We took turns at the monitor screen and tried not to drink too much when we weren't watching it. I had just returned from doing forty laps in the pool when Bolivar jumped to his feet and shouted "Wow!"
James and I cracked our heads together as we jumped to look at the screen.
"Wow is indeed right," I said. "Even double—wow. Not only is he not of the female persuasion but he looks very familiar."
"Starkey—Fanyimadu?"
"None other."
"He has his right hand in his pocket," Bolivar said.
"So would you," James answered with cold lack of compassion, "if your arm ended at the wrist."
As if in reply the subject lifted his right arm to wave to a parishioner. "Pretty good prosthetic," I said.
"And done pretty fast as well," Bolivar added with more than a trace of suspicion in his voice. "First chance I have I would like to shake hands with that particular villain."
Something caught my attention, a movement of air—a sound perhaps. I looked over my shoulder and saw that the hail door, securely locked and bolted, was now standing open. A woman stepped through and closed it behind her.
"I am Sybil," she said in lush contralto. A tall, tanned redhead, poised and beautiful. Her dress was one of those spun diamond creations that were so popular, glinting and shining with an albedo like a searchlight. A woman had to have a perfect figure to wear something so outrageous and skintight. She had it.
The twins turned at the sound of her voice—looked at her in appreciative silence. I appreciated that as well, but appreciated her arrival even more.
"I'm Jim diGriz. These are my sons, Bolivar and James. Have you been briefed?"
"Completely."
"Good. What you don't know is that Slakey is here, in that church across the road."
"And he has a new right hand," Bolivar said. "We're glad you're here." "I'll need to get inside the building as soon as possible. I am sure that you have already found out about the church members while I was on my way here. Which of them have you selected as the best possible contacts?" "There are three strong possibilities," James said, taking the photos and identification from the stack and handing them to her. "All rich, young, or young—looking after rejuvenation, all very social, attending plenty of parties and receptions, so they will be easy to meet,"
"I'll do that now. I'll contact you again after I have become one of the Seekers of the Way."
The door closed behind her and we were all silent for long moments. "Pretty sure of herself," Bolivar finally said. It was a compliment and not a negative observation. "The best agent he ever had—isn't that what Inskipp said?"
I nodded. "May he be right—just this once."
Apparently he was, because three hours later we saw her walk through the carved marble entrance to the church, arm in arm with Maudi Lesplanes. The first name on the list that we bad given her. Almost two hours passed before she emerged from the church. This time we were all staring at the door when it opened and she came in. She looked at us and smiled.
"Would one of you gentlemen mind getting me a drink? Tall, wet and alcoholic if you please."
I stepped aside as the twins rushed the bar. She went to the couch, sat, and signaled me to join her.
"I didn't mean to be brusque earlier, Jim. I was tired and I thought that you would appreciate action before conversation. I'm so sorry about Angelina. I listened to the message that she left for you and I believe, as you do, that she will be found. But not back on Lussuoso. We will find her. I promise."
From anyone else these would have been polite words. But Sybil spoke with an authority that rang true. I wanted very much to believe her.
"For you," my son said, holding out a glass. She took the drink, drank, smiled—and sighed. "Thank you, Bolivar. I needed that." "I have another one—if that's not enough." "Not quite yet, James." "You're sure you're not mixing them up?" I blurted out.
"Impossible to do, as you well know, Jim. I imagine James has always had that tiny scar on his left earlobe."
I blinked. It was almost impossible to see.
"Since I was four years old. Bolivar bit me."
"Believe that and you'll believe anything."
She smiled at both of them. Then turned to me and was serious again; playtime over.
"The service of the Seekers of the Way seems to be a near replica of the one described in the briefing for the Temple of Eternal Truth. Uplifting organ music, a good bit of incense to mask the smell of tylinyne. As you undoubtedly know that is a mild tranquilizing drug. No lasting effects, but it does relax the subjects, makes suggestion much easier. Not that it was much needed since everyone there was very convinced to begin with. The sermon was most inspiring and very strange to hear from a physicist of Slakey's reputation. Heavily mystical, plenty of guff about the hereafter and the good life and good deeds that pave the road to Heaven. After some more music some of the women spoke with great warmth about their visit to Heaven, after which they donated impressive sums for the furthering of the good works. Sounded very much like the recorded statement of Vivilia VonBrun that Jim made."
"Different church, same scam?" I asked. She nodded. "If scam is the right word. These people sound absolutely convinced. I'll know more after I've made the trip myself. Inskipp will scream when he sees how much of his funds I have invested to hurry that day."
"When?" Bolivar asked.
"AS soon as possible without raising Slakey's suspicions. For the record, he is now called Father Marablis. There is another thing about him that I find particularly interesting. Before leaving I made a point of approaching him to gush over his sermon. He liked that. Nor did he mind when, in the heat of the moment, I seized him by the hand, the right hand, and squeezed it with heartfelt emotion."
I leaned forward intently. As did the twins. We did not have to ask the question. She nodded. "A warm human hand—not a prosthetic." "But—" I stammered. "I saw the severed hand. It was positively identified."
"I know. Interesting, isn't it? I look forward to coming events with great anticipation."
The boys stared at her, smitten. Their kind, our kind of person. If anyone could find Angelina she could; I was sure of that now. Two days—and two very large donations—later she was told to prepare for her visit.
"Do I look all right?" she asked, turning slowly. Women only ask that when they know the answer. She was wearing something black, tight, expensive, with matching hat and even more expensive jewelry. "Are you sure that this can't be detected?" she asked, touching the tiny diamond brooch pinned at her throat.
"Only under a microscope—and you would have to know what to look for," I said. "The center diamond is the lens. I usually wear it as a shirt dress stud. I've added the jeweled setting to make it into a more exotic piece of jewelry so that you can wear it. The diamond lens focuses the image onto a series of nanoformed recording molecules that are carried beneath the lens by Brownian movement, which is energized by body heat so there is no detectable power source. Don't worry about the light level since, like the human eye, it can perceive as little as one photon of light energy. What you see, it will see—and record."
"I've never heard of anything like it before." "Nor has your boss, Inskipp," James said proudly. "It's one of Dad's inventions." "However all this turns out you can keep it," I said. "I'll give you the developing and printing module later." "It's the only one in existence," Bolivar said.
"I—I don't quite know how to thank you." The emotion in her voice was not faked, that was certain. She left quickly.