Chapter 74

THE REAR HOLDING CELL at the Midtown North Precinct absolutely reeked of urine and vomit, but all Peter could smell was sweet success. His head was throbbing, his vision was still blurred, and the b.u.t.terfly bandages he'd been given while being booked and fingerprinted were barely holding his face together.But it didn't matter. He knew it would all be worth it.To the tune of over $100 million."Holy s.h.i.t," came a voice from the other side of the bars. "You're a mess, my man."Peter turned to see his "one phone call" staring back at him in total disbelief."Nice to see you, too," said Peter. "What took you so long?"Gordon Knowles stood clutching his custom-made Louis Vuitton attache as a cop opened the cell for him. After a brief nod of thanks, he and Peter were left alone."Holy s.h.i.t," Gordon muttered again. "I'm impressed.""You oughta see the other guy." Peter shrugged. "I know, bad joke."Every lawyer, no matter how good he was, still needed his own lawyer. In Gordon Knowles, Peter had one of the best in New York. Whereas Peter always excelled inside the courtroom, Gordon specialized in making sure his clients never had to set foot in one."I've got some good news and some bad news," he began. "The good news is the guy's not going to press charges. Once I explained who you were and that your family had just been declared dead, he backed off-provided, of course, that you pay any and all medical bills, plus maybe a little sweetener."Peter shrugged his indifference. "So what's the bad news?""About a half-dozen TV camera crews are presently camped outside the precinct.""Word travels fast, huh?""Pictures even faster. On the way here I heard that some tourist had a video camera at ringside. Your brawl should be up on YouTube in no time."Peter groaned convincingly. "Oh, great.""My sentiments exactly. All the more reason why I've arranged to sneak you out of here through the garage exit.""No, I don't want to sneak anywhere," said Peter.Gordon raised one of his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows. He had been expecting a thank-you. "But -"Peter cut him off. "My public image isn't exactly of high concern to me right now," he said before dropping his head into his hands. But between his fingers, Peter was keeping a watchful eye on his attorney.Gordon represented the first, and perhaps hardest, test of Peter's added insurance plan. Gordon was a right smart fellow; Harvard Law grads usually were. He was also one h.e.l.l of a poker player, and that meant he was awfully good at reading bluffs.Could he read this one?If Peter was anything, he was thorough, and he wasn't about to take any chances with inheriting all of Katherine's money. Getting away with murder meant getting everyone feeling as sorry for him as possible. The sorrier they felt, the less they could ever suspect him.So if that meant randomly picking a fight with a bruiser in the middle of Manhattan, so be it.Because only a guy distraught over losing his family could ever do something like that.Gordon Knowles nodded slowly. "I'm sorry," he said. "Here I am thinking like a lawyer when I should really be thinking like your friend. I'm forgetting how much you've been suffering. Katherine, the kids."Indeed. Peter's pain was now literally etched on his face. The blood and bruises were a very public reminder of his sorrow and his loss."You shouldn't have to sneak anywhere," said Gordon. "We'll walk right out that front door together. I'm with you, kiddo.""Thank you," said Peter. "Thank you for everything. I couldn't do this without you."Kiddo.Gordon called over his shoulder for an officer to open the cell."Oh, there's one more thing," he said, turning back to Peter. "While I know this is the furthest thing from your mind right now, I received a call from Katherine's attorney. Did you know that your three stepchildren were the only beneficiaries named in her will?""No, I didn't," lied Peter, who then shut his eyes briefly and shook his head."Well, that means -""I don't want the money," said Peter softly. "I just want them all back.""I know you do. In this case, though, I have to be your lawyer and look out for you." Gordon folded his arms. "What you do with that money is your business. Give it to charity. What's my business is making sure that it's you who gets to make that decision, not someone else. Okay?"Peter nodded slowly.If you insist, Gordon.

Chapter 75

THE KIDS DON'T HAVE TO SAY anything to me, I can see it in their eyes.I look as horrible as I feel.And I'm getting worse.The aspirin in the first-aid kit is long gone. The infection has definitely spread, and my body's literally burning up trying to fight the poison on its own.With the raft propped under some branches, at least I've been able to stay in the shade. Mark, Carrie, and Ernie each take turns wetting leaves every ten minutes or so, layering them on my forehead to try to cool me down. Beyond that, there's not much they can do. The fever needs to run its course.I just don't know how much longer I can keep up with it, and how much I can stand. I've never been this sick in my entire life.Twice already I've blacked out-the first time for a few minutes, the second for over an hour. What's going to happen the third time?What if I don't wake up?It's that thought that tells me I need to talk to the kids. I need to tell them how much I love them, and also how sorry I am for the times I may have let them down. Most of all, I need to prepare them for the worst-case scenario. I know it's crossed their minds. How could it not?It's the way they're staring at me. The fear and sadness in their eyes. They already know I might not survive. Even little Ernie knows the sad truth now.My first instinct is to talk to them as a family. That's what this trip was all about, after all.But I'm quick to realize that looking at the three of them together will result in a tear fest, like that hospital scene with Debra Winger and her kids inTerms of Endearment. I won't be able to get through something like that.So I decide to speak to them individually. Carrie first.Only she doesn't want me to do it."I can't do this with you," she says, turning away. "You're not going to die, you're going to be fine. You're the toughest person I know.""Sweetheart, please look at me," I beg. "Please, Carrie."She finally does. "I'm so sorry," she says, her eyes welling up.I wasn't expecting that. "You'resorry? What for? I'm the one who should be apologizing.""No, it wasn't fair. I wasn't fair. I didn't take responsibility for myself. I blamed you for things in my life that weren't your fault.""Some of them were. I should've been there for you more. Carrie, I should've been there.""It's okay.I'm okay," she says. "I only wish it hadn't taken this trip for me to realize that.""You and me both.""I love you, Mom," Carrie says, and then we both cry.Mark's next. He's not ready for this conversation either. He cracks a joke about buying a Maserati with his inheritance to avoid dealing with his emotions. Who could blame him? Certainly not me."You know what I'm going to say, don't you?" I ask him.He nods. "I have to be the man of the house. Or the island, in this case. Something like that? You don't have to say it, Mom."He's right. There's more, though. "You have to promise me something.""What?""First tell me that you promise.""That's not exactly fair. But okay-I promise. Now what is it?""That no matter what happens when you get off this island, you never,ever sell yourself short again."He looks at me, confused. "I don't . . . understand what you're saying. Not exactly.""I thought I was being a good mother by giving you every advantage a kid could have. I was wrong.Really wrong. I should've been making you hungry. Instead I made you numb.""Is that your kind of oblique way of saying I should stop smoking pot?""For starters, yeah. What I'm really trying to say is that your father and I have inadvertently taught you a very harsh lesson-life is too short and too precious to waste."He nods, a half-smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "So I shouldn't waste mine, right?"I hold out my arms and hug him to me. "Make me proud. I know you will, Mark. You're great.""So are you, Mom."Finally I'm face-to-face with Ernie."My little man, you grew up so fast," I say. "Toofast.""Not really. I'm scared, Mom. I feel like I'mten for the first time ever. Or at least since I was three.""It's okay, honey. I'm scared, too. No matter what happens, though, I'll always be with youright here ," I say, pointing at his heart."What about this, though?" he says, pointing to his head."What do you mean?"He takes a deep breath. He almost seems-what's the word?-embarra.s.sed."Right after Dad died, I could picture him with no problem. Now I barely can. Why is that? I'm afraid I won't be able to remember you either."I pull him close and rock him gently. "It's different now, honey. You're a lot older. You'll remember, trust me. As for your father -"I stop cold-my words, the rocking.Ernie pulls back, wiping a tear from his eye. "What is it, Mom?" he asks. "What were you about to say?"No, not like this."It's nothing, honey. The only thing you need to remember is that your dad loved you very, very much. And so do I. I adore you, buddy."I just should have told you that more.I should have told you every single day.

