“Who is Shackleton, and what part of Georgia?”
“Shackleton is the famed polar explorer, a contemporary of Fawcett. And South Georgia is an island. I believe Shackleton is buried there.”
“Nothing else? They didn’t say what this thing is that Fawcett treasured?”
“No. I do not eavesdrop.” She folded her arms and tapped her toe. “I only happened to overhear a few snatches of conversation as I went about my work.”
“Did they seem… excited? Like they found what they were looking for?” She just stared at him. “Fine.” Cy let go of her and gave her a shove toward the table. “You just sit tight and don’t tell anyone about any of this. You don’t want me to come back, do you?”
“No. You are much too loud for a library.”
A thought occurred to him. “Did they look at any books?”
“Yes. They seemed particularly interested in that one right there.” She pointed to a battered old tome with a gray cover.
Cy picked it up, tucked it inside his jacket, and turned to leave.
“I am sorry, but we do not permit patrons to check books out. I will have to ask you to remain here if you wish to read it.”
Unbelievable. Ignoring the old cow, Cy barreled toward the exit, keeping his eyes open for Maddock and his friends. Of course, if they had his gun, he had to be extra careful. He wondered if Jay had gone after them.
Jay! Cy had forgotten he hadn’t come here alone. His bell must have been rung hard for him to lose track like that. He made his way down the stairs and through a side exit just as a siren wailed in the distance. Good response time, but not good enough.
He still had his phone on him, so he dialed up Jay’s number.
“Yeah?” Jay sounded as groggy as Cy felt. “Where are you?”
“On Kensington. Where are you?”
“I’m in the car. I’ll pick you up.” Jay broke the connection, and Cy kept walking, trying to look interested in the sights. A police cruiser flashed past him, skidding to a halt in front of the institute.
Moments later, a metallic green Ford Fiesta pulled up to the curb. Habit led him to take two steps around the front of the car before Jay waved him back. Cursing any country that would put the driver on the right side of the car, the car on the left side of the road, and him in a Ford Fiesta, he threw open the door and folded his frame into the compact vehicle.
“You forget again?” Jay grinned as he pressed the accelerator.
“Screw you. What happened to Maddock and the other two?”
“Don’t know,” Jay said. “That Indian sucker-punched me. He knocked me clean out. I haven’t been hit like that since I…”
“Yeah, I know. You boxed in the service. You’re a regular Brown Bomber.”
“Is that supposed to be a racist comment?” Jay regarded him out of the corner of his eye.
“No, I just can’t think of any other boxing nicknames at the moment.”
“C’mon, man. There’s Sugar Ray, Iron Mike, Smokin’ Joe, Gentleman Jim. Lots of great nicknames.”
“So, what should I have called you?” Cy had no interest in boxing, but he wasn’t in any hurry to admit what had happened to him.
“The Motor City Cobra.” Jay savored the words, saying them almost like a prayer.
“But you’re not from Detroit.”
“Forget you, man. You don’t know boxing.” Jay glanced in the rear-view mirror. “Don’t seem to be any cops following us. So, what happened to you back there?”
“I gotta call in.” Cy took his phone out again and scrolled down to Kennedy’s name. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and hit the call button.
Much to Cy’s chagrin, Kennedy answered on the first ring. “Cy, what’s the status?”
“I think I’ve got something.” He filled Kennedy in on the enticing clues regarding Fawcett, Shackleton, and South Georgia, as well as his having procured a book that was of interest to Maddock. He was careful to make it sound like he and Jay had arrived after Maddock and party had departed, and had gleaned these kernels of information through solid detective work. He omitted the part where the two of them got their asses kicked, and Cy got his gun and wallet lifted.
Kennedy was silent for a long time — longer than Cy could stand it.
“It’s good, isn’t it Kennedy? I mean, we are after Fawcett, and if…”
“We’ll follow up on it,” Kennedy said in a clipped voice. “Anything else?”
“I’ve already shipped Fawcett’s copy of The Lost World to you like you asked. Fastest available post.”
“Fine. Send the book you found today along to us, and then lie low until you hear from me.”
The call ended. Kennedy wasn’t much of a people person.
“Thanks for not telling him about… you know.” Jay stared straight ahead, his expression blank.
“No problem.” Now it was Cy’s turn to feel like an idiot. “Say, I’m going to need you to spot me some cash for a few days.”
“What? How come?”
“Maddock sort of stole my wallet.” Cy would have given anything to be somewhere else at that moment, as Jay threw back his head and laughed. “And when I see him again,” Cy muttered, “I’ll kill him.”
Chapter 11
Dane parked the car in front of a modest, two-story, detached brick house in Blackheath, a suburb southeast of London. Despite the pleasant surroundings, he couldn’t help looking up and down the street, searching for potential danger, wondering if the guys who attacked them at the naval library would track them down again. He’d given the name and address of the man with whom he’d fought to his friend Jimmy, in hopes he could shed some light on exactly who these people were of whom they’d run afoul.
A tiny man with a shock of unkempt white hair answered the door. He eyed them through thick glasses that gave him the appearance of a snowy owl.
“Mister Maddock and party, I presume?” If his body was small, his voice was huge. He could have done voice-overs for NFL films.
“Yes. Thank you for seeing us, Mister Wainwright.” They shook hands, and Dane introduced Bones and Kaylin.
“Bloody hell,” Wainwright said, craning his neck to look up at Bones, “are all American Natives your size?”
“They wish. My mother just fed me good.”
“Fifteen stone, I’ll wager.” Wainwright cupped his chin, looking Bones up and down with a critical eye.
“Dude, I haven’t been stoned since I was a teenager.”
Wainwright did a double-take, laughed and ushered them into a living room overflowing with books. Every wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves, with volumes stacked two deep and tucked into every open space: aging hardcovers, old pulp novels, and textbooks of varying age and subject. Four overstuffed chairs circled a round table, also stacked with books. Books were even piled haphazardly in the corners, and a basket stuffed full of newspapers, magazines, and mystery novels sat next to one of the chairs. He urged them to make themselves comfortable, and returned a few minutes later with hot tea, sandwiches cut in small triangles, apple slices, and sugar cookies.
“Hold this, young man.” He handed Dane the tray, then bent down and cleared the coffee table of books with one sweep of his arm. “Ordinarily I would not treat books so,” he said, placing the tray on the table and pouring a cup of tea for each of them, “but they are romance novels my late wife’s sister thought I would enjoy reading. Perish the thought! If I want pornography, I shall search for it on the internet.”
Bones choked on his tea, and Kaylin’s eyes were suddenly wide as saucers at the comment. Dane merely grinned and nodded.