That's when I knew for sure that Bearing wasn't telling us everything he knew. There was no way that dynamic Bearing Schuster, no matter what the state of his health or current level of involvement in the affairs of the company, wouldn't have all the facts on what was going on in the Cluster. I had the sneaking suspicion that what the old boy wasn't telling us was a helluva lot more important than what he had chosen to reveal in his so-called briefing.
"What was the top-secret project all about?"
Schuster stiffened. It was apparent even under all the blankets and shawls. "That information," he said icily, "is still classified, Mr. Wages. To this day Schuster Laboratories is not at liberty to discuss our work in the Cluster."
So much for cooperation. Still, I decided to keep pushing. "How does your son fit into all of this?"
From the look on the man's face, I had the distinct impression he was rapidly taking a decided dislike to me. If Cosmo had been there to caution me, I might have backed down.
"I find your question impertinent," he snarled.
"Why? The only reason I'm asking is that I want to know how many flanks to protect. I already know that since Westmore police have the area around Deechapal pretty well sealed off, I'll have to keep an eye out for them. So I'm wondering what Marshal knows about all of this?"
"My son is not involved in this," Bearing stated flatly.
"I have a question," Huntington interrupted.
Bearing nodded.
"How do we know that we have everything we need to recover the cylinders once they're located?"
"That's where I come in," Hannah spoke up. "I have prepared a list of all the equipment that we will need, inspected it, repacked it myself and had it shipped to Montego Bay. We're well-prepared for almost any eventuality. If we walk into some sort of operational pitfall, you can blame it on me. Outside of divers, we're ready."
At the conclusion of Bearing's briefing, I talked Hannah and Maggie into joining Cosmo, Honey Bear and me at a quiet little bistro tucked away in one of those places replete with large chunks of lava rock and tropical plants where Floridians fleece northern tourists of their long-hoarded recreational dollars. The ladies loaded up on tall pink drinks with massive chunks of peeled fruit floating around in them, while Cosmo and I, unadventurous souls that we are, stayed with simple Scotch and water. To my surprise, Hannah turned out to be an all right, if somewhat strong, lady — and Maggie, equally surprising, was fairly reticent.
As the evening wore on, Ms. Holbrook informed me she was no longer married, displayed a keen sense of humor, was plain spoken and, to no one's surprise, shared my distaste for Byron Huntington.
"So what's the plan after we hit what Bearing calls the staging area?" Maggie asked.
"Ever been to Negril?"
Both of the ladies shook their heads. "Not Negril," Hannah admitted, "but probably everywhere else in Jamaica. Why? What's it like?"
"Just your average tropical paradise," I answered, grinning. "We'll only be there one night, so enjoy it while you can. Creature comforts out on the Cluster are few and far between."
"The Doobacque Cluster," Hannah repeated. "How is it I managed to grow up without ever hearing about the Doobacque Cluster?"
"The British West Indies cover a lot of territory," Cosmo offered pompously. "Elliott is right, though. The Cluster manages to be somehow different than all the rest of the places you've heard about in the Caribbean."
"But how?" Maggie persisted. "I heard Elliott say that the islands weren't much more than coral outcroppings."
Cosmo was rising to the occasion. "Actually, it's a little more complicated than our friend here likes to paint it. There is every indication that the central mass is the result of some sort of violent geological disturbance."
"Like an earthquake or a volcanic eruption?" Maggie asked.
Cosmo nodded. "Something like that. Big Doobacque is a radical departure from your typical formation in that it manages to harbor an almost malevolent atmosphere — very inhospitable, usually shrouded in a steamy mist, very little vegetation and a surface pocked with yawning holes and caverns that to this day are unexplored."
Since Cosmo was showing off for the ladies, I decided there was no real harm in displaying a little of my own knowledge on the Cluster.
"What Cosmo didn't tell you is that something strange happened on Big Doobacque, and up until now nobody has been able to explain it."
"Strange like what?" Hannah asked.
"The first time I saw the big island Cosmo was referring to, I thought it was the most sinister looking place I'd ever seen. A friend of mine, I used to call him Papa Coop"
"The artist?" Maggie asked brightly.
"One and the same. Anyway, it was Coop who showed me the Cluster, and more specifically, Big Doobacque, for the first time, and he told me it hadn't always been like that. He said that it was once as lush and beautiful as the Jamaican mainland itself."
Hannah's face furrowed into a frown.
"And you're telling us nobody knows what happened?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying. The Cluster didn't see a whole lot of activity during the war years. Then all of a sudden stories began popping up about the desolation — no inhabitants, no foliage, and the perpetual cloud of mist."
"Surely you've heard theories?" Hannah maintained.
"Lots of 'em, but the only one that made sense to me was that there was some sort of build up of gas which in turn triggered some sort of massive explosion which in turn wiped out all vestige of life. Whatever the cause, Big Doobacque never recovered."
"Sounds creepy." Maggie shuddered.
"Sounds very un-Caribbean," Hannah confirmed.
Cosmo was on a roll. "When the majority of the Caribs were driven off the mainland, some of them, a small handful, migrated to the Cluster. Over the years the only place they could sustain a colony was on Deechapal."
"Then it was the descendants of the Caribs that they found dead on the island?" Honey Bear asked.
Cosmo nodded sagely.
While my old mentor fielded questions from the ladies, I allowed my mind to drift. My affiliation with that part of the world was pretty much confined to the handful of times I had been there to visit Papa Coop and Mary Mary. They — along with Cosmo and Cass, either wife number three or four — had invited Gibby and me down for the holidays. We went and loved every minute of it, but that was a long time ago. Now that I'm in the A.G. period of my life — the After Gibby years — subsequent trips have never stirred the same fond memories.
Papa Coop at the time was pretty much at the end of his career and he bought one of the out islands, four miles or so offshore from Deechapal. That's where he and Mary Mary set up housekeeping until the day he set out in his dory for some fishing on the Big Doobacque reef and never came back. Cosmo had painted an accurate picture. It was now a steaming, uninviting, brooding chunk of rock that everyone avoided.
All in all, the recollections were time warped. Gibby, as I always seem to be explaining, has long since gone away, and Papa Coop is dead. I have enough of the old boy's paintings and sketches stashed around in various corners of my world to make me feel like I'm still in touch with him, and my only regret is Mary Mary. Papa Coop wouldn't like it that I've never been back to see her.
The conversation revolving around the Cluster tragedy went on pretty much without me. It wasn't until Honey Bear gave me one of those old affectionate nudges of hers that I realized the party was breaking up.
Amid protests that there were still things to pack and last minute calls to be made, the team split up and went their separate ways. The next gathering of the Prometheus clan would be in the morning at the airport.