Chapter 76

THE DOUBLE CHAISE LONGUE sat angled perfectly toward the night sky, past a convoy of thick evergreen branches. Lying in each other's arms, Peter and Bailey stared up at a sea of stars that almost made you believe in G.o.d."Look, there's the Big Dipper, Daddy," said Bailey.Peter followed the line of her slender finger, nodding when he spotted the familiar constellation glowing brightly. She was pretending she was his little girl. Cute. He kissed her forehead, pulling her tighter toward him, catching a feel while he was at it."Thank you for being here with me," he said."Of course," she replied softly.Peter had gone to great lengths to find a place where he could be alone with Bailey-about 250 miles, give or take, from New York, deep in the woods above Dorset, Vermont.Here, on the stone patio of a well-appointed log cabin that looked as if it could be the backdrop for a Ralph Lauren ad, Peter was sure he could escape the prying eyes and camera lenses of the paparazzi. They had already served their purpose, cultivating oodles of sympathy for him. Now they were just annoying as h.e.l.l, refusing to leave him alone.Misery truly does love company, doesn't it?The cabin was on loan from one of Peter's attorney friends, who gladly offered it up when Peter "let slip" that he needed some time alone before the funeral for Katherine and the kids. Of course, the friend didn't need to know thatalone meant alone with another woman. As for the funeral, Peter was well aware that a lot of people thought he was rushing things, but f.u.c.k all of them. The media glare would disappear after the funeral-he was sure of it. Once the press had closure, he was home free."How's your face?" asked Bailey."Healing," answered Peter.She ran her hand gently over his cuts and bruises, which were still swollen around his mouth and eyes."I think scars are kind of s.e.xy," she whispered. "Bruises, too.""Then that makes me onevery s.e.xy guy. He beat the h.e.l.l out of me, didn't he?"The two laughed freely until Bailey suddenly stopped."What's wrong?" asked Peter."It doesn't feel right to be laughing, not with what's happened to your family. G.o.d, Peter.""It's okay. This night is good for me, Bailey.You're good for me. This past week has been so hard-I don't know what I'd do without you."About his feelings for Bailey, Peter wasn't play-acting. He really did feel better when he was around her."Will you make love to me?" she asked.That might have had something to do with it.Peter slowly undressed his beautiful young law student, who didn't have much on to begin with. A pair of shorts, panties, and T-shirt. No bra.Completely naked and incredibly luscious, she straddled Peter and unb.u.t.toned his jeans. By the time she reached his boxer shorts he was more than ready for her.Slowly Bailey took him inside her, deep inside. "You feel good," she said softly."So do you."Peter closed his eyes as Bailey began to rock back and forth. The way she arched her back while thrusting her hips, she didn't let a single inch of him go to waste."Yes," she moaned. "Yes.Oh G.o.d, Peter, oh G.o.d."Minutes later she came, screaming louder than she ever had with him. It was so loud that Peter almost didn't hear the other noise nearby. But he did hear something."Wait, what was that?" he said, halting, holding on to her waist. "That sound-did you hear it?""I think that was the earth moving," said Bailey, flashing him a playful smile. "Now it's your turn."But Peter still had his ear trained on the surrounding woods. He could swear he heard something, a clicking noise-only not the kind that any animal would make.Son of a b.i.t.c.h!Had they been followed? Had the paparazzi tracked him down?Well, yes and no.

