the screen went back to snow and static. "Wowee," said Nick after a moment. "Can I have an instant replay?" He stood up from the bed. "You were terrific," he remarked to Carol, "but I think your scenes will have to be edited if we want a PG rating."

Carol looked up at him and blushed slightly. "Sorry, Nick, but I don't think you make a good comedian. We have one already," she nodded at Troy, "and I think that's enough." She glanced at the clock beside her bed. "Now I figure we have fifteen minutes or so to make plans. No more. And I have to dress as well. Why don't you tell Troy about your decision and what you have concluded about the Santa Rosa loot while I change my clothes." She grabbed a blouse and a pair of pants and headed for the bathroom.

"Hey, wait a minute," Nick protested. "Aren't we going to discuss who it was that broke into my condominium and your hotel room?"

Carol stopped outside the bathroom door. "There are only two possibilities that make any sense," she said. "It's either the Navy or our sicko friends from the Ambrosia. Either way we'll find out soon enough." She stopped a moment and an elfin smile played across her lips. "I want you two to see if you can figure out a way to steal Homer's gold. Tonight. Before we go back to meet with our extraterrestrials tomorrow morning."

9.

CAROL and Troy went over the details one last time and she checked her watch. "It's eight-thirty already," she said. "If I'm much later I know they'll be suspicious." She was standing outside Nick's Pontiac in the parking lot of the Pelican Resort, a restaurant about three-quarters of a mile from the Ashford mansion at Pelican Point. "Where is he?" she fretted. "We should have finished with this fifteen minutes ago."

"Just calm down, angel," Troy replied. "We have to test this new unit first. It could be very important in an emergency and I've never actually used it." He gave her a rea.s.suring hug. "Your friends at MOI originally developed it."

"Why did I have to suggest such a wild-a.s.s idea?" Carol said out loud to herself. "Where's your brain, Dawson? Did you leave it in the . . ."

"Can you hear me?" Nick's garbled voice interrupted her. It sounded as if it were coming from the bottom of a well.

"Yes," Troy answered into a tiny walkie-talkie shaped like a thimble. "But not too clearly. How deep are you?"

"Say again," said Nick. "I did not copy completely."

"Yes, we can hear you," Troy shouted. He carefully enunciated each word. "But not very clearly. You must speak slowly and distinctly. How deep are you?"

"About eight feet," was the response.

"Go down to sixteen and try it again," said Troy. "Let's see if it will work from the deepest part of the cave."

"How's he doing that?" Carol asked, while they waited for Nick to descend.

"It's a brand-new system, built into the regulator," Troy answered. "You have to speak while you're exhaling for it to work. There's a small transmitter/receiver inside the mouthpiece and an earphone attachment. Unfortunately, it doesn't work much below ten feet."

Almost a minute later Carol and Troy heard something, very faint, not even recognizable as Nick's voice. Troy listened for a moment. "We cannot read you, Nick. There is too much attenuation. Come on back now. I'm going to send Carol on her way." Troy pressed a b.u.t.ton on the walkie-talkie that would repeatedly transmit this last message.

He handed the communications unit to Carol. "Okay, angel," he said, "you're ready. We should be in the water around nine o'clock and out, if all goes well, by half an hour later. Keep them occupied with your questions. You should leave by ten-thirty at the latest and drive directly to Nick's apartment. We will meet you there with your wagon." He raised his eyebrows. "And the gold, I hope."

Carol took a deep breath. She smiled at Troy. "I'm scared," she said. "I would rather face a carpet or even one of those warden things than this trio." She opened the car door. "Do you really think I should go in Nick's car? Isn't that certain to make them suspect something?"

"We've been through all this twice before, angel," Troy laughingly replied. He gently nudged her into the car. "They already know we're friends. Besides, we need your wagon for the diving gear, the backpacks, and the lead and gold." He closed the door and planted a light kiss on her cheek through the open window. "Be safe, angel," he said. "And don't take any unnecessary chances."

Carol started the car and backed into the middle of the parking lot. She waved at Troy and pulled into the dark lane that led through the marsh to the end of the island. The only light was from the nearly full gibbous moon that was already above the trees. All right, Dawson, she thought to herself. Now you're in the middle of it. Just stay calm and alert.

She drove very slowly. She reviewed the plans for the evening several times in her mind. Then she started thinking about Nick. He holds on to things. Like I do. He still hates Homer and Greta for cheating him. He couldn't wait to dive for the gold. She smiled as she turned into the circular drive in front of Homer Ashford's house. I just hope there is some left over for him.

