Nick thought for a moment. He studied Troy's friendly, guileless face and decided to take the plunge. "I'm not sure, Troy," he said seriously, "but I think maybe I push them all away. I find something wrong with them so I have an excuse." A new idea crept into Nick's mind. "Maybe I'm getting even in a way. You asked about broken hearts? The biggest one in the closet is my own. Mine was torn to shreds when I was a kid by a woman who probably doesn't even remember me."

Troy rose from his chair and walked over to the disc player to change the music. "Listen to us," he said lightly, "both struggling with the infinite complexity of the female species. May they remain forever crazy and mysterious and wonderful. And by the way, Professor" - Troy's characteristic grin had returned, - "I brought this subject up to warn you. Unless I miss my guess, that reporter lady has her sights set on you. She likes challenges. And so far you have given off nothing but negative signals. To say the least."

Nick jumped up from his chair with a spurt of energy. "I'm going for another beer, my good man. Until just this moment I had thought that I was talking to someone with insight and understanding. Now I find that I'm talking instead to some stupid black man who thinks 'a.s.shole' is a term of endearment." He paused briefly on his way to the kitchen to pick up some potato chips. "By the way," he shouted at Troy between crunches on his chips, "you said on the phone that you wanted to show me something. Was that the Angie Leatherwood alb.u.m or was it something else?"

Troy met him in the hall as Nick was returning with the beer. "No," he said earnestly, "it was something else. But I wanted to talk to you for a little first to make sure . . . well, I'm not sure why, maybe to give me some confidence that you wouldn't put me down."

"What are you talking about?" Nick said, a little confused.

"It's in here," Troy replied, knocking on a closed door off the hall in the opposite direction from the living room. "It's my baby. I've been working on it for over two years now, alone most of the time - although Angie's artistic kid brother Lanny has helped me with some of it - and now I want you to try it out." He smiled. "You will be my first alpha tester."

"What the h.e.l.l . . . I'm lost. What's an alpha tester?" Nick's brow furrowed as he tried to follow the conversation. The two quick beers on an empty stomach had already given him a small and unexpected buzz.

"My invention," Troy said slowly, letting each word sink in, "is a computer game. I've been working on it for almost two years. And you are going to be the first outsider to play it."

Nick screwed up his face as if he had just eaten a particularly tart piece of grapefruit. "Moi?" he exclaimed. "You want me to play a computer game? You want me, whose hand-eye coordination is almost nonexistent even when completely sober, to sit down and shoot aliens, or dodge bombs, or roll marbles at a frenzied pace that only neo-adolescents can enjoy? Jefferson, have you lost your mind? This is Nick Williams, the guy you call the Professor, the man who sits and reads books for entertainment."

"Very, very good," Troy replied, laughing heartily at Nick's outburst. "You're perfect as an alpha tester. My game is not one of those arcade games that test your reflexes, although there are a few places in the game where the pace is fairly fast. My creation is an adventure game. It's a little like a novel, except that the player defines the outcome of the game. I'm aiming at a wide audience and I'm including a lot of unusual technological wrinkles. I would love to see how you respond."

Troy took Nick's shrug as grudging a.s.sent and opened the door to what should have been the master bedroom in the duplex unit. Instead, what greeted Nick's eyes was an almost phantasmagoric collection of electronic equipment filling every nook and cranny of a fairly large room. His first impression was one of total chaos. But after shaking his head and blinking a couple of times, Nick could make out some order in the jumble of scopes, monitors, cables, computers, and sundry unattached parts. On one side of the room was a chair about ten feet in front of a giant screen. Between this chair and the screen was a low table with a keyboard on it. Troy motioned to Nick to sit down.

"My game is called Alien Adventure," Troy said excitedly, "and it will start as soon as I boot the discs and you are ready at the keyboard. But there are some things that I must tell you first, before you start." He knelt beside Nick and pointed at the keyboard. "There are three critical keys for you to remember while you are playing the game. First, the X key stops the clock. From the moment you start the game, the clock continues to run. While the clock is running you are consuming vital resources. There is only this one way to stop the clock and gather your wits without paying a penalty. Hitting the X key allows you to stop and think.