Chapter 77

ELLEN PIERCE had a saying-actually a twist on a saying- that pretty much steered her through life:Nothing adventured, nothing gained. In her seven years with the DEA, she had squared off against countless g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers, drug kingpins, and mafioso types, one more vicious and cunning than the next. But for sheer resolve, none of them held a candle to Shirley.Shirley, a Queens native with the accent still intact, had been Ian McIntyre's personal a.s.sistant for over a decade. She didn't so much sit outside his office as lord over the s.p.a.ce. No one, and that meantno one, got to see McIntyre without an appointment-something Ellen didn't have that Monday morning.She did have something else, though. A large black coffee and a bran m.u.f.fin. A bribe."Here," said Ellen, stopping by Shirley's desk on the way to her office. "I thought you might enjoy a little breakfast this morning."Shirley quickly raised a tweezed eyebrow. "Okay, Ellen, what do you want, dear?" she asked suspiciously."Jeez, can't anyone do something nice these days without being accused of an ulterior motive?""Not in this building, sweetheart. If this is your way of getting in to see Ian, you can forget about it. He's preparing for a congressional hearing and doesn't want to be disturbed until lunch."Ellen smiled sheepishly, as if to come clean. "It was worth a try, wasn't it?""That depends. Do I still get to keep the coffee and m.u.f.fin?""Of course," said Ellen. "I wouldn't have it any other way."Indeed.Within a half hour the coffee and bran m.u.f.fin had worked their caffeine and fiber magic. Shirley somewhat urgently vacated her post for a bathroom break, allowing Ellen to waltz right into Ian McIntyre's office unannounced.That had been her plan.Before he could ask why the h.e.l.l she was bothering him, she tossed the first glossy picture on his desk."I call this one the money shot," she announced.Even for a man as disciplined as Ian McIntyre, it was impossible not to stare at a picture of a naked couple having s.e.x on a chaise longue."Is that who I think it is?" he asked.Ellen nodded with a beaming smile. She was proud of herself. She was convinced McIntyre would be proud of her, too. His telling her to "leave this one alone" would soon be a distant memory. It was all so Machiavellian, the end surely justifying the means."Who's he with?" he asked."I'm not sure yet. It's not his wife."In quick succession she tossed more photos on the desk, as if she were dealing cards. One after the other they fell before McIntyre, each reinforcing the same conclusion:Peter Carlyle was hardly a man in mourning."Pretty good stuff, huh?" said Ellen. She couldn't help herself. "I told you something wasn't right, Ian."McIntyre remained quiet for ten seconds, maybe more. Finally his eyes lifted from the pictures and bored straight into Ellen's.Uh-oh."What the h.e.l.l were you thinking?" he shouted, jabbing his finger. "I explicitly told you to leave this alone!"Apparently McIntyre hadn't readThe Prince."But the pictures!" said Ellen. "Carlyle needs to be investigated!""Based on what? Extraordinarily poor judgment with his p.e.c.k.e.r? In case you've forgotten, extramarital affairs aren't illegal in this country.""Even when his wife and family mysteriously disappear off the face of the earth?""Where's the mystery? Their boat got caught in a storm, there was a fire on board-it's really sad, it's a tragedy, but it's not much of a mystery."Just then something over McIntyre's shoulder caught Ellen's eye. It was the television behind his desk. On the screen was a male reporter standing on a dock somewhere sunny, in front of a giant fish strung up by its tail.He was talking, but there was no volume."Wait!" shouted Ellen. "Turn that up!"Ian spun around to look. He was about to ask why when he saw the caption on the screen.Breaking news.Dunne family alive?

Chapter 78

PETER SAT ALONE in the first pew of the Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church, his shoulders square and his joy hidden from the view of others. He could actually feel the outpouring of sympathy from the more than five hundred people seated behind him. It made the back of his head tingle.It was a G.o.dd.a.m.n beautiful thing. And this funeral was a necessary one.Everywhere you looked there were long-stemmed red roses. They had been Katherine's favorite flower and the one thing Peter had suggested would be a nice touch for the service honoring her and the brats.The rest of the planning had been handled by his executive secretary, Layla, like the song. When he had explained to her that he was in no condition to be organizing the funeral, she understood. Of course, at $120,000 a year plus bonus, Layla somehow managed to understand everything he asked of her."Let us pray," said the minister.After the brief invocation, Peter listened as the silver-haired Presbyterian minister sermonized about the fragility of life and the indiscriminateness of tragedy. The guy certainly had a presence about him and was a very good orator. Slick, yet earnest-sounding.It always struck Peter as funny and ironic how many of the world's potentially best lawyers were instead men of the cloth. They were, after all, extremely talented at making people believe in things that they couldn't necessarily prove."Amen," said the minister. "Now a reading from . . ."The service continued, but Peter tuned it out. Instead he was thinking about the eulogy he was about to deliver.Talk about the ultimate closing argument.Standing before Katherine's friends and fellow doctors, her cousins-the few that she had-along with all the brats' private school chums and chummettes, he knew this would be his moment to rise and shine. He would start strong and stoic, of course. Then he would begin to take long pauses as he fought back the tears and shared a few family stories he'd made up.Finally he would break down, a weeping mess. This was when the cuts and bruises on his face would really pay dividends. It would be a pity-palooza. In fact, as Peter closed his eyes he could already feel the minister's embrace in an effort to console him at the pulpit. After that he was home free. And why not?Of course, he had no idea what was happening outside the walls of the church. The breaking news had yet to break through to the congregation. All cell phones had been turned off. It was a funeral, for G.o.d's sake!Later, when Peter turned his Motorola 1000 back on, there would be three urgent messages from Lieutenant Andrew Tatem of the Coast Guard, not to mention two from Judith Fox trying to get him back on her show.But that was later.It was now time for Peter's eulogy. He couldn't wait to get all of this behind him. The funeral, and especially his family.Standing at the pulpit before the packed church, he took a moment before speaking. He couldn't help himself. He had to stop and smell the roses, didn't he? Interestingly to him, he didn't feel any regret-not for Katherine, nor for Mark, Carrie, or Ernie, who wasn't such a bad kid, actually.Suddenly he heard whispering behind him. Peter turned to look, slightly vexed. A man, maybe in his midthirties and dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, had his hand cupped over his mouth no more than an inch or so from the minister's ear.What the h.e.l.l's going on?The young man was the organist. He wasn't supposed to be reading e-mail on his BlackBerry during a service, but he'd been doing it anyway. It wasn't as if anyone could see him. His perch was high up in the rafters, out of sight from the pews.Now here he was in front of everyone-and for good reason. He'd just checked the Yahoo news page while searching for a Yankees score. They were playing a day game against the Red Sox up at Fenway. How could he resist a quick peek?That's when another headline caught his eye-a story of a giant bluefin tuna and its c.o.ke-bottle cargo.The minister quickly joined Peter at the podium and joyously leaned toward the microphone."It's a miracle!" he declared.

