Vera gave him her most charming smile and reflected that no one worked for free. Somehow, she thought he was familiar. Not as though she'd met him, but as though she'd seen him somewhere. Well, if she did decide to hire him she'd have him investigated, as always. Despite his references being in order.
Ah, but she certainly hoped he checked out. The man was intriguing, and she was perennially bored.
"Well, then," she said, rising. "We'll be in touch."
He looked a little uncertain as he gently took her hand. "I'm staying at the Sailor's Rest," he said.
She nodded, still smiling. "You'll be hearing from us."
He turned and walked out, and she enjoyed the view. The guy had a great butt.
Vera sighed appreciatively. I hope he isn't shy.
Dieter fully expected to be hired. It had been several years since he'd last used this persona, but he'd updated it a bit before leaving home. He'd applied with several skippers, but he was banking on Philmore. So much so that he'd bribed one of her hands to jump ship.
She was perfect tor his purposes. Her itinerary would take her through the Panama Canal and up to San Diego within the next ten days. Shielded by her prestige and money, he would be able to slip into the U.S. without the more stringent customs scrutiny he might get at an airport. Like it or not, he was fairly distinctive looking.
Besides, he honestly thought Vera Philmore was just the sort of rich eccentric he might be able to recruit for their project. She had a sense of adventure and independence that was rare, and money to burn. It would be nice not to have to rely completely on his underworld contacts.
The only thing that worried him was the light in her eyes when she looked at him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
"John had never been to Boston before that he could remember— his mother had dragged him through some amazing places when he was a toddler, but most of them had involved tropical climates and high ammunition expenditures. You couldn't tell much about Boston from the airport, which was another suburban village in the international city of airports, pretty well interchangeable with any other in the Western world. It wasn't until he got a cab to Cambridge on his way to MIT that he began to appreciate the difference.
This was an old city. The way the streets were laid out like crazy string, the smaller buildings with their tiny bricks and wavy-glassed windows, each with a character all its own, the occasional surprise of modernist steel, concrete, and glass thrown in… it all said "this place is different." About as different in spirit as you could get from L.A., where he'd lived as a kid.
The cab took Massachusetts Avenue by the winding river Charles, and John enjoyed the view, spying the huge dome of one of MIT's buildings long before they arrived at the campus. He asked to be dropped at the admissions office, where he would get a campus map and ask a few questions.
As the cab drove off John shrugged into his backpack, his only luggage, and looked around—taking a deep breath. He liked it here. There was an energy about the place; you could almost feel brains percolating with ideas. He was going to enjoy this.
MIT CAMPUS, CAMBRIDGE,
MASSACHUSETTS
John slipped into the auditorium/classroom quietly and sat down in the last row at the back. Very nearly every seat was filled for this class and he swept the rows with his gaze, looking for Wendy. He thought he saw her in the center of the middle row. Just a sense he had, since he'd never seen her in the flesh, let alone from the back. He settled in to listen. You never knew what knowledge might come in handy.
Too soon the class was over, leaving John hungry for more. Some of it had been a bit esoteric, but what he had gotten was presented in such an interesting way that he envied the students. Good teachers definitely made a world of difference; it was just more fun than doing everything on your own or on the Net.
The girl in the middle row was Wendy. She turned and began to slip out behind the other students, a thoughtful expression on her even features. The others all seemed to be chattering to one another in couples and groups, while she walked slowly and alone toward him.
John felt a nervous electricity in his middle as he looked at her. Slender and graceful, she moved like a dreamer through the stream of students. He stood up as she drew near and fell in directly behind her, waiting until they were outside
to speak.
"Watcher," he said.
She spun on her heel, her eyes wide and her head at a stiff, almost challenging angle. "Who the hell are you?" she snapped, a slight frown marring her smooth brow.
He smiled slowly. "You don't recognize my voice?"
She looked him over, dark eyes assessing. "You're younger than you look, even with that beard." Taking a step closer, she narrowed her eyes. "A fake beard?"
She raised a hand and backed off a step. "I don't know you."
"Sure you do," he said, grinning. "You've just never met me."
"Yeah, right. Ciao, kid." She started to walk away.
Rolling his eyes, John fell into step beside her. "You know me as AM, we've spoken on the phone. You've done a little Web surfing for me."
Wendy stopped short and studied him again. "So what are you doing here?" she asked suspiciously.
With a shrug he said, "I felt it was time I met you and your team in person. I have some information I'd like to share with you and an artifact to show you, and that couldn't be done by phone or via the Net." His lips quirked up at the corners.
"So I'm here."
She looked at him for a long time. "Hmm!" she said, and started off again. John
watched her walk away, then jogged to catch up with her, walking silently by her side as she thought. Lifting her head suddenly, as though just waking up, she glanced around.
"Um. That was my last class," she said, giving him a sidelong glance. "Look, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not about to introduce you to my 'team' as you call them until I know a little bit more about you. So, why don't we go have a coffee at the student union and talk?"
"Sure. So how's the coffee at the student union?"
"Compared to what?" she growled.
He looked at her wide-eyed. Wow, she's a fierce little thing.
"Uh, compared to the tea?"
A slight smile touched her lips. "They're both pretty bad, to be honest. Maybe we should stick to soda."
"Do you drink Jolt?" he asked.
"No! I know all us geeks are supposed to thrive on the stuff, but I do not." She pushed open a door and led him into a place teeming with students.
"Uh"—he touched her arm, then removed his hand when she glared at it—"it's a little crowded in here for the kind of conversation I had in mind."
Wendy raised a skeptical brow. "Nobody here knows you," she pointed out. "/
don't know you. Which means there's no reason to think anybody is going to eavesdrop." She shrugged. "Sometimes the most private place you can find is in a crowd."
"Yo! Wen-dy!" a large, bearded student bellowed. She grinned and waved.
"And sometimes not," John said quietly.
"Meeting tonight at eight in Snog's room," the beard said, leaning close. He grinned at John and moved on.
Wendy gave John a look and went over to a machine, getting herself a diet drink.
John pushed a dollar into the machine and got a Coke, then followed her to an empty table wondering if he should have bought hers. Probably not; buying her a drink might have some significance in the U.S. that a guy who went to an all-male school in South America was unaware of.