“I think,” Gideon said, “you might be wise to see what cards we’re holding before you lay your own on the table.”
Glinn gave this a brief, cynical smile.
Gideon went on. “You’ve agreed to see us because—admit it—you’re curious.”
“True.”
“And despite your suspicious nature, a small part of you thinks that maybe, just maybe, we do in fact—as we implied in our communication—have a message for you from the late Captain Britton.”
“Highly unlikely.”
Gideon smiled. “Unlikely, yes. Highly unlikely, perhaps—in your opinion. But not impossible.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Of course you will. Manuel?”
Garza leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his shoulders stretching the fabric of his suit. “You son of a bitch,” he said, voice low. “I gave you sixteen years. I almost died on the Rolvaag and again down there when we returned to the Ice Limit, just a couple of months ago. I was the one who saved your ass on Phorkys island. You’d be dead many times over if it weren’t for me. And Gideon. And now that you finally got what you wanted, you threw us away like so much garbage.”
Glinn inclined his head. “Your anger is irrational. I paid you extremely well. And it’s not just you: I’m disbanding the company, as you know, so everyone has lost their jobs, except for a few guards.”
“Without even a note of thanks.”
“Manuel. Do you mean to imply that after all these years, you know me so poorly? I am not a man of the empty gesture. You already know how grateful I am to you—and Gideon. You want a piece of paper to that effect? A Hallmark card, perhaps? I would consider that an insult if I were you. Come now—this is not how individuals like us conduct our affairs. Let’s stop bandying useless recriminations and get to the real reason you are here. As I understand from your message, you each want a million dollars. And in return you will give me a letter from Captain Britton, addressed to me, which she entrusted to your care shortly before her death.”
Garza nodded. “Think of it as severance pay.”
“How nice, but it meets the definition of extortion more exactly.”
“Call it what you will.”
Glinn leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Why didn’t you give me this letter years ago, after the Rolvaag sank?”
“When you see the note, you’ll understand. It’s the nature of what she wrote to you.” Garza paused. “What she had to tell you…is awful.”
Glinn’s smoothly groomed eyebrows rose. “Of course there is no note. What a shabby and ill-conceived plan.”
“How can you know it’s a con,” Gideon said, “without actually seeing the letter?”
“Come now, Gideon. I’ve built my entire career on quantitative behavioral analysis. This is so clearly a trick that it’s painful.”
“I see you’re just too smart for us,” said Gideon abruptly. He turned to Garza. “Let’s go.”
“Security will let you out.” Glinn pressed a button, and the two security guards materialized in the library doorway.
Gideon rose, along with Garza.
“After you, sirs,” one guard said, gesturing with his hand.
At the door Gideon paused, turned to Glinn, and said:
“Come on,” said the guard as the door whispered open.
“Wait,” said Glinn, holding up a long white hand.
Gideon turned.
“Why did you just say that?”
“Just quoting the first two lines in the note. They’re from a poem by W. H. Auden, in case you didn’t know.”
“I know where they’re from,” Glinn said. A silence hung in the room, and finally Glinn sighed. “I see your game is more sophisticated than I anticipated. Please come back and sit down.”
They returned to their chairs, and Eli looked from one to the other. “Now, Manuel. Please tell me the exact circumstances of how you came into possession of this alleged note.”
6
GIDEON GLANCED AT Garza. The engineer was a lousy liar, and he hoped Garza would continue to be just as poor now. It was important Glinn continued to think their con was, in fact, a con.
“We need to go back to the last moments of the Rolvaag,” said Garza. “The ship was caught in the grips of the storm, dead in the water, broadside to the sea. If you recall, you, Captain Britton, and I were on the bridge when the captain gave the call to abandon ship. You protested and left the bridge in a rage. Remember?”
“Vividly and most unfortunately. Keep going.”
“You went down to the hold to try and secure the giant meteorite in its cradle. The captain followed you down in the hope of convincing you to return to the bridge and trigger the dead man’s switch—the one that would release the meteorite and save the ship. But you refused. As I saw for myself, watching that reconstructed video feed of the Rolvaag’s final moments several years later, in the forensic lab of the Batavia. Do you recall all that?”
“Of course I recall it. Get to the point.”
“After that, Britton returned to the bridge. The ship was in its death throes, at a twenty-degree heel from which it was unable to recover. I saw her grab the paper log and scribble something in it. Then she tore out the page, folded it twice. And handed it to me. ‘If you and Eli survive,’ she said, ‘give this to him. I’m going down to electronics to try and trigger the dead man’s switch from there.’ I stuffed the note into my pocket. The ship sank ten minutes later, carrying Captain Britton down with it.”
He paused and waited.
“And?” Glinn finally said.
“When I was rescued, I was unconscious. The rescuers, of course, stripped me of my frozen clothes. It wasn’t until a week later that I was in any condition to recall the note. Luckily the rescuers had gone through my pockets and everything was returned to me in a ziplock bag, including the note. I intended to give you the note at the first opportunity, but you were in a coma for almost a month and your recovery was agonizingly slow. The note was hastily folded, and I’m sorry to admit I read it.”
“That would be unlike you.”
“You try holding a note like that for a month and not reading it. I was astonished. I had no idea you and the captain had fallen in love with each other.”
At this Glinn shifted. “I wouldn’t put it in those terms.”
“Then you aren’t being honest with yourself. Of course you loved her. And she you.”
“Continue, if you please.”
“The note said such terrible things that I decided giving it to you would set back your recovery. So I put it away, intending to destroy it but never being quite able to.”
“But now,” Glinn interrupted, “after feeling ill used by me, you’ve decided to extort money via this same note.”
Garza crossed his arms and sat back defiantly. “You owe me. And Gideon.”
Glinn did not respond immediately. Gideon took the moment to examine Glinn’s face closely, but it had smoothed back into its usual impassive expression.
“Well,” said Glinn at last. “it’s quite a story. But remember that I know you, Manuel. I’ve studied your psychology. I have a QB Analysis on you a foot thick. You are not a good liar—despite having concocted a rather clever farce.”