Chapter 79

THE WORDS ECHOED in Peter's head all the way home.Somehow your family traveled much farther south than their EPIRB indicated. We're beginning a new search immediately. There's hope, Mr. Carlyle.Andrew Tatem didn't give any further details, nor did Peter ask for them when he called the Coast Guard officer back. He was still pretty much in shock.Only minutes before, the funeral had become a non-funeral. What a scene! Five hundred people all dressed up with suddenly no one to mourn.At least, not yet, and maybe never. No one could know for sure. Katherine and the kids still had to be found, after all."But they will be," the crowd kept saying as they spilled out of the church."They will be."For Peter, it was like a symphony of nails sc.r.a.ping against a blackboard. No wonder he couldn't wait to get home . . . to Katherine's apartment.The second he did, he made a beeline for the well-stocked liquor cabinet in the den. Bourbon, straight up.Very up.Staring at the bottle of Evan Williams as he poured, Peter couldn't help thinking about the other bottle, the one that had just ruined a perfectly good day.A message in a c.o.ke bottle found in a tuna?It didn't get crazier and more random than that. The coup de grace? The promise of a million-dollar reward. That was $1 million of what had beenthis close to being his money!Peter downed the bourbon and poured himself another. As he lifted the gla.s.s, his hand stopped cold. He heard a noise, something in the apartment.Orsomeone.He thought back to the cabin in Vermont. This was a different noise from what he had heard in the woods, or at least what he thought he had heard. He wasn't sure anymore.But of this he was positive: someone else was in the apartment.Slowly Peter edged his way to the entrance to the den, listening for the sound again. There it was! It was like a hissing. Or was that whistling?Whatever it was, it was coming from his study, off the living room. Of all places for there to be an intruder.That's where he kept his gun.Peter slipped off his wingtips and tiptoed out to the hallway. In the closet off the foyer was the next best weapon available, his golf bag with the Winged Foot logo. Specifically, his five-iron with the t.i.tanium shaft. His lucky club. Or would the Odyssey putter be a better choice? Shorter club, heavier head.Before grabbing the deadeye putter, he checked the front door. Had he forgotten to lock it behind him when he came in?No way.The thoughts were coming fast and furious now, like the beating of his heart. The building on Park Avenue was relatively secure, although there had been a burglary two floors down the year before. Was this another one? Maybe.But, wait-the front door had been locked.What burglar locks himself in?Another thought, and this was plausible.The television. He'd been watching it before leaving for the funeral. Perhaps he had left it on.All the same, Peter gripped his club, ready to swing from the heels as he slowly made his way toward the study. A few steps before the entrance, however, he breathed a sigh of relief.Phew!It was the television, all right.Peter turned the corner into the study to see a rerun ofSeinfeld on the wide screen.Walking over to his huge mahogany desk by the window, he put aside the golf club. He watched as the color rushed back to his white knuckles. For peace of mind, if anything, Peter removed a key that was taped beneath the desk and unlocked the bottom drawer, where he kept his gun.The gun was gone."Looking for this?" came a voice.

Chapter 80

DEVOUX SMILED, a Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum dangling from his outstretched hand as he stood, calm as could be, in the far corner of the study. "What is it with you urban cowboys, always keeping a big gun locked in the fancy desk? Somebody could get hurt."Peter was miles and miles away from being amused. His eyes burned, staring down Devoux as the wordlocked seemed to linger between them in the room. The desk, the apartment itself-everything had been locked."How did you get in here?" Peter demanded, turning off the television on the cutesy musical signature that signaled scene changes onSeinfeld.Devoux wasn't about to explain. Instead, "We have business to discuss," he announced."No s.h.i.t," came back Peter.Devoux took a seat in the leather club chair nestled near the oversize fireplace. Putting his feet up on the ottoman, he balanced the gun on the armrest and folded his arms lazily across his chest."Make yourself at home," snapped Peter."What a nice home it is," replied Devoux. He glanced around, his head bobbing with approval. "I a.s.sume it becomes all yours?""I certainly thought so when I woke up this morning.""Yes, it seems you have quite the resilient family.""Would you mind explaining how they're still alive? You said no one on the boat would survive the blast. You were wrong, weren't you?""Maybe. Then again, maybe not," said Devoux."What's that supposed to mean?""Perhaps they weren't on the boat when it exploded. That's my best guess."Peter rolled his eyes. "You expect me to believe that c.r.a.p?""Actually, I don't care what you believe. You don't get it, do you? The point is not what happened.It's what happens next. ""All I know is that there's an entire Coast Guard fleet gearing up for a new search," said Peter. "Call me crazy, but I think they might have a little better luck this time around. What doyou think?""It would look that way, wouldn't it?" said Devoux. He reached for Peter's .44 Magnum. "Of course, looks are often deceiving."With a flick of his wrist Devoux opened the cylinder, removing all six bullets with a quick shake into his palm. Showing them to Peter, he then returned a lone bullet to a chamber and gave the cylinder a spin. With another practiced flick of his wrist, he snapped the cylinder shut.The next thing Peter knew, Devoux was aiming the gun directly at his chest."What's this look like to you?" Devoux asked.Peter's heart skipped a half-dozen beats as he watched Devoux unveil a particularly deranged grin. This couldn't be happening, could it?But it was.Devoux pulled back the hammer with his thumb, his index finger holding steady against the trigger. That's when the deranged smile completely disappeared.It was replaced by a cold, lifeless stare boring straight into Peter's soul.Click!The hollow sound of an empty chamber filled the study as Peter stood stunned, horrified, relieved."Son of a b.i.t.c.h, you could've killed me!"Devoux chuckled. Then he pressed the barrel of the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger five times fast.What the -?Sure enough, when Devoux opened the cylinder again, there was no bullet in any chamber. It onlylooked as if he had loaded the gun. As he coolly showed Peter, all six bullets were still in his hand."Here's the deal," said Devoux. "Based on the EPIRB and where that tuna was caught, the Coast Guard will start searching islands in the Bahamas that are still too far north of where your family could be. Of course, the farther south you go in that area, the more uninhabited islands you find, so you're only going to have a day, two tops.""For what?""To find your family first.If they're alive, of course," answered Devoux. "You are a pilot, right?"Peter nodded, Devoux's plan beginning to play out in his head. Great minds think alike. So do sick ones.To the press and the public, it would look as if the loving husband and father was desperately taking matters into his own hands. Time was everything now. No longer would he rely on the Coast Guard alone. He would become a one-man search party."There's only one more thing I need to know," said Devoux, holding up Peter's gun again."What's that?""Are you ready to use this thing for real?"

