“Without being able to tell them why, that might be a tall order.”
“Do what you can. Maybe enlist the help of Laertes Doerner. He’s got the influence, and something tells me he won’t ask too many questions.” He stood. “Now, as much as I’d love to stay and chat, I have a plane to catch.”
Tam nodded in understanding. “Good luck.”
“In five hundred feet, turn right.”
Despite the stilted cadence, the voice of the GPS navigator in Professor’s rental car was a welcome sound, or to be more precise, was delivering a welcome message. His long journey was nearly at an end.
He glanced over at the passenger seat, occupied only by a paper shopping bag that, only now did he realize, was far too ordinary for what it contained. Ah well, can’t be helped.
Eighteen hours spent either in the air or waiting for a connecting flight, another hour driving up the Veteran’s Memorial Highway — spectacular scenery, no time to stop and look — and then onto the Kamehameha Highway to the North Shore town of Haleiwa. He couldn’t recall ever feeling so acutely the need to just stop moving.
“Turn right, now. Your destination is one hundred and fifty feet ahead on the right.”
He pulled the car onto the grass at the side of the street — there were no curbs or sidewalks — and got out to finish the journey on foot. Too many hours in a sitting position had left his leg throbbing, so he grabbed the cane — nothing fancy, just polished wood with a derby handle — and the shopping bag, and started walking.
The house was modest in both size and appearance. It sat one block too far to the east for an ocean view, and was in need of a little maintenance but was not as run down as some of the homes he had passed during the drive. Although he was pretty sure this was the right house, his search for a number or a name plaque proved futile, leaving him no choice but to approach the front porch and hope for the best.
He tapped his cane handle against the door. A few seconds later a curtain drew back to reveal an attractive Polynesian woman. But for a streak of gray in her long black hair and some deeply creased laugh lines, Professor would have guessed her to be in her mid-thirties. Aside from that minor discrepancy, her features were too familiar for her to be anyone but the owner of the house he was looking for. Her eyes met his for a moment, her face inscrutable, then she opened the door.
Professor swallowed down the nervous lump that had risen in his throat. “Hello,” he said, haltingly. “Are you Mrs. Ihara?”
The woman regarded him a moment longer, sizing him up. Her eyes lingered on the sutures that bristled from the gash that ran from his cheek up the side of his head, but she did not react with guilty horror as some of the people he had encountered. She dropped her gaze to the shopping bag, and then met his eyes again and nodded.
She looked over her shoulder, and in a voice that set Professor’s teeth on edge, shouted, “Jade, your man is here!”
Jade felt a flush of embarrassment. She was glad there was no one around to see it. “Mama, he’s not my ‘man,’” she shouted back, as she ran through the house.
Of course he isn’t, she told herself. We’re just good friends. That’s all.
She stopped, darted back and grabbed the gift box with the big blue bow off the table, and then continued to the door where her mother was ushering Professor inside.
He looked good. He looked a lot better than the last time she had seen him. He probably felt the same way about her.
Jade’s memory of what happened immediately after the Quest Explorer sank was murky, but Professor had filled in the gaps. She had nearly drowned — actually, there was no nearly about it — but Professor had followed her down in the QED and retrieved her with the submersible’s manipulator arm. He had then shot back to the surface, and somehow gotten her out of the water. A few minutes of chest compressions and rescue breathing had brought Jade back and nearly killed Professor. She had regained consciousness just as Professor, bleeding badly and overcome by shock, had collapsed.
The rest of the adventure was not quite so dramatic. A pair of U.S. Coast Guard cutters on their way to intercept the beleaguered vessel had arrived on the scene to provide much needed emergency medical care and transport back to shore. Ophelia had regained consciousness as well, and as soon as they were back on dry ground, she had made use of her connections to disappear completely.
The Quest Explorer had gone down in the unreachable depths of Little Abaco Canyon, and Jade was glad of it. The official report would no doubt eventually read that the crew had gone down with the ship; Jade and Professor decided it was probably best. When he was fit to travel, they flew to Miami. Professor asked her to accompany him to Key West to be debriefed by Tam Broderick, but Jade had demurred. Maddock was also in Key West, and that glimpse of him — of them together — had cut a little too deep. She didn’t think she would ever want to set foot in Key West again. Instead, she had gone home.
Jade wasn’t as close to her mother as either of them would have liked. They were a little too much alike to get along, but once in a while, that old maxim was true: There’s no place like home. It had been a good visit, but Jade could already sense the friction starting to build. Professor had shown up, once again, in the nick of time.
She ran to him, but stopped short, aware that her mother was watching and judging. After an awkward silence, she said, “You made it.”
“Yep.”
“What did Tam say?”
“She agreed with me that you need looking after.”
She cocked an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips. “So you’re going to babysit me, is that it?”
He shrugged, refusing to take the bait.
He’s nothing like Maddock, Jade thought. That’s for sure.
Having him around wasn’t a problem, and secretly, she was glad that he would be watching her back. The arguments he had made back in Teotihuacan were still valid; the Dominion had a grudge against her, to say nothing of the Norfolk Group. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder. Moreover, Professor would be a lot more than just a bodyguard.
“I got you something,” she said, trying to lighten the mood, and pushed the box in his direction. She was pleased to see that he seemed genuinely surprised and a little moved by the gesture. He slid the ribbon off the box and looked inside.
“Oh.” He took out the hat — a brown wool Outback style fedora, similar to the one he’d lost when the Explorer had gone down — and settled it on his head.
“I think I’m getting used to seeing you like that,” Jade said with a grin.
He laughed. “I was only wearing it to bug you.”
“Liar.”
“Guilty.” He held out a plain paper shopping bag. “I got you something, too.”
The offer discomfited her. It was one thing for her to give him a gift, but for him to reciprocate? What would her mother think? She glanced over and saw her mother’s pinched expression — a look that said, “Don’t be rude, girl.”
She took it. Amid a nest of white tissue paper was a hinged felt box. Jade opened the box, and gasped.
“You said you broke yours,” Professor explained, trying to sound nonchalant, as if the two thousand dollar Omega Women’s Seamaster wrist chronograph was merely a utilitarian gift, like a toaster or a travel coffee mug. Yet, it was not awe at the extravagance of the gift that had left Jade feeling so rattled.