"Even more important than the X is the S key. The S allows you to checkpoint or, as you would say, save the game. Right now you can't understand what I'm telling you, because you haven't played complicated computer games before, but believe me, you must learn regularly to save the game. When you hit the S key, all the parameters of the game you are playing are written into a special data base that has a unique identifier. Then, at any time in the future, you can call that identifier and the game will restart in exactly the place where you saved it. This feature can be a life saver. If you take a risky route in the game and your character ends up dying, it's the save game feature that keeps you from having to start all over again."

Nick was amazed. This was a different Troy than he had ever seen before. True, he had been a little surprised and considerably impressed by his first mate's ability to fix virtually any piece of electronic gear on the boat, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that Troy left the boat and went home to work with similar parts in a much more creative way. Now this same smiling black man had him sitting in a chair in front of a giant screen and was lecturing him patiently like a child. Nick could hardly wait to see what would happen next.

"Finally," Troy said, asking with his eyes if Nick was still following him, "there's the H or help key. When you simply have run out of imagination and don't know what to do, you can push H. The game will then give you some hints on how you might proceed. But I must warn you of one thing. The clock continues to run while you are being helped. And there are some places in the game, during a battle for instance where pushing the H key can be disastrous, because you are essentially defenseless during the time that the game processes your request for help. H is most useful when you are in a benign spot and trying to figure out your overall strategy."

Still squatting beside him, Troy handed Nick a small spiral notebook and motioned for him to open it. The first page said "Command Dictionary." On each page was a separate entry, legibly written by hand, that explained the game command that would result from hitting the key listed at the top of the page. "Here are the rest of your commands, fifty in all," Troy said. "But you don't need to memorize them. I'll help you. You'll learn some of them yourself after you play the game for a while. Most of the important commands are activated by a single stroke on the keyboard, but some of the commands require two entries."

Nick flipped through the notebook. He noted that the key L prompted the command "Look." But another entry was necessary to identify what instrument was being used to look. L followed by a 1, for example, meant to look with your eyes. L8 meant to look with an ultraviolet spectrometer, whatever that was. Nick was already overwhelmed. He looked over at his friend, who was busy making final checks on some equipment.

Troy came back to the chair and looked down at Nick. "Now," he said, "I think you're ready Any questions?"

"Just one, my lord and guide," Nick replied with mock meekness. "May I please have another beer before I risk my manhood in some weird world of your creation?"

Actually Nick was not yet ready to play the game. Even after Troy booted three compact discs, there were more preliminary activities before Nick could begin the game itself. He had to enter his name, race, age, and s.e.x in response to questions that appeared on the giant screen. Nick looked at Troy with a curious tilt of his head and a weird expression on his face. "Don't ask questions at this point," Troy told him, "it will all be clear soon enough."

The screen next was filled with a beautiful ringed planet that looked like what an artist who favored purple might make out of Saturn. The perspective was from the pole of the planet; the rings were all displayed like the different sections of a dart target. Little flecks of light gleamed intermittently from the rings, indicating that the sun or star or whatever was the source for the reflected light was in the vicinity of the viewer. It was a lovely picture. A simple credit in block t.i.tles, Alien Adventure by Troy Jefferson, was superimposed on the ringed planet for three or four seconds and the sound of soft cla.s.sical music could be heard in the room. Nick resisted an urge to chuckle when he heard Troy's voice, clearly serious and selfconscious, coming from one of the speakers.

Troy's recorded voice explained the initial conditions for the game. The adventurer was on a s.p.a.ce station in polar orbit around Gunna, the largest planet belonging to another solar system whose central body was the G-type star that we call Tau Ceti, only ten light years or so away from the Earth. "Tau Ceti has eight primary bodies in its system," Troy's voice said, "including six planets and two moons.

