"Until we're fired."

"That won't be long at a thousand bucks a night." He offered, "If there's any local stuff I can help you with, let me know."

"As a matter of fact ... do you have any problems with bears around here?"

Kate rolled her eyes.

Major Schaeffer informed me, "The Adirondack region is home to the largest black bear population in the East. You are very likely to encounter a bear in the woods."

"Yeah? Then what?"

"Black bears aren't overly aggressive. They're curious, though, and intelligent, and they may approach." He added, "The problem is that the bears equate people with food."

"I'm sure they do, when they're eating you."

"I mean that people-campers and hikers-carry food with them, and the bears know that. But they'd rather eat your lunch than eat you. And don't go near their cubs. The females are very protective of their cubs."

"How do I know if I'm near their cubs?"

"You'll know. Also, bears become very active after five P.M."

"How do they know what time it is?"

"I don't know. Just take extra precautions after five P.M. That's when they're foraging."

"Right. The question is, Will my 9mm Glock stop a bear?"

"Don't shoot the bears, Detective." Major Schaeffer noted, "You have intruded into their territory. Be nice to the bears. Enjoy the bears."

Kate said, "Excellent advice."

I didn't think so.

Schaeffer concluded his bear talk with, "I haven't had to deal with a fatal bear attack in years-just a few maulings."

"That's reassuring."

Schaeffer told us, "There is a pamphlet about bears on that table over there. You should read it."

If the fucking bears were so intelligent and curious, they should read it, too.

Kate found the pamphlet, then handed Major Schaeffer her card. "That's my cell number."

We all shook hands, and Kate and I left the building and walked through the lit parking lot.

Kate said to me, "I don't want to hear anything more about bears. Ever."

"Just read me the pamphlet."

"You read the pamphlet." She shoved it in my coat pocket. "Did Schaeffer say anything interesting?"

"Yeah ... the Custer Hill Club is a secret naval submarine facility."

"Submarine? Is that what Schaeffer said?"

"No. That's what Fred said."

"Who's Fred?"

"I don't know. But Fred knows more than we do."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

We got to the car, and I slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and pulled out to the road.

As I drove through Ray Brook, Kate asked, "Tell me what Major Schaeffer said."

"I will. But now I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"About something that Schaeffer said."

"What?"

"That's what I'm trying to remember ... it was something that made me think of something else-"

"What?"

"I can't remember. Here's an intersection."

"Bear-turn left. Do you want me to drive while you think?"

"No, stop bugging me. I shouldn't have said anything. You always do this."

"No, I don't. If you tell me everything that you and Schaeffer discussed, it will come to you."

"All right." I turned onto Route 86, which was dark and empty, and as I drove, I related my conversation with Schaeffer. Kate is a good listener, and I'm a good reporter of the facts when I want to be. But facts and logic are not the same thing, and I couldn't recall the word associations that had illuminated something in my brain.

When I finished, Kate asked me, "Did it come to you?"

"No. Change the subject."

"Okay. Maybe that will help. Do you think the Custer Hill Club is or ever was a government facility?"