Part Five

Finders Keepers

Chapter 81

THE DAY'S FIRST RAY OF SUN hits my face, waking me up as it has every morning since we landed on this G.o.dforsaken island in the middle of who knows where. Only this time the feeling is different, and I can sum it up in one word.Hallelujah!I'm not dizzy, and I'm not dry-heaving. I'm not even sweating like a pig in a sauna.The fever's broken. The infection,gone. Or at least on its way out.I'll say it again.Hallelujah!I sit up, taking a deep breath. I'm far from a hundred percent-barely even fifty. Still, that's enough to know that I'm on the mend instead of knocking on death's door.h.e.l.l, if my leg weren't still broken, I'd get up and dance a little jig.Instead I settle for a good cry. I can't help it, I'm so relieved. The three biggest reasons why are lying right next to me.They're still fast asleep, but I don't care. "Wake up, Dunnes!" I call out. "Wake up! Hey, you lazybones!"They all stir, slowly lifting their heads to look around and see what's going on. When they see me smiling, they jolt up. They're speechless.I'm not."Mark, it looks like you'll be waiting a little longer on that Maserati," I joke. "My fever broke."He has no quick comeback, no smart-alecky reply. Instead he does something I haven't seen him do since his father died. He starts to cry.The tears are contagious, and Carrie and Ernie join in. It's officially a Dunne family meltdown, and we couldn't be happier about it.Only a loud, low-pitched rumble brings us back to reality. Thunder? No."Was that your stomach, Mom?" asks Ernie.Any other place or time and we all would've been laughing. Not here and not now. My growling stomach is a stark reminder that we're all still stuck on this island and our rations are running dangerously low. Thanks to a few rain showers we've been able to collect some drinking water, but foodwise we're down to a handful of nuts."Wait," Mark whispers. "n.o.body move."I fix on his eyes staring somewhere over my shoulder. "What is it?" I whisper back."Something a lot better than nuts."We all turn slowly to look. There on the sand, nibbling at a palm leaf, is a brown-and-white rabbit. It's cute. It's cuddly.It's dinner!Not that we'd wait that long. It would surely be breakfast if we could only figure out how in the world to catch it. I whisper again, "How should we -"I don't even finish the sentence. Like a rocket, Mark jumps up, sprints across the sand, and hurls himself at the rabbit. I've never seen him move that fast-he's a blur.Unfortunately, so is the rabbit. An even faster blur. It darts back into the brush, leaving Mark with nothing but a faceful of sand."s.h.i.t!" he yells. "We'll never catch it now.""We don't have to," I quickly point out. "At least not that one.""Mom's right. It's arabbit, " says Carrie.For once Ernie's too young to understand. "What's that supposed to mean?"I reach over and give him a gentle pat on the head. "It means there's plenty more where that one came from. Rabbits like big families, Ernie. Just like us."

Chapter 82

TALK ABOUT A STRANGE NEW FEELING. Back home in New York, practically every minute of every hour of my day was accounted for. Each surgery, all my meetings and rounds, everything I did had a start and finish time. If I fell behind, I simply worked faster. And if I got ahead of schedule and had time on my hands-Wait, who am I kidding? I never got ahead of schedule.The point being, it's so strange having nothingbut time on my hands. Of course, the only reason that I'm even thinking this is because I'm bored out of my skull. As I sit here with my b.u.m leg, waiting for the kids to return from their rabbit hunt, I literally don't know what to do with myself.Except think, which maybe isn't such a bad thing.Mostly I'm wondering what Peter's doing, how the poor man is handling our disappearance. Not well, I can only imagine. He must be a wreck. I felt so guilty about leaving him for this trip; we were just beginning our life together. Will we still have the chance?Yes.We will be found.I'll be with Peter again. I just know it will happen.After all, we're not halfway around the planet in the middle of nowhere. We can be only so far from civilization. Off the beaten track, maybe, but it's still a track. Eventually a boat, an airplane, someone has to come our way.I'm right, right?G.o.d, I hope so.Fittingly, I hear a grumble from my gut again, the sound echoing through the empty, hollowed-out cavern otherwise known as my stomach.C'mon, kids! I've got every finger and toe crossed that they're having luck with that rabbit-any rabbit!Finally, after more than an hour, I think I hear them coming. I'm pretty sure . . ."Mark?" I call out. "Carrie? Ernie?"They don't answer.I call out again. All I hear back is the sound of a slight breeze blowing through the palms. Maybe that's all it was. Or maybe I'm getting a little delirious from not eating!I keep staring at the brush on the edge of the beach, hoping to see the kids at any moment. Instead it's something else that I see."Oh my G.o.d,"I whisper."Oh my G.o.d."

Chapter 83

IT'S A SNAKE!It's a snake like the Great Wall of China is a fence.It's lava green and black and slithering through the sea gra.s.s onto the beach, and there's no end to it. This snake is huge.And it's heading right for me. I want to run. Everything inside me is saying "Run!"If only I could. I can't even walk.I push off the sand, struggling up to my feet. Maybe the snake hasn't seen me yet. How good is a snake's vision? Where is Ernie and his science-cla.s.s info when I need him?I'm about to scream for the kids when I stop short. I don't want to call any more attention to myself, do I? Should I back away slowly? Should I stand perfectly still?No, that's what you do with bears! At least I think so. I don't know. I can barely think right now. I've never seen a snake this large, not even onNational Geographic.I try putting a little pressure on my right leg, enough so I can limp away. d.a.m.n! It hurts like h.e.l.l, the pain shooting up my thigh and hip like a fireball with spikes.Suddenly the snake stops. For a few seconds it holds itself perfectly still.C'mon, go back to the gra.s.s where you belong, pal. There's no food here on the beach!Except for me, of course.And I'm afraid that's the idea. Sure enough, the mammoth snake lurches forward, its bowed head rising as if it's homing in on me. So much for not being seen.I don't have any choice now. I scream for the kids, so loudly that my throat burns. I scream again and again.It's no use. I hear nothing back from them. They must be too far away.Pain or no pain, I start limping away from the snake. But the snake is faster.Maybe if I could get to the water. Would it still come after me? Would I drown?I turn my head, peeking over my shoulder to see how much more sand I need to cover. Thirty feet or so. Maybe I can make it! All I have to do is pick up the pace.Frantically I begin to hop. I've got one eye watching the snake, the other watching the water.I should've been watching the sand.Before I know it, I'm falling backward, my heel tripped up on a piece of driftwood.And slithering right over the wood, the snake's hideous head.

Chapter 84

IT'S GOING TO BITE ME. I know it's going to strike any second. I feel the panic surge through my bloodstream as I try to stand again. I can't get up. It's as if my body and brain aren't connected anymore.The only thing I can manage is thrusting my palms against the sand and pushing away. I'm scooting backward as fast as I can.It's not fast enough.The snake is inches from my foot, its head suddenly rising. I'm thinking that any moment I'll see its fangs, thenfeel its fangs.But I don't. The huge snake doesn't lunge or strike. Instead it crawls slowly, powerfully-oh my G.o.d, no!--over my legs.That's when I realize what's actually happening.This diabolical snake wants to do more than just take a bite out of me. It wantsall of me.I scream again for the kids as the reptile travels past my thighs and coils around my waist. Even before it completes the loop I can feel the immense pressure, like a fleshy vise slowly closing. The snake wraps itself around my chest as I empty my suffocating lungs for one last scream, which finally comes out as a gasp.I thrash, trying to get loose. It's too powerful. The more I push, the tighter it squeezes. I can't breathe!It's up to my shoulders, the scales cool and dry against my skin. I catch a glimpse of the snake's eyes as the head pa.s.ses in front of me again. The eyes are jet black. They're lifeless and seem not to see me at all. Oh G.o.d, it's ugly!The thought of dying takes over, shooting another wave of panic through my body. This one is off the charts; I'm whipping and writhing what few parts of me can still move. This is not the way to die.