A split second after Carol rang the doorbell, Homer opened the door and greeted her. "You're late," he said in a pleasant monotone. "We thought maybe you were not coming. Greta is already in the pool. Do you want to change and join her?"

"Thanks, Captain Homer, but I decided not to swim tonight," Carol answered politely. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm mostly here on business. I would prefer to start the interview as soon as possible. Even before dinner, if that would be all right with everyone else."

Homer led Carol into a gigantic family room and stopped by a large wet bar. A magnificent hand-carved wooden statue of a swimming Neptune, about four feet long altogether, was on the wall above the bar. Carol asked for some white wine. Homer tried without success to talk her into something stronger.

The family room had a billiards table at one end. On the other side, a sliding gla.s.s door opened onto a covered patio that narrowed into a cement walkway. Carol followed Homer in silence, sipping from her white wine every twenty steps or so. The walkway wound past big trees and a lighted gazebo off to the left before it spread out around the huge swimming pool.

Actually there were two pools. In front of Carol was a cla.s.sic, rectangular, Olympic-sized pool under strong lights. At one end was a slide and waterfall that ran down an artificial mountain into the swimming area. At the other end, in the direction of the second pool and the ocean, there was a sunken Jacuzzi constructed out of the same decorated blue tiles that rimmed the top of the main pool. The entire complex was cleverly designed to create the impression of moving water. There seemed to be a steady flow from the waterfall, to the large pool. down into the Jacuzzi, and then into a stream that meandered off in the direction of the house.

The second pool was circular and dark. It was off to Carol's left at the edge of the property, near what looked like a small cottage for changing clothes. Greta was in the rectangular pool in front of Carol. She was swimming laps, her powerful body moving rhythmically through the water. Carol, who was an excellent swimmer herself, watched Greta for a few seconds.

"Isn't she something?" Homer walked over next to Carol. His admiration was obvious. "She won't let herself eat a big meal unless she works out beforehand. She can't stand fat."

Homer was wearing a light brown Hawaiian shirt with a pair of tan slacks. Brown loafers were on his feet, and a big drink, crammed with ice cubes, was in his hand. He seemed relaxed, even affable. Carol thought he could have pa.s.sed for a retired banker or corporate executive.

Greta continued to swim relentlessly through the water. Homer was hovering over Carol and she was beginning to feel uncomfortable, as if her s.p.a.ce were being invaded.

"Where's Ellen?" she asked, turning to the large man and moving just slightly farther away from him.

"She's in the kitchen," Homer replied. "She loves to cook, especially when we have guests. And tonight she's making one of her favorite dishes." There was almost a twinkle in his eye. He leaned down to Carol. "She made me promise not to tell you what we're having," he whispered confidentially, "but I will tell you that it's a powerful aphrodisiac."

Ugh, said Carol to herself as she caught a whiff of Homer's breath and listened to his leering chuckle. How could I have forgotten how repulsive this man is? Does he really think that . . . Carol stopped her thought. She reminded herself that people with excessive money very often lose touch with reality. Probably some of the women respond. For what he can give them. She almost gagged. The thought of having any kind of s.e.xual liaison with Homer was totally repugnant.

Greta had finished swimming laps. She climbed out of the pool and dried herself off. Her all-white racing uniform was like a transparent body stocking. Even from a distance, Carol could not avoid seeing the full detail of her nipples and b.r.e.a.s.t.s as well as her clump of pubic hair through the thin suit. She might as well have been naked. Homer stood beside Carol, unabashedly staring as Greta strode across the cement.

"No suit?" Greta said just before she reached them. Her eyes were trying to bore holes in Carol's. Carol shook her head. "I'm sorry," said Greta. "Homer had hoped that we might have a race." She looked at the captain with an odd expression that Carol did not understand. "He loves to see women in compet.i.tion."

"It would have been no contest," Carol answered. She thought she saw Greta tense. "You would have won easily," she added. "You swim beautifully."

Greta smiled, accepting the compliment. Her eyes roamed over Carol's body. She made no effort to hide the fact that she was doing an appraisal. "You have a good body too for swimming," Greta said. "Maybe a little too fat on the a.s.s and upper legs. I could suggest workout - "

"Why don't we show Miss Dawson the other pool?" Homer interrupted. "Before you go inside and change clothes." He started walking toward the little cottage near the ocean. Without saying another word, Greta turned and followed him. Carol took a sip from her wine. Who knows what goes on here, she thought . Those three have not had to work for eight years. They take people out fishing and diving for amus.e.m.e.nt. A strange mixture of disgust and depression started to spread in her. So they manufacture entertainment to keep from being bored.

