"No. This is Bain Madox's show from beginning to end. Think Dr. No."

"Okay, Mr. Bond, so you think this is more than a hunting lodge, and even more than a place where possible conspirators meet?"

"Yeah ... there seems to be a whole ... like, technological level there that is not consistent with the stated purpose of the place. Unless maybe, as Madox said to us, his wife meant it to be a refuge in case of an atomic war."

"I think that was just part of his smoke screen-a logical explanation for what he knew we would eventually hear about the construction of that place twenty years ago." She added, "He's very sharp."

"And you seem especially sharp and bright this evening."

"Thank you, John. And you seem unusually dull and dim."

"This mountain air is clouding my brain."

"Apparently. You should have pressed Major Schaeffer more on some of these points."

I responded with a little edge in my voice, "I was doing the best I could to get his voluntary cooperation. But it's not easy questioning another cop."

"Well, when you sent me out of the room, I just assumed you guys would bond and spill your guts to each other."

The words "fuck you" popped into my mind, but that's how fights start. I said, "You and I will press him a little more tomorrow, darling."

"Maybe you should have told him what we found written in Harry's pocket."

"Why?"

"Well, first, it's the right thing to do, and second, he may know what elf means."

"I doubt it."

"When are we going to share this information?"

"We don't need to. Your FBI colleagues are so fucking brilliant, they'll find it themselves. If they don't, the state police will. If they don't, well then, we'll just ask Bain Madox what mad, nuk, and elf mean."

"Maybe we should. He knows."

"Indeed, he does ... Wait! I got it!"

She turned in her seat. "What? You know what it means?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. The other words-mad and nuk-were obviously abbreviations for Madox and nuclear. But elf is an acronym."

"For what?"

"For what Harry thought about Bain Madox-Evil Little Fuck."

She settled back in her seat and said, "Asshole."

We drove on in silence, each of us deep in our own thoughts.

Finally, Kate said, "There is that group called Earth Liberation Front. ELF."

"Yeah?"

"Our domestic section deals with them."

"Yeah?"

"ELF has been responsible for what we call eco-terrorism. They've burned construction projects to save the land, they've put steel spikes in trees to destroy chain saws, and they've even planted bombs on the hulls of oil tankers."

"Right. So, you think Madox is going to plant a nuclear device at the next ELF meeting?"

"I don't know ... but there may be some connection there ... ELF ... oil ... Madox ..."

"You forgot nuke."

"I know ... I'm just trying to make a connection, John. Help me with this."

"I don't think Mr. Bain Madox, who claims he helped defeat the Soviet Empire, is now reduced to battling a handful of tree huggers and women with hairy legs."

She didn't reply for a few seconds, then said, "Well, that's better than Evil Little Fuck."

"Not much."

Scattered clouds scudded past a bright orange half-moon, and leaves swirled in the headlight beams.

We were still within the boundaries of the state park preserve, but this area seemed to be a mixture of public and private land, and there were houses scattered along the highway. I noticed a lot of seasonal displays on the front lawns-cornstalks, pumpkins, and so forth. There were also some Halloween displays-witches, skeletons, vampires, and other assorted creepy stuff. Autumn was starkly beautiful and deliciously grim.

I asked Kate, "Do you like autumn?"

"No. Autumn is darkness and death. I like spring."

"I like autumn. Do I need help?"

"Yes, but you know that."

"Right. Hey, I learned a poem in high school. Want to hear it?"

"Sure."

"Okay ..." I cleared my throat and recited from memory, "'Now it is autumn and the falling fruit/and the long journey towards oblivion ... Have you built your ship of death, O have you?'"

She stayed quiet a moment, then said, "That's morbid."

"I like it."

"See someone when we get back."

We drove in silence, then Kate turned on the radio, which was set to a country-western station. Some cowgirl with a twang was singing, "How can I miss you if you don't leave?"