Chapter 85

"HOLD ON!"I hear.Mark runs out of the brush and scoops up the four-foot hunk of driftwood in front of me."Stay still!"he yells.Gripping the driftwood like a sledgehammer, he raises it above his head.Whack! Again he swings, even harder.WHACK!He's aiming for a narrow stretch of the snake above my left kneecap. If he misses I've got another broken leg, but I don't care so much about that. Not right now, anyway.Mark doesn't miss. One brutal swing after another.In the corner of my eye I can see Carrie and Ernie, too stunned to do anything except stare. Their brother keeps swinging away, not letting up.Neither is the snake, though. The pain it's causing is excruciating. I feel like I'm about to burst wide open."Hurry, Mark!" I plead.Finally the moment he's waiting for comes. The snake fights back, its head darting toward Mark with a piercing hiss. The beast's jaws are open, the fangs on full display."Thatta boy!" Mark beams."You dumb s.h.i.t!"In a flash the driftwood sledgehammer turns into a baseball bat. The snake's head is away from my body, giving him a decently clear shot.Mark unloads on the snake's head as if it's a hanging curveball. Once, twice, three times he swings, each blow more vicious than the last.The viselike grip around me starts to loosen. The snake no longer fights back, and its head is falling toward the sand.Going.Going.Gone.

Chapter 86

"TASTES JUST LIKE CHICKEN," says Ernie, grinning as he chews."Not."That gets a good laugh from the rest of us as we sit around the fire at dusk, dining on the last thing any of us thought would be our next meal: grilled snake on a stick."I can't believe I'm eating this thing," says Carrie.But she is. We all are. A lot of it, too. Of course, with the size of that snake there's a lot to go around."Hey, it was either this or nothing," says Mark. "Guess we're snaking out."Their rabbit hunt was an exercise in futility. Or should I say, the three of them got a lot of exercise while chasing but never catching the few rabbits they saw."You know, there are some cultures that think of snake as a delicacy," says Ernie. "It's true.""Yes," says Carrie right back, "and those people usually have bones through their noses.""Actually, I remember reading that a couple of restaurants in Manhattan serve rattlesnake," I say. I can't believe I felt the need to contribute that grotesquerie.Carrie shakes her head. "Not any restaurants I've been to. Now that you mention it, though, what I wouldn't give to be eating at Gramercy Tavern right now."I can't say I blame her-I feel the same way. Only what I'd really kill for would be a big, thick New York strip."What about Flames, up by the country house?" I say. "In fact, when this whole ordeal is over, I'm taking you all out to dinner, soup to nuts.""Souffles too?" asks Carrie."You bet! Soup to souffles."I look at Mark and Ernie. I'm not expecting cartwheels, but I hardly expect their sullen stares back at me. Especially Ernie's."What is it?" I ask him."You saidwhen this whole ordeal is over. What if it never is?""It will be, honey, trust me."He can't. Instead he turns to Mark. "You were right-that message-in-a-bottle thing was stupid. Dumb. No one's going to find it, or us."I'm about to chime in again and a.s.sume my rea.s.suring-mother role when Mark gives me a subtle wave of his hand. He wants to take care of this himself."No, it wasn't stupid, bro. No way. You were just trying to help us," he says. "I was the one being stupid, making fun of you."Ernie smiles as if it's Christmas morning and he's gotten everything he wanted. Meanwhile, I'm about to melt as I gaze at Mark. What happened to the spoiled prep-school stoner? He evenlooks different after battling that snake. A little taller, squarer in the jaw.Mark turns and catches me staring at him. "And as for Mom treating us to dinner . . . I'm ordering the porterhouse, double-thick!" he says. "What about you, little man, you want one too?""Absolutely!" says Ernie."Good. Because Mom's right, I can feel it.We're getting off this island-soon! "

Chapter 87

"DON'T WORRY," said Peter, caressing Bailey's smooth, soft cheek. "I'll be back before you know it.""That's what I'm afraid of," she said. "You'll find your family, be reunited with Doctor Katherine, and before I know it I'm yesterday's news."Peter had yet to see this hidden side of the usually tough-minded, confident Bailey.Vulnerability. He had to admit, it was kind of s.e.xy, and even sweet."Trust me, no matter what happens during this trip, I won't be able to get you out of my mind," he said.Bailey liked the sound of that. She picked a plump strawberry off the room-service breakfast tray and gently wrapped her lips around it. Biting down, she winked at Peter. "I trust you, Peter. But is that wise of me?"Their night of s.e.x and champagne had been his idea, a proper goodbye before he left Bailey and headed for the Bahamas. He had chosen the sw.a.n.k Alex Hotel in Midtown for a couple of reasons, both geographic. First, it was close to Grand Central Station, where he could easily lose any paparazzi who might be following him on foot. Second, the hotel was close to the Midtown Tunnel, which would be his quickest route to Kennedy Airport. His flight out was in less than two hours."Oh, that reminds me," he said. "I need you to do me a small favor if you can."Peter leaned over the side of the king-size bed and fetched something from his duffel on the floor. It was a FedEx box."I didn't have a chance to drop this off last night before coming here. Would you mind doing that after I leave for the airport?"Bailey eyed the shipping label. The box was addressed to Peter's hotel in the Bahamas. "Sure," she said, nodding, albeit with a slight hesitation.Peter expected as much."Go ahead, you can ask me what's inside," he said."No, it's none of my business."Peter feigned disappointment. "You call yourself an aspiring lawyer? What if what's inside that box is something illegal? They rarely, if ever, x-ray them. You could unwittingly be an accomplice to a crime, lose your chance ever to practice law."Bailey reached for another strawberry and this time fed it to Peter. "I guess I'll have to take my chances," she said.Again, Peter had expected as much.She trusted him.He bit down on the strawberry, returning Bailey's wink. Then he eyed his platinum Rolex.It was time to catch a plane and take care of some family business.