Moments after Homer entered the cottage, a bank of flood-lights down underneath the second pool was illuminated. Homer gestured for her to hurry and Carol skipped into the cottage. They led her down a flight of steps. Under the ground was a walkway that completely encircled the large gla.s.s aquarium that had looked, in the darkness, like a second swimming pool. "We have six sharks now," Homer said proudly, "as well as three red occi, a pair of cuttlefish, and of course hundreds of more standard species of fish and plants."

"Occi?" inquired Carol.

"That's the slang plural of octopus," Homer responded with a smug, self-satisfied smile. "Actually, the correct plural is octopodes, even though everyone now accepts octopi because it has been used so much."

Greta was standing with her face pressed against the gla.s.s. A couple of bat rays swam past. She was waiting for something. After twenty seconds or so a grayish shark appeared. The shark seemed to notice Greta and stopped, watching her, its face about five feet away from the gla.s.s. Carol could see the long sharp teeth and identified it as a mako, a fierce smaller cousin of the man-eating great white shark.

"That's Greta's pet," said Homer. "His name is Timmy. Somehow she has trained him to recognize her face against the gla.s.s. " Homer watched a few more seconds. "From time to time she goes in there to swim with him. When the sharks have finished eating, of course."

The shark remained in place, staring blankly in Greta's direction. She began to drum her fingers against the gla.s.s in regular cadence. "Now this is exciting," Homer said, walking over next to Greta and the aquarium. "What you are going to see is what biologists call a typical Pavlovian response. I've never seen it quite this way before in a shark."

The mako began to be agitated. Greta started increasing the tempo, the shark responding by whipping the water back and forth with its tail. Suddenly Greta disappeared up the stairs. Carol thought she noticed a faraway look in her eyes when Greta zoomed by her. Carol looked at Homer for an explanation. "Come down here closer," he gestured to Carol. "You don't want to miss this. Greta cares for the rabbits herself. And Timmy always puts on a grand show."

Carol wasn't exactly sure what Homer was talking about. But she was enjoying the lovely aquarium. It contained crystal-clear sea water, obviously filtered and recycled regularly. Carol noticed several species of sponges and coral, as well as urchin and anemone. Someone had gone to great trouble and expense to re-create the conditions in the reefs just off-sh.o.r.e Key West.

Suddenly a beheaded white rabbit impaled on a long vertical staff, the blood still spurting from its arteries, appeared in the aquarium just opposite where Carol and Homer were standing. It was over in an instant. Driven to immediate frenzy by the blood in the water, the mako attacked, its teeth ripping half the hapless rabbit off the stave with the first bite. The second swoop captured the rest of the rabbit and snapped the rod as well. Carol barely had time to recoil and turn her head. When she jumped back, she spilled wine all over her blouse.

Trying to appear calm, she reached in her purse for a tissue to wipe her blouse. She said nothing. She had had a perfect view of the shark's attack and could still feel the adrenaline imbalance that the fright had produced. Great way to start a dinner party, she thought. Why haven't I ever thought of it? Dawson, these people are weird.

Homer was still excited. "Wasn't that spectacular? Such raw, savage power in those jaws. Driven by pure instinct. I never get tired of it."

Carol followed him up the stairs. "Good show, Greta," she heard Homer say when they walked out of the cottage. "It was right in front of us. Two bites. Wham, wham, and the rabbit was gone."

"I know," said Greta. She was holding a diving mask. What was left of the staff was on the ground beside her. "I could see from up here." Greta was staring at Carol, obviously trying to discover her reaction. Carol averted her eyes. She was not going to give Greta the satisfaction of knowing she had found it repulsive.

"Greta has the whole thing down to split-second timing," Homer continued as they walked back through the gardens to the house. "She prepares the live rabbit on the chopping block an hour early. Then, when Timmy is ready, she . . . ."

Carol tuned his gruesome story out of her mind. I don't want to hear this, she thought. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes after nine. Come on guys. Be swift. I'm not certain I can stand these people for another hour.

Nick and Troy swam silently along the sh.o.r.eline in the moonlight. They had carefully rehea.r.s.ed the plan. No additional light until they were in the cove beside Homer's property and at least ten feet under water. Troy would lead, searching for alarm systems he could disable with the tools stuffed in the pockets of his wet suit. He would also keep a lookout for the infamous robot sentries. Nick would follow with the buoyancy bags they would use to carry the gold.