"Maps of the system are available at the commissary on the s.p.a.ce station," Troy's voice continued, "although some of the regions have been incompletely mapped. When your adventure begins, you are sleeping in your cabin onboard the station. An alarm sounds on your personal receiver . . ."

The voice faded and the sound of an alarm could be heard. The picture on the giant screen was the inside of a s.p.a.ce cabin, almost certainly taken from one of the many successful science fiction movies. In the upper right hand corner of the screen was a game digital clock that was changing by one unit every four seconds or so. Nick looked helplessly at Troy. Troy suggested that he hit the L key. In a few seconds Nick learned that he could use the direction keys on the board to look at specific items in his cabin. Each time he hit a direction key, the picture on the screen changed to correspond to a different point of view. Nick noticed that there was a fuzzy picture on his small television and followed Troy's suggestion to watch until it became clear.

When the focus on his cabin television sharpened, Nick could see a young woman wearing a long, full, richly red dress that dropped almost all the way to the floor. She was standing, somewhat incongruously, in a small, stark room furnished with a single bed, a little desk, and a straight chair. Some light was entering the room through the solitary window near the ceiling and behind the desk. Thick vertical bars were imbedded in the window gla.s.s.

The camera zoomed in on her face. Nick leaned forward in his chair in Troy's apartment. "Why . . . why it's Julianne," Nick said in astonishment, just as the woman began to speak.

"Captain Nick Williams," she said, much to his surprise, "you and I have never met, but your reputation for valor and justice is unequaled in the Federation. I am Princess Heather of Othen. While attending the great ball at the inauguration of the Viceroy of Toom, I was kidnapped by willens and taken to their stronghold on the planet Accutar. They have told my father, King Merson, that they will not release me unless he cedes to them all the ore-rich asteroids in the Endelva region.

"He must not do that, Nick," the princess continued earnestly as the camera zoomed in on her face, "or he will deprive our people of their only source of hanna, the key to our immortality. My sources tell me that already my father wastes away, brooding over his impossible predicament. My sister Samantha has fled from Othen with a key division of our best soldiers and a huge store of hanna. It is not clear whether she intends to try to free me or to revolt against my father's rule in the event that he should decide to give up the Endelva asteroids in exchange for my life. She has always been completely unpredictable.

"Yesterday the willens delivered an ultimatum to my father. He must make his decision in one month, or they will behead me. Captain Williams, please help me. I do not want to die. If you come and rescue me, I will share with you the Othen throne and the secret of our immortality. We can live forever as king and queen."

The transmission stopped suddenly and the picture was gone. The screen again showed a picture of the inside of Nick's cabin onboard the s.p.a.ce station. Nick resisted an impulse to applaud and sat without moving. Somehow Troy had made Julianne into a very believable Princess Heather. But how did my name get into the script? he wondered. He wanted to ask questions but a warning message flashed on the giant screen, indicating that time was pa.s.sing and the adventurer was not taking any action. Nick found the X key and the digital clock on the screen stopped. He turned to Troy. "So what do I do now?"

With Troy's occasional help, Nick equipped himself for a journey, found his way to the s.p.a.ceport, and climbed in a small shuttle craft. Despite Troy's hints that his chances for survival in "open s.p.a.ce" were small unless he spent more time examining the other facilities on the s.p.a.ce station, Nick blasted off anyway. It was great fun. He used the commands on the keyboard to control his speed and direction. What he saw on the screen was perfectly matched with his commands, giving him the illusion that he was actually flying a vehicle through s.p.a.ce. He saw many other vehicles on the monitor as he maneuvered toward his target, a planet named Gunna, but none of them approached his shuttle. Just outside the Gunna sphere of influence, however, a needle-nosed craft approached him quickly and then, without warning, blasted him with a battery of missiles. Nick was unable to escape. The screen filled with fire from the explosion that ripped through his shuttle. Then the monitor went blank and black except for the simple message "Game Over" in white letters in the middle of the screen.

"Time for another beer? Nick asked, surprised to discover that he was actually disappointed by the death of his character.