Chapter 88

IT WASN'T QUITE the Beatles landing in the sixties at JFK, but for sheer media turnout it was close enough. Early in the afternoon, the plane touched down at Lynden Pindling International Airport on New Providence Island in the Bahamas. For the "benefit" of the other pa.s.sengers-but really just to heighten the drama-Peter made sure he was the very last to disembark.A black Tumi duffel slung over his shoulder, he approached the herd of reporters a.s.sembled behind a rope curtain on the tarmac.Gee, all this for little ol' me?This was why Peter flew commercial. He wanted the publicity. He wanted the transparency. The press could and would question his bucking the Coast Guard and conducting his own search. He just needed to make sure they didn't question his motive.So with his courtroom-perfected poise, Peter made it clear. "I couldn't live with myself if I thought for one second I didn't do everything I could to help find my family. Especially since I'm a licensed pilot."The press ate it up. They always did when it was spoon-fed to them like this. Besides, it was too d.a.m.n hot. Blistering, really. The sooner they could file their reports and get out of the sun, the better.Peter thanked the reporters and promptly left them in the dust-literally. After cruising through customs and immigration, he exited through the front entrance of the airport in search of a taxi.An LCD display out by the curb put a number on the sweltering heat: 101, the sign flashed. Next to it a Coppertone ad warned "Don't Get Burned!" above a picture of a hapless, chubby man in a bathing suit. His skin was a decidedly nasty shade of lobster pink."Hot enough for you?" came a man's voice just over Peter's left shoulder.A local? Another reporter?Neither.Turning around, Peter stared Andrew Tatem straight in the eyes. He recognized the Coast Guard officer from his televised press conference in Miami. Now here he was in the Bahamas, getting up close and personal with Peter. Why would that be?"Mr. Carlyle, I'm -""Lieutenant Andrew Tatem-yes, of course," said Peter. "Nice to see you. How are you?""Good, good. You look surprised to see me."Peter shrugged. No need to hide it. "I am. Didn't you tell me you were staying in Miami despite the search effort's moving down here?""Yes, that was my original plan.""What changed?""That's easy, Mr. Carlyle.You did. "

Chapter 89

"CAN I GIVE YOU a ride to your hotel?" asked Tatem. "It would be my pleasure.""Thanks, but I'm fine with a taxi," Peter answered quickly. "It'll get me there.""Really, it's no trouble. In fact, it will give us a chance to talk. Come with me."Peter eyed Tatem. Clearly the guy had an agenda and wasn't about to take no for an answer."Sure," said Peter, relenting. "Thank you. It's very kind. I'm at the Sheraton Cable Beach Resort."Before he knew it he was sitting shotgun in a black sedan that screamed government-issued."Mr. Carlyle, you really shouldn't be down here," said Tatem a few seconds after pulling out of the airport. He was hardly slow to make his point.Ditto for his driving. For someone who spoke in such a measured tone, the guy sure knew how to let fly behind the wheel.Peter watched the lineup of palm trees whizzing by his window.Is there a speed limit in the Bahamas? Is this a.s.swipe just trying to scare me?Tatem continued, his gaze pinballing back and forth between Peter and the road. "I mean, I don't care that you're in the Bahamas, Mr. Carlyle. What I'm saying is that you shouldn't be trying to conduct your own personal search effort."Peter rubbed his chin as if he were actually considering Tatem's point of view. He wasn't. Having the guy greet him at the airport might have been a surprise, but his "advice" wasn't. Of course he didn't want Peter doinghis job. What good could come of that?"Are you afraid that I might get in the way?" asked Peter."To be honest, yes.""It's a big ocean out there.""I think you know that's not what I mean.""Yes, you're afraid that I'll just fuel the media frenzy. Point taken."Tatem nodded. "It's hard enough to oversee a search effort, let alone having to manage the press.""So don't manage them," said Peter."With all due respect,you of all people should know that's not realistic.""With all due respect,I think what you're really afraid of is that I'll find my family first."Tatem shot him a steely look. "I promise you, that's not the case. I'm not built that way.""Good. Then I don't see what the problem is. I just want them found, Lieutenant, that's all.""So do I. That's what we're trained to do.""Oh, I see," said Peter. "You want me to leave it to the professionals?""For lack of a better phrase, yes.""You mean the same professionals who had already called off the search?"That got Tatem's goat. He bristled. "You know as well as I do that the boat's coordinates -"Peter cut him off. Enough was enough. "Listen, I'm doing what I came down here to do," he said sternly. "If you don't understand it, or don't like it, tough s.h.i.t."A silence fell over the sedan, and Peter loved every second of it. He figured that was the end of the discussion. What else could Tatem say or do, except drop him off at his hotel?"As I said, I'm at the Sheraton Cable Beach," said Peter. "Do you know where that is?"Tatem answered with a clipped "Yes."They were five or six miles out from the airport now, speeding along a curvy stretch of road that hugged the coastline."Are we close?" asked Peter."It's about a mile or so," Tatem answered.The car went silent again. A beige-and-tan sign for the Sheraton soon appeared, and Peter heaved a sigh of relief. The entrance was directly behind it. Lush tropical gardens, a spectacular white-sand beach, casuarina trees blowing in the wind.But Tatem didn't slow down.Instead he sped up. Gunned it, actually.Blowing right by Peter's hotel.

