Conspiracies

Wait. At the base of the Little Orphan Annie Ovaltine shake-up mug ... a crescent of clean wood reflecting the sunlight from the window. The rest of the shelf's lacquered surface—what little wasn't obscured by the crowded mementos—sported a down of dust. Jack had never been one to expend much energy in the housekeeping department, tending to wait until the situation reached crisis proportions, and now he was glad of it. Because that bright sliver of polished wood meant the mug had been moved.

If Jack were searching this room, he knew he'd want to know if anything was hiding in that old red domed mug. And since it sat at eye level, the only way to check would be to take it down, lift the cap, and look inside, then replace it.

No question—the mug had been moved. But by whom?

Me?

Had he adjusted the mug or looked at it when he'd bought the Daddy Warbucks lamp? After all, Daddy and Annie were connected. He couldn't remember.

Damn. If he'd known it was going to matter, he would have paid more attention at the time.

Or was all this simply his imagination? Maybe all the hours he'd been spending with the SESOUP crowd were having an effect.

Is this what it's like? he wondered. Is this how Zaleski and Kenway live, suspicious of every little inconsistency, always looking over their shoulders and under the bed?

Had somebody been here or not, dammit?

He was surprised at how rattled he was by the mere hint that the seal on his sanctum had been broken. And rage accompanied the rattle. He had to get back to the hotel, but he didn't want to leave. He wanted to hunker down in the easy chair with a scattergun across his knees and wait. Anybody came in—men in black, men in blue, men in chartreuse or paisley, Jack didn't care—they'd get bellies full of magnum double-O buck, fifteen pellets per round, one after the other.

But he had to find a missing lady ... and talk to a weird guy with a monkey.

He holstered his pistol and stepped into the bathroom. Positioning himself before the mirror, he pulled up his shirt, exposing his chest. He stared at the three ragged lines, angry red now instead of pale, running diagonally across his chest.

How could Roma possibly know about these scars?

And what was it he'd said? Something about being "marked by the Otherness."

They're not marks, Jack thought. They're ordinary scars. No big deal. I've got lots of scars. These are just part of the collection.

You are much more a part of this than you realize.

No. I'm not part of anything, especially this Otherness junk. And you're not sucking me in. I'm not like you people.

But were these scars why Melanie had said that only Repairman Jack could find her ... that only he would understand?

And he remembered something else Roma had said yesterday, just minutes before that creature had attacked him.

You would do well to take care, Mr. Shelby. You might even consider returning to your home and locking your doors for the rest of the weekend.

Had Roma known he was going to be attacked?

Too many questions ... and he could think of only one man who might be able to answer them.

Roma.

Jack tucked in his shirt and—reluctantly—left his apartment. But in the hall, after locking the door, he pulled a hair from his scalp, wet it with saliva, and stretched it across the space between the door and the jamb. After the saliva dried, it would be invisible. A crude little telltale, but very effective.

He headed back to the hotel, glancing over his shoulder all the way.

6

Jack sat on one of the benches in the common area on the second floor as various SESOUPers wandered in and out of the huckster room and the MK-ULTRA panel. He watched them smile and greet each other, laugh at an in-joke, throw a friendly arm over another's shoulder, and he thought about what Abe had said. They truly were like a family, not genetically related, maybe, but they did share a heritage of sorts. He'd bet the majority of them spent a lot of time alone, their contact for most of the year limited to newsletters and the Internet, and maybe an occasional phone call. This conference was a family gathering of sorts ... a gathering of loners, mostly.

Loners ... Jack knew the Loner family ... he was a charter member.

But one member of this particular branch was dead. Maybe two, if Melanie already shared the same fate as Olive.

"Working hard?"

Jack looked up and saw Lew Ehler standing over him.

Lew looked worse than he had this morning. Wasn't he sleeping at all!

"Sit down, Lew" Jack said, patting the spot next to him on the bench. "Want to ask you a couple of questions."

Lew wearily slumped his gangly frame onto the bench. "Have you learned anything since this morning?"

"Nothing useful."

"Sitting here daydreaming isn't going to improve that situation."

Jack gave him a raised-eyebrow look.

"Sorry," Lew said, looking away. "I'm a wreck, just a wreck. With each passing hour I become more and more convinced I'll never see her again." He bit his lip. "I'm going out of my mind."

"You were feeling better when I left you this morning."

"For a while, yes. The men in black ... I figured that's why she's missing, and why she doesn't contact me—she's hiding from them." He slumped further. "But then I started asking myself, How can I be sure? And if she is hiding, where is she hiding? I can't bear to think of her huddled somewhere alone and afraid."

Jack sensed Lew was going to puddle up again. "It may not be that bad. She may be holed up in a motel—"

"How? Using what for money? I checked our bank account and she hasn't made any ATM withdrawals. I called our credit card companies and there've been no charges on her cards. It's like she dropped off the face of the earth."

"Maybe she's with a friend," Jack offered.

"Olive, maybe?" he said, brightening just a little. "She's still missing, you know."

"I'd assumed as much," Jack said carefully.

"She still hasn't contacted anyone—just like Mel. Do you think Olive could be with Mel, maybe helping her?"

Jack debated telling him about Olive. Did Lew have a right to know? Maybe. Would it make his life any easier at the moment? After seeing the flicker of hope the mention of Olive had lit in his eyes, Jack was certain the truth would sink him.

Some other time, Jack decided.

"I don't know what to tell you about Olive," Jack said.

Not an answer, he admitted, but at least it's true.

"I keep thinking about that rope ladder in Mel's folks' basement," Lew said. "It's so bizarre ... I can't seem to get it out of my head. Don't ask me why, but I just know it has something to do with Mel's disappearance."

"All right," Jack said, grasping at anything to steer the subject away from Olive. "Maybe we'll go take another look at it."

"Now?" Lew said eagerly.

"Well, no. Not right now. I want to have a talk with Professor Roma first."

"How can he help?"

"You said he was in contact with Melanie a lot before she disappeared. Do you know if they ever met?"

"No. I'm sure they didn't. Why?"

He told Lew about his trip to Monroe yesterday, and what the librarian had said about seeing Melanie last week with a man who had a monkey on his shoulder.

Lew looked stunned. "Professor Roma?"

"Do you know anyone else with a pet monkey?"

Lew shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I. That's why I'm looking for him."

Jack looked away. He didn't mention that his interest in Roma was of a more personal nature. Sure, Roma might know something about Melanie, but that wasn't the only reason now. Jack wanted to find out how much he knew about Jack, and how he knew it.