"Right on, Captain," Troy replied.

They walked into the kitchen together. Troy opened the refrigerator and pulled out two more beers. He handed one to Nick. The professor was still absorbed in thinking about the game. "If I remember correctly, there were four sections marked on that map of the s.p.a.ce station," Nick said aloud. "And I only went in two of them. Would you mind telling me about the other two sections?"

"You missed the cafeteria and the library," Troy said delighted that Nick was still interested. "The cafeteria is not all that important," he added, laughing, "although I've never known you to go anywhere before without eating first. But the library - "

"Don't tell me," Nick said, interrupting him. "Let me figure it out. In the library I can learn about willens and the Otheners, or whatever they're called, who can live forever and what exactly is a Viceroy of Toom." He shook his head. "My, my, Troy. I must say that I am more than a little impressed. I have no idea how anyone could create something like this; And I have a feeling that I've just scratched the surface."

"I take it you're ready to continue, Professor?" Troy replied, acknowledging the praise with a huge grin. "One piece of advice. While you're in the library, look in the Encyclopedia of s.p.a.ce Vehicles so you can at least tell a hostile ship when it appears. Otherwise you're never going to reach the exciting parts of the game."

The afternoon pa.s.sed quickly Nick found that escape into the imaginative world of Troy's game was magnificently relaxing, just the tonic that he needed after the morning memories of Monique. Troy knew that Nick was enjoying the playing and he was thrilled. He felt a surge of creative pride and his belief that Alien Adventure would be his ticket to success was reborn.

In his vain search for Princess Heather, Nick died a couple more times. Once, when he landed on the unmapped planet Thenia, a black man with a lizard head approached him and told him to leave, that there was nothing but trouble on Thenia. Nick ignored the warning and moved away from his shuttle in a land rover. He narrowly escaped a volcanic eruption only to be trapped and eaten by a gigantic slime mold that oozed out of the ground in the vicinity of his shuttle landing site.

In another reincarnation Nick encountered Samantha, Princcss Heather's sister, played for a couple of scenes by Julianne's buxom friend Corinne. Actually, Troy had made Corinne up to look like Susie Q, the famous p.o.r.n queen of the early nineties, and most of the actual pictures that appeared on the game screen were taken from her ribald cla.s.sic Pleasure Until Pain. Deft interleaving of new footage with the borrowed shots gave the illusion of being in the movie with Susie Q while she offered s.e.xual delights beyond refusal.

Samantha alias Susie Q alias Corinne seduced Nick and then stabbed him to death with a small dagger while he was lying naked and expectant on the bed. By this point the two men were drinking their final six-pack of beer and the combination of the p.o.r.nographic scenes and the alcohol had made their conversation coa.r.s.e and degenerate. "s.h.i.t," exclaimed Nick, entreating Troy to replay the scene where a naked Samantha/Susie Q comes up to the camera to take his erect p.e.n.i.s in her mouth. "I have never, no never, even heard of a computer game where you almost get a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b. Man, you are twisted. A genius, yes, I'll agree. But absolutely f.u.c.king twisted. What on G.o.d's earth induced you to put s.e.x scenes in this game?"

"Hey, man." Troy laughed, putting his arm around Nick as they half staggered into the living room, "the name of the game is sales. And right here, in Entertainment Software (he picked up a magazine from the table), it says that seventy-two percent, seventy-two f.u.c.king percent, my friend, of all the people who buy computer games are 16- to 24-year-old males. And do you know what that group likes in addition o computer games and science fiction? s.e.x, my man. Can't you just see some teenage nerd retreating into his room to play this game and whack off? Eeee yaaa!" Troy fell down on one of the easy chairs and beat his chest.

"You're crazy, Jefferson," Nick said, watching Troy's display. "I don't know if I can ever again be alone with you on a boat. You are a certified nut case. I mean, just imagine the reviews. Alien Adventure features an encounter with Susie Q the queen of p.o.r.nography, in an underground castle on the asteroid Vitt. Which reminds me, how in the world did you get all those movie pieces in there?"

