I said, "Do you mind turning that off? I'm trying to think."

She didn't reply.

"Kate? Darling? Hello?"

"John ... radio communication."

"Say what?"

"There's UHF-ultra high frequency, VLF-very low frequency ... and so forth. Isn't there an extremely low frequency? ELF?"

"Holy shit." I glanced at her. "That's it-that's what I was trying to remember. Radio antennas at Custer Hill ..."

"Do you think this means that Madox is communicating with someone on an ELF frequency?"

"Yeah ... I think Harry was saying, Tune in to ELF."

"But why ELF? Who uses the ELF band? Military? Aviation?"

"I really don't know. But whoever uses it, it can be monitored."

She pointed out, "I'm sure if Madox is receiving or transmitting, it's not in the clear. It's voice scrambled or encrypted."

"Right. But the NSA should be able to crack any encryption."

"Who would he be communicating with and why?"

"I don't know. Meanwhile, we need to find out about ELF radio waves. Hey, maybe that's why everyone around here seems so weird. ELF waves. There are voices in my head. Someone is telling me to kill Tom Walsh."

"Not funny, John."

We drove on through the dark night, then I said, "Bain Madox, nuclear, extremely low frequency. I think everything we need to know is contained in those words."

"I hope so. We don't have much else."

I suggested, "Why don't we go to the Custer Hill Club and torture the information out of Madox?"

"I'm not sure the FBI director would approve of that."

"I'm serious. What if this asshole is planning a nuclear event? Wouldn't that justify me beating the shit out of him until he talks?"

"It's the 'What if' that bothers me. And even if we knew with ninety-nine-percent certainty ... we just don't do things like that. We don't do that."

"We will. The next time we're attacked again-especially if it's nuclear-we will start beating the shit out of suspects."

"God, I hope not." She stayed quiet for a few seconds, then said, "We need to report everything we've heard, learned, and guessed at. Let the Bureau take it from there." She added, "We don't need to carry this ourselves."

"Okay ... but we need some time to perfect this."

"Well, all right ... let's say by this time tomorrow night, we go to Tom Walsh with whatever we have. Agreed?"

I didn't trust Walsh any longer, so I thought I might have to bend the rules and go directly to my NYPD boss on the Task Force, Captain Paresi.

"John?"

"We have a week," I reminded her.

"John, we don't know if the planet has a week."

Interesting point. I said, "Let's see what happens tomorrow."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

It was less than twenty miles to The Point, but the place was so secluded that, despite Schaeffer's directions and Max's map, Kate had to call the resort to guide us to the unmarked road.

I put on my brights and proceeded slowly along a narrow, tree-covered lane that looked like a slightly improved Indian trail.

Kate said, "This is so pretty."

All I could see was a tunnel of trees in my headlights, but to be upbeat-and because I'd booked the place-I said, "I feel close to nature." About four feet on each side of the car to be precise.

We reached a rustic gate with an arch made of branches that had been twisted into letters that spelled THE POINT.

The gate was closed, but there was a speakerphone beside it. I lowered my window and pressed the button, and a distorted voice came out of the speaker like at Jack in the Box. "May I help you?"

"I'd like a double bacon cheeseburger, large fries, and a Diet Coke."

"Sir?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Corey, registered guests."

"Yes, sir. Welcome to The Point."

The electric gates began to open, and the voice said, "Please proceed to the first building on your left."

I drove through the gates, and Kate observed, "That was a little more friendly than the Custer Hill Club."

"It better be, for twelve hundred bucks a night."

"This was not my idea."

"Right."