"We have to unlock doors. They just use their microwave transmitters and beam the access codes. They have the run of the place, which is only fair."
"But surely you don't give them codes to the exits," Laura said with a laugh. Griffith didn't respond, and she smiled. "I mean, there is a lock on those, right?"
"Well… there's always the chance of a fire or another emergency down here. And, like I said, they're extremely valuable assets of Mr. Gray's…"
"You give them the codes to unlock the exterior doors?" Laura said in total amazement.
"Only the five robots in the 1.1 series — our most senior class — and Hightop, of course."
32
"Mr. Gray is in his study reading reports or some such," Janet said.
Laura continued up the staircase from the elevator. She felt shaken, but she couldn't tell why. Was it the ride up from the Model Eight facility, or what she'd seen in the eerie hollows down below?
Laura knocked on the study door, but there was no answer.
She went in. The fire crackled warmly. A freshly showered Gray sat in his thick leather chair, his feet propped up on his desk.
Papers were strewn all about. His head rested deep in the plush cushions.
He was sound asleep.
She smiled. So he's… sort of human, Laura thought. An afghan was draped over the sofa, and she got it and tiptoed to Gray's desk.
When she lifted the papers off his lap, he didn't even stir. He was so deep in sleep, she probably could've stuck the poker from the fireplace into his ribs and he wouldn't have budged. He'd rocked back so far he was fully reclined. She pulled the blanket up to his chin and covered him all the way down to his toes.
He looked like a child. Sleep softened the features of his face in some undefinable way. His eyelids were closed, smooth, relaxed.
His thick lashes were pressed together and his eyebrows like his hair were jet-black. When he woke, she felt sure, his eyes would again be ablaze with brilliance. She yearned to see them — to sense them drawn to her.
Laura looked up and saw Janet peering through the door. Janet smiled warmly and nodded before disappearing.
Laura didn't know what to make of Janet's stare, but she dared not let herself think about its meaning. She couldn't risk grappling with the nascent feelings that welled up inside her. Her emotional center was too unsteady — the result of a tension between the warm glow of happiness she felt just then and her anxiety over the mysteries surrounding its source. So Laura did the only thing she could manage.
She blanked out her mind, left the study, and wandered without thinking into the crisp morning air outside.
An empty car stood at the bottom of the steps. She knew it was time to go back to work, and she got into the car and strapped herself in.
"Please take me…" she said before hesitating, "to Mr. Hoblenz. But not if he's too busy… or if he is, you know, someplace dangerous." The door closed, and the car pulled away immediately, turning right at the gate toward the nuclear reactor.
The cooling tower and containment dome no longer seemed all that sinister to Laura. As they flashed by her car's windows she had trouble mustering any of the outrage she'd felt just the day before.
Yesterday I lived in the twentieth century, she realized. Today… the twenty-first. It's just more dangerous now, she told herself.
The road turned in the direction of the Village, hugging the foot of the tall mountain parallel with the shore. The car passed the tunnel leading down to Krantz's labs, and then inexplicably began to pull to a stop. Laura looked all around. On the narrow black-sand beach far below she saw a small rubber boat with two large outboard motors.
Three men knelt in a tight semicircle around a small patch of sand.
Two had rifles.
The door opened, and Laura got out. She headed down the steep hill. The descent was treacherous. In some places she slid on the seat of her jeans, with both hands dragging through the loose soil.
When she reached the bottom, the three men were waiting for her. One was Hoblenz.
"What the hell're you doin' here?" he asked.
"Looking for you," Laura replied, brushing the dirt off the back of her pants.
All three men watched the effort.
Hoblenz barked out an order, sending his two men down the beach in opposite directions. A gentle surf washed up onto the sand behind Hoblenz. "Well," he said in his Texas twang, "shoot."
Laura reached into her pocket and pulled out the card with the FBI's telephone number. She handed it to Hoblenz and told him about being approached by the agents. He listened in silence, glancing back and forth between her and the card. Laura also told him that she thought there'd been something fishy about the V-mail she'd gotten and about her equally suspicious telephone conversation with Jonathan.
"That's all pretty interestin'," Hoblenz said. He put the card in the breast pocket of his camouflage blouse. "Whattaya want me to do? Give ya a medal for bein' a good citizen?"
"I know about the Belgian soldier."
Hoblenz looked at her through squinting eyes, spat on the sand, and said, "Dutch."
"Not Belgian?"
Hoblenz craned his neck to look out to the sea, jabbing his thumb through the air over his shoulder. "Computer said Belgium doesn't have any submarines."
"There's a submarine out there?"
"Yep."
"How do you know that?"
"'Cause they landed some people a while ago lookin' for their man."
"In broad daylight?" she asked. Hoblenz sucked his cheeks in as he worked his jaw on something and nodded. "They landed right here?" she asked.
"Yep." He was chewing tobacco — his mouth was black with it. He spat again.
"How do you know they were looking for the soldier?"
"I asked 'em."
"Did you tell them what happened?"
"I told 'em he was dead. They asked could they have the body back, and I arranged for a boat at noon."
"Is that all that happened?"
He shrugged. "They asked if I'd give 'em their satellite equipment back."
"And what did you say?"
He snorted, and a smile passed briefly across a face otherwise devoid of humor. "Take a wild guess."
"Are there other submarines out there?"
Hoblenz looked down at his feet, growling out a chuckle that grated roughly as if from the throat of a heavy smoker. He raised a hand to rub the muscles in the back of his thick neck, then stretched his head to either side without a sound. "Honey, I got me 'bout fifty good men. They may be from all over, an' there not an Eagle Scout in the bunch, but I can say with pride that not one of 'em is getting on them planes today. But as far as subs go, there ain't a goddamn thing I can tell ya. Or on aircraft carriers either. Now, we got a few old Stingers I talked Mr. Gray into pickin' up for about ten times what they're worth, and I might be able to go toe to toe with the army of Luxembourg. But as far as any other NATO countries go, he-ere's the island." He waved his hand through the air in a broad sweep.
"What about… you know?" Laura nodded down the coast toward where the nuclear facility opened into the side of the mountain.
Hoblenz looked at her with an inscrutable smile before chuckling again and shaking his head. "You want to nuke 'em?"
"No!" she responded, blushing. "I mean, doesn't Gray have… something? Some high-tech thing that just incapacitates people or something?"
"There's no such thing, Dr. Aldridge. You either let 'em alone, or you kill 'em all. Ain't no thing in between."
He was getting suspicious of her questions, she realized.
"Look, I came down here to make peace with you. I know you don't trust me, but I swear I've told you everything. If you have any other questions" — she held her hands open—"shoot." She put her hand on her hips in imitation of Hoblenz's macho pose. When she looked back up, the skin around his eyes was crinkled. He was smiling for real this time.