"Lots of research and hard work, Professor," Troy answered, starting to calm down a little. "Lanny and three of his friends have spent maybe a thousand hours watching film for me, trying to find exactly the right clips. And none of this would be possible, of course, without the new data storage methods. We can now store an excellent digital version of every movie ever made in the United States in a warehouse not much larger than this duplex. I've just used data base capabilities to the fullest."

Nick crushed a beer can in his hands. "It's fabulous. Really. But I don't know about the s.e.x business. And why do you have the player register his race at the beginning of the game? Don't you think that will offend some people? I never saw anything in the game that was based on the racial information."

Even though he was drunk, Troy became momentarily serious and almost somber. "Look, man," he said firmly, "s.e.x and race are both a part of life. It may be true that people play computer games primarily for entertainment, and that they would prefer not to be confronted by some topics when they are amusing themselves, but I must be allowed some creative license. Race is with us every day and ignoring it, it seems to me, only contributes to the problem."

Troy brightened up. "Hey, Professor. That lizard-man who warned you on Thenia was black. You went ahead anyway despite his warning. What if he had been white? Would you have turned around and gone back to the shuttle? A black man playing the game encounters a white lizard-man on Thenia. It's part of the show, man. There are twenty or so changes in the scenario that are based on racial input."

Nick's expression was clearly disbelieving. "Really," Troy said, standing up to return to the room where they had played his game, "I'll show you. Watch how the game starts if you register that you are a black male."

Nick followed Troy back into the computer room. His curiosity was clearly piqued. Troy turned the game on and Nick entered the biographical data, changing his race to black. This time, when the television picture in his s.p.a.ce station cabin came into focus, Princess Heather was black! The princess this time was, in fact, Angie Leatherwood. "Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned," Nick said, looking over at a beaming Troy. "You are one clever dude, Mr. Jefferson." Nick walked out of the room whistling and shaking his head again. Troy turned off the game and followed.

"Okay," Nick began, once they were back in Troy's living room and seated on the couch, "one last question and then let's forget the game for the time being. How did you get my name into it? I thought that was very impressive."

"It was originally Lanny's idea, based on a movie he watched about a speech therapist. Lanny had all the minor characters spend a day mouthing all the vowel and consonant sounds in a test session. Then we just put the sounds together with what are called audio a.n.a.lytic continuation techniques." Troy laughed. He was feeling ebullient and basking in the compliments. "But it does have its drawbacks. Our interpreter only knows how to read simple English words. We may have to suppress that feature if we sell the game abroad."

Nick stood up. "Well, I've run out of superlatives By the way, are there more of you, brothers, sisters, anything? I guess I'd like to warn the rest of the world."

"Only me now," Troy replied. a faraway look fleetingly crossing his face. "I had a brother, Jamie, six years older than me. We were very close. He died in an automobile accident when I was fourteen."

There was an awkward silence. "I'm sorry," Nick said, again touched by Troy's openness. Troy shrugged his shoulders and struggled with the sudden memory.

Nick changed the subject. They talked about the boat and then about Homer and his crew for several minutes. Suddenly Nick looked at his watch. "Jesus Christ," he said. "It's after four o'clock. Weren't we supposed to meet Carol Dawson at four?"

Troy jumped out of his chair. "We sure were. Some partners we turned out to be," he was grinning again, "spending the entire afternoon drinking beer and playing games." The two men shared a small hug, threw the empty beer cans in the trash, and went out the door toward Nick's car.

7.

CAROL was clearly irritated as she sat in the communications room at the Marriott. She was drumming her fingers on the desk while she listened to the telephone ring. There was a click and then Nick's voice said, "I am not at home at the present time. But if - " She flipped the switch off hastily and completed the sentence, her sardonic mimicry releasing some of her frustration, "But if you'll leave your name, your number, and the time that you called, I'll get back to you as soon as I return. S-h-i-t. s.h.i.t. I knew I should have called before I left Miami."