Chapter 90

FOR THE FIFTH TIME Peter asked-no,demanded -to know where Tatem was taking him.For the fifth time Tatem ignored him, acting as if Carlyle weren't even there in the car.Right up until they drove through the towering wrought-iron gates of the U.S. emba.s.sy in the heart of downtown Na.s.sau."Follow me," said Tatem after parking the car in front. Not a request-an order.So Peter followed Tatem into the emba.s.sy and down a long, narrow corridor. If the building had air conditioning, it was broken. The place was hot, a few rocks and a ladle short of a sauna. There were ceiling fans overhead, yet all they did was make sure the stifling air was evenly distributed.At the last door at the end of the corridor, Tatem stopped. "Go on in," he said, stepping aside.Peter stared at the closed door, beads of sweat trickling past his sideburns. This Tatem was tougher than he had sounded over the phone. "You're not coming with me?" Peter asked."No. Out of my jurisdiction, as they say. I'll wait for you out here."Tatem turned and walked off, leaving Peter alone. And wondering,What the h.e.l.l's going on?Through another door down the hall Peter could hear a radio, the muted sound of Bob Marley's "Could You Be Loved." The song that really would've nailed the moment was by the Animals: "We've Got to Get Out of This Place."The exit sign hanging over a nearby stairwell was practically calling out Peter's name. That's when the door suddenly opened before him."h.e.l.lo, Peter," she said.They were standing face-to-face, yet another surprise for the day. This one was a doozy, and couldn't have been more unpleasant or threatening.The last time Peter had seen Agent Ellen Pierce, she had been sitting in a Manhattan courtroom shooting daggers at him with her intense yet unquestionably beautiful brown eyes. She had dedicated two years of her life to investigating and finally nabbing a Brooklyn crime boss who was running a hundred-million-dollar drug ring.All it took was two weeks for Carlyle to set the bad guy free.When the jury came back with their not-guilty verdict, she actually yelled "f.u.c.k!" in the courtroom. It even brought a smile to his face.So what was Ms. Pierce doing here? Why would she possibly need to speak to him now? About what?He had a pretty good hunch."Don't tell me," began Peter, raising both his palms. "You want to talk me out of searching for my family, too."Pierce smiled. She was wearing a white polo neatly tucked into a pair of tan linen slacks. DEA island wear, perhaps?"Oh, no," she said. "I think it's great that you want to search for them." She motioned for Peter to have a seat at the small conference-room table behind her. "But before you do, I think there's something you need to know. I'm here tohelp you, Peter."

Chapter 91

JAKE DUNNE, a drug runner? Uncle Jake a bad guy? Was it possible?It sounded crazy coming out of Ellen Pierce's mouth and even more so when he repeated it in his head. He couldn't picture it, not for a minute. It was obviously no joke, though. The DEA was known for a lot of things, but comedy wasn't high on the list. In fact, it wasn't on the list at all."Jake Dunne's been on our radar for well over a year now," said Agent Pierce, folding her lean arms on the table. "He's been spotted repeatedly with a known smuggler, and his travel patterns have been suspicious, to say the least. Unfortunately, beyond that, we've not been able to prove anything. Close, but not quite. Nothing that would hold up in court.""Even if your suspicions about Jake are true, what does that have to do with my family's disappearance?" asked Peter. "They were hit by a storm.""Yes, they were," said Pierce. "What we don't know for sure is whether that storm is the real reason the boat went down. There remains another possibility-that Jake was pulling double duty on this trip, captaining the boat while also making a dropoff.""A dropoffwhere? " asked Peter. Agent Pierce definitely had his interest now. This was sounding better and better."That's the thing. They're mostly done on open water. You've got two boats and no one else around for miles. If that's what Jake Dunne had planned and there was an altercation of some kind-a disagreement about money, perhaps-I'm afraid your wife and stepchildren may have paid the price. It's a working theory, anyway.""But the note in the bottle-they're alive," said Peter. "At least, I'm praying they still are.""I'm praying for the same thing, Mr. Carlyle. In fact, I'm banking on it," she said. "And having seen firsthand in a courtroom how determined you can be, I'd say the smart money's on your finding them first." She reached into her pocket. "That's why I want you to have this."Pierce placed a sleek black cell phone on the table. It wasn't any kind of phone Peter had seen before, and he thought he'd seen them all. He picked it up, staring at it as if it had just fallen from the sky."Yeah, I had the same reaction when I first saw it," said Pierce. "Here, let me show you how it works. Piece of cake, really. You don't have to be a techie."She took it from Peter's hands and opened it like a compact for makeup. On one side was a keyboard, on the other what looked like a solar panel."It's a satellite phone, isn't it?" asked Peter.Ellen nodded. "The best Uncle Sam's money can buy. Waterproof, shatterproof, with a carbon nanotube battery that lasts over a hundred hours a charge. You can call from anywhere on the planet at any time. Perfect signal, completely encrypted. No one can listen in.""Very cool," said Peter. "Why do I need it?""Because no matter where you are, you need to contact me the second you find Jake and your family. I have to know before the media does-even before the Coast Guard, if possible.""I got that part, Agent. Butwhy? ""If there were people who wanted Jake Dunne dead, it's safe to a.s.sume they still do. That's why we have to get to him first-for his protection and, more important, for your family's. At the very least, they're out there with a drug runner."Peter blinked long and hard. "This is weird," he said. "I mean, the fact that you're helping me. You don't even like me.""You're right, I don't. That said, you have your job to do and I have mine." Pierce smiled. "Now do me a favor, will you? Go find your family."

Chapter 92

THERE WAS THIS ONE NIGHT BACK when I was a resident at the Cleveland Clinic, and I was supposed to be catching an hour nap in the middle of a twenty-four-hour shift. It was my only chance to get some much-needed rest, and I was exhausted.But I couldn't sleep. I was too tired. So I turned on an old Sony Trinitron in the doctors' lounge and started watching this doc.u.mentary on Ansel Adams. Or was it Franklin B. Way? I can't remember. Anyway, what I do remember is the phrase they used to describe this time of day, when supposedly the light from the sun is perfect for photography. "Magic hour," it's called.Magic hour.As I sit here on the beach, staring out over the ocean as the sun kisses the horizon, I'm pretty sure this is what they were talking about on the TV show.It's beautiful.It's also ironic. Back home I almost never saw sunsets. h.e.l.l, I barely saw the outdoors. Most of my days were spent standing in a sterile, windowless room, my view alternating between heart monitors and the real thing pulsing on a table in front of me.No regrets, though. I never lost sight of the good I was doing. But like I said, it's ironic. It took all of this to happen before I could really appreciate something as simple as a sunset."Hey, Mom," says Ernie, running over to me. He stands sideways, displaying his profile. It's obvious, in a very cute way, that he's sucking in his stomach a little. "How much weight do you think I've lost?" he asks.Indeed, my pudgy little man is a lot less pudgy than at the start of the trip. He's probably lost seven or eight pounds, and it shows. Better yet, it's seven or eight pounds more than he was ever able to shed back home.I look at his face, the pride written all over it. Then I glance down at his stomach. I'm ready togush about how thin he now looks.And that's when my eyes nearly pop out of my head.There's a boat sailing out of Ernie's belly b.u.t.ton!"What is it, Mom? What's wrong?" he asks, looking down at himself in horror."Nothing's wrong!" I answer with a jolt. "It's all right!"In fact, it's better than all right.It's magic!