She dialed another number. Bernice answered and put her right through (on video) to Dr. Dale Michaels. Carol did not bother with a greeting. "Can you believe that I can't even find the stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d? He's not on his boat, he's not at home. n.o.body knows where he is. I could have stayed in Miami and taken a nap."

Carol had not told Dr. Dale much about Nick and Troy. And what she had said about Nick had not been flattering.

'Well, what did you expect?" Dale responded. "You wanted to go out with amateurs as a cover. Why would you think that he would be easy to find before your appointment? That kind usually stays in bed with his dame of the day until he has some reason to greet the world." Dale chuckled to himself Carol found herself strangely annoyed by Dale's disdainful comment about Nick's love life. She started to say something but decided against it. "Say, Dale," she said instead, "is this phone line absolutely secure? I have a couple of sensitive items to discuss with you."

He smiled. "Nothing to worry about. I have sensors that flash if there is the slightest unexplained break anywhere in the line. Even on your end."

"Good," Carol replied. She pulled out her notebook and scanned a handwritten list. " As far as Arnie Webber knows," she said, looking up at the video camera, "there are no legal prohibitions against salvaging any U. S. government property, provided it is returned to its rightful owner very soon after its retrieval. So I wouldn't technically be committing a crime if I pull the missile up." She checked the first item off her list.

"But, Dale, I thought about something else on the flight down here from Miami. This thing is, after all, some kind of guided missile. What if it blows up? Am I crazy to worry about such a thing? Or is it somehow incapacitated or what-ever by sitting down there in the sand and salt water for several days?"

Dale laughed. "Sometimes, Carol, you're divine. I am fairly confident that the new missile is designed to operate either in the air or in water. And I don't think that the sand would be able to foul up its critical parts in a short period of time. However, the fact that it hasn't exploded yet suggests to me that it probably wasn't armed in the first place, except possibly for a small destruct device that may or may not have already failed. You are taking a calculated risk in retrieving that missile. I still strongly suggest that you make your dive, obtain the photographs, and then go public with the story. Dredging the missile up for display purposes seems to me to be more of a stunt than journalism. Besides, it's dangerous."

Carol was curt. "As I said in the car, you are ent.i.tled to your opinion. The Navy could make a case that I faked the pictures somehow. But they cannot argue with a missile that has physical presence and can clearly be seen by a nationwide television audience. I want maximum impact for the story."

She checked another item off the list in her notebook. "Oh, yes, I forgot to mention this morning that I met another boat captain down here, a bit of a creep actually, an older fat man named Homer. He seemed to recognize me almost immediately. Wealthy, big yacht and all that. Strange crew - "

"Was his last name Ashford? Homer Ashford?" Dale interrupted her.

Carol nodded. "So you know him?" she asked.

"Certainly," Dale replied. "He was the leader of the expedition that found the Santa Rosa treasure in 1986. You've met him too, although it's obvious you've forgotten. He and his wife were guests at the MOI awards banquet early in 1993." Dale stopped to think. "That's right. I remember now, you were real late coming to the party because of that threat made against you by Juan Salvador. But I'm surprised you forgot them, the wife especially. She was a great big fat woman and she thought you were the cat's pajamas."

Slowly but surely it all clicked in Carol's memory. She recalled a bizarre evening right after she first started going with Dale. She had run a piece in the Herald on cocaine trafficking and had suggested that the Cuban city councilman, Juan Salvador, was deliberately inhibiting the police investigations. At noon that day, a usually reliable source had called her editor at the paper and told him that Senor Salvador had just purchased a contract on Carol's life. The Herald had a.s.signed her a bodyguard and recommended that she alter her normal schedule so that her whereabouts would always be uncertain.

The evening of the MOI banquet Carol was in a fog. The bodyguard had been with her for only three hours and already she felt confined and restricted. But Carol had been genuinely frightened by the threat. At the banquet she had scrutinized every face, looking for an a.s.sa.s.sin, waiting for someone to make a move. As she sat in the hotel communications room fourteen months later, she did vaguely remember meeting Homer (he had been dressed in a tux) and some jolly fat woman who had followed her around for twenty minutes or so. d.a.m.nit, Carol thought. It's my memory again. I should have recognized him immediately. How stupid of me.

"Okay," Carol said to Dale, "I remember them now. But why were they at the MOI awards banquet?"

"We were honoring our leading benefactors that night," Dale replied. "Homer and Ellen have been big supporters of our underwater sentry effort. In fact, he has field tested many of our prototypes at his facility there in Key West. Real solid test data too. Best compilation of sentry/intruder responses that anybody has catalogued. Why? it was Ashford who showed us how the MQ-6 could be fooled - "

"Okay, Okay," Carol said, realizing that her tolerance threshold was still extremely low. "Thanks for the information. It's now a quarter till four. I'm going to go down to the marina to meet Nick Williams and make arrangements for tomorrow. If anything new comes up, I'll call you at home tonight."

"Ciao," said Dale Michaels. trying without success to sound sophisticated, "and please be careful."

Carol hung up the phone with a sigh. She wondered if she should spend a minute or two figuring out where she and Dale were going. Or not going. As the case may be. She thought about all the things she needed to do. She closed her notebook and rose from her chair. Not right now, she thought I don't have time now to think about Dale. But as soon as I have a break in this crazy life of mine.

Carol was really fuming when she walked back into the marina headquarters the second time. She approached the information desk with fire in her eyes. "Miss," she said nastily to Julianne, "as I told you fifteen minutes ago, I had an appointment here at four o'clock with Nick Williams and Troy Jefferson. It is now, as you can see, after four-thirty."

Carol pointed at the digital clock with an impatient, sweeping gesture that commanded Julianne to look. "We have both established independently that Mr. Williams is not home," Carol continued. "Now ate you going to give me Mr. Jefterson's phone number, or should I make a scene?"

Julianne did not like Carol or her obvious att.i.tude of superiority. She held her ground. "As I told you, Miss Dawson," she said politely but with a biting overtone, "marina policy prohibits our giving out the phone numbers of the independent boat owners or their crew members. It's a question of privacy. Now if you had a formal charter through the marina," Julianne continued, enjoying her moment of glory, "then it would be our job to a.s.sist you. But as I said earlier, we have no record - "

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, I know that," replied Carol furiously. She slammed the envelope of photos that she was carrying down on Julianne's counter. "I'm not an imbecile. We've been through this before. I told you I was supposed to meet them here at four o'clock. Now if you won't help me, I want to talk to your superior, the a.s.sistant manager of whatever."

"Fine," said Julianne, her eyes firing darts of contempt at Carol. "If you will just take a seat over there, I will see if I can locate - "

"I will not take a seat," shouted Carol in exasperation. "I want to see him now. This is an issue of extreme urgency. Now pick up the phone and - "

"Is something wrong here? Perhaps I can help." Carol spun around. Homer Ashford was standing right behind her. Just to the right, toward the gate in the direction of the jetties, Greta and a big heavy woman (That's Ellen. Now I remember her, Carol thought) were talking quietly. Ellen smiled at Carol. Greta looked right through her.

"Well, h.e.l.lo, Captain Homer," Julianne said sweetly, "it's nice of you to ask. But I think everything's under control. Miss Dawson here has just indicated that she does not accept my explanation of marina policy. She is going to wait for - "

"Maybe you can help," Carol interrupted Julianne defiantly. "I had an appointment here at four o'clock with Nick Williams and Troy Jefferson. They have not shown up. Do you by any chance happen to know Troy's phone number?"

Captain Homer gave Carol a suspicious look and exchanged a knowing glance with Ellen and Greta. He turned back to Carol. "Well, it is certainly a surprise, Miss Dawson, to see you back here again. Why we were just talking about you this morning, saying that we hoped you had a good time on your free day in Key West." He paused for effect. "Now I wonder why you've come back here again, the very next day. And did I hear correctly, you need to see Williams and Jefferson on an issue of extreme urgency? It couldn't possibly have anything to do with all that equipment you brought in here yesterday, could it? Or the little gray bag that Williams has been guarding since last night?"

Uh oh, thought Carol, as Greta and Ellen moved in around her. I'm surrounded. Captain Homer started to pick up the sealed envelope on Julianne's counter but Carol stopped him.

"If you don't mind, Captain Ashford," she said firmly, taking his hand off the envelope and putting the photos under her arm. She lowered her voice. "I would like to talk to you privately." Carol nodded her head at the two women. "Can we go out in the parking lot together for a minute?"

Homer's beady eyes squinted at her. Then his face broke into the same obnoxious, lecherous smile that Carol had seen on the Ambrosia. "Certainly, my dear," he said. He shouted to Greta and Ellen as he walked out the door with Carol, "Wait here. I'll only be a minute."

Necessity is the mother of invention, Carol thought to herself as she led Homer Ashford out the door. So invent, b.i.t.c.h. And now. As in this moment.

They walked up the steps to the parking lot. Carol turned to Captain Homer at the top of the steps with a conspiratorial look on her face. "I can tell that you've figured out why I'm here," she said. "I didn't want it this way, I thought it would make a better story if n.o.body knew what I was doing. But you're obviously too clever for me." Homer grinned foolishly. "But I would ask you to tell as few people as possible. You can tell your wife and Greta, but please n.o.body else. The Herald wants it to be a surprise."

Homer looked puzzled. Carol leaned over and almost whispered in his ear. "The entire Sunday magazine section the fourth week in April. Isn't that unbelievable? Working t.i.tle, 'Dreams of Being Rich,' stories about people like you, like Mel Fisher, like the four Floridians who have won over a million dollars each in the lottery. On how sudden income changes your life. I'm doing the whole piece. I'm starting with the treasure angle because of its general interest."

Carol could see that Captain Homer was reeling. She knew she had him off guard. "Yesterday I just wanted to check your boat quickly, see how you lived, see how it would photograph. I freaked out a little when you recognized me so fast. But I had always planned to go out with Williams first." Carol laughed. "My treasure-finding equipment from MOI faked him out. He still thinks I am a genuine treasure seeker. I almost completed my whole interview with him yesterday. I only came back today to finish a couple of small items."

An alert went off in Homer Ashford's system when Carol talked about faking out Nick Williams. Homer wasn't certain he believed this smooth reporter's story even now. He mused to himself that her story was plausible, but there was still one big unanswered question. "But what is Williams carrying around in that bag?" he asked.

"That," said Carol, sensing his distrust, "is nothing." She raised her eyebrows and laughed again. "Or almost anyway. We pulled up a worthless old trinket yesterday afternoon so I could photograph the salvage process for the story. I told him to have it appraised today. He thinks I'm an eccentric. He must be keeping it hidden in the bag because he's embarra.s.sed and doesn't want anybody to see him with it."

Carol lightly hit Captain Homer in the ribs with her elbow. He shook his head. Part of him realized he was being told a very clever lie. But somehow enough of it made sense that Homer couldn't pierce the deception. His brow furrowed for a moment. "So I guess you'll want to talk to us when you're through with the other two . . ."

At just that moment, unbeknownst to Carol, Nick and Troy drove into the marina parking lot. They were still slightly drunk and silly. "Lawdy, lawdy," said Troy, spotting Carol and Captain Homer in conversation, "I believe my eyes have screwed up. They're sending a picture of a beauty and a beast to my brain. It's Miss Carol Dawson together with our favorite fat captain. Now what do you suppose they're talking about?"

"I don't know," said Nick, bridling instantly, "but I'm d.a.m.n sure going to find out. If she's double-crossing us . . . ." He pulled the car quickly into a parking place and started to jump out. Troy reached across and restrained him.

"Now why don't you let me handle this one?" Troy said. "Humor may be just the right ticket here."