Life Guards in the Hamptons (37 page)

We all wondered how the hell Vanderman got the girls on board.

Hypnotism, that was how. The Coast Guard wouldn’t suspect boarders in uniform, divers who looked official, or an inspector with trunks of equipment that needed to be carried onto the ship. Not if Vanderman worked his juju on them. They’d carry the girls themselves if he told them to, then forget about it afterward. They’d forget a tiger lounge existed, too, so no one would look.

Now everyone here got on phones and computers.

Neither the chief nor Lou could get a helicopter to the ship in time, not one manned by espers, anyway, who couldn’t be influenced by Axel’s eyes. They’d need to be combat trained in case Vanderman was armed. Lord knew he was dangerous.

DUE had a whole squad of para paratroopers—scattered around the country. They’d be no help.

We knew where the girls were—the professor gave a good description of the ship’s layout—but had no idea if the hypnotist was with them. Joe tried to find him in the men’s room, but couldn’t get a clear picture, the sink was so filthy. We still did not know if Lolly and Melissa were hostages or partners in crime.

We all agreed the girls weren’t getting off, or Vanderman if he was on board. No life boats or rafts remained on the ship, and it was way too far to swim. I thought he planned on riding out the storm on the boat once it was righted, then letting his watery alter ego take him anywhere he wanted to go, after destroying Paumanok Harbor, with enough money in hidden accounts to live like a king for the rest of his misbegotten life.

Working together, Lou and the police prepared a boarding party of psychics for tomorrow, when the ship should reach Paumanok Harbor at its slow, careful speed of tow, mere hours before the first edges of Desi arrived. They’d be espers; they’d be cops or Lou’s people; they’d be ready with blindfolds. And stun guns.

Till then, orders went out to keep cameras on the ship from every angle, to check the IDs of everyone in sight, to make sure that no one got off the cruise ship until it anchored, not even a rat.

Especially not a rat.

We went over the plan again, as much as we could without knowing what part the two women played in the drama. I thought Matt would have paddled a canoe out to the ship if he could. He wanted Joe to try again, or Lou to find an esper who could reach Melissa telepathically, or the Air Force to fly planes with heat detectors
over the ship to locate Vanderman, then shoot him. Something, anything, rather than nothing. Doc Lassiter finally convinced him the girls would be safest right where they were, out of any crossfire or desperate moves by the mesmerist if he knew he was cornered.

I told him to go back to his office, to call Melissa’s mother, his sister. I’d come soon to help with his waiting room, if he wanted. He did, and apologized for being brusque with me. I understood. I was so nervous I swore I’d strangle the next person to call me speedy.

The next person to call was Grant, from freaking outer space! Lou got the transmission to go through Russ’ computer, and projected on the screen in Uncle Henry’s office. So much for a private call.

He looked good, despite the grainy picture, in a NASA T-shirt and shorts, floating in the capsule. He also looked worried.

“We can see the storm from here, Willow. It’s huge and moving fast, headed straight for you.”

“I know. We’re trying to get ready, but that’s not why I had to talk to you.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“Grant, people are listening.” No, they were snickering. “I am not pregnant. I need you to give me a word, a phrase.”

He ran one hand through his hair. “There’s no phrase that can stop a hurricane.”

“That’s not the problem. Well, it’s only half the problem. It’s what’s in the eye, directing it, that needs a linguist.”

“Sweetheart, nothing directs a hurricane but the prevailing winds and the water temperatures.”

“I need a phrase, damn it.” I didn’t want to spell it out for him, not knowing who listened at his end, or in between. “I have to hear the words your father gave to Professor Harmon years ago, you know, when he visited Bermuda. The professor cannot recall it exactly and your father is in the hospital having both hips replaced. He says you’d know it because your memory never lets anything slip away.”

Either he was too stunned to answer or there was a delay in the transmission. “Shite, Willy, Bermuda, too?”

“Bermuda, too. The recent earthquakes and volcanoes and tsunamis, also. It’s back and bigger.”

He cursed, in several undecipherable languages. “You know the words don’t mean anything without the images, the emotions, the whole gestalt. They’re a signpost, nothing more.”

“Don’t spout Wittgenstein at me, damn it, just give me the freaking phrase.”

“Okay. Have you got a recorder?”

I signaled to Russ, who nodded. “Right here.”

He said something that sounded like a cat coughing up a hairball, with violins and castanets, on a jetway during takeoff. I made him repeat it. “Okay, got it. Now tell me what it means.”

“We cannot be certain, but something like ‘return to your roots, where you belong, whence you came.’”

Without mentioning Unity, I told him they wouldn’t take it back. They’d sent it to the Earth’s core.

I heard the professor behind me: “The phrase could mean back to its inception, perhaps to an egg.”

A worm egg in the center of our world, where it could not escape for centuries, at least. “Excellent. That’s exactly what we need!”

If we got close enough to lay the curse on the fiend.

“Be careful, Willy. I am sorry I can’t be with you.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“But not very sorry?”

“I’ve got a lot of help this time, the professor, his pet, some of the villagers. And I’m hoping for some of the Others.” He’d understand the unspoken capital letter.

“And the veterinarian I hear you touched with power?”

“Matt. Yes, he will be with me. He’s strong and a lot braver than I am.”

“I’m glad, Willy.”

“But not too glad?”

He laughed. “Unless you are ready to reconsider …”

“A man who takes a quick jaunt into orbit the way
some people go to Atlantic City on a whim? No, thanks. But I am happy that you got to experience space travel, for your sake. You must be in heaven.”

“Dashed close to it. Too bad all the excitement is in Paumanok Harbor.”

“I’ll trade you.”

He laughed again, a sound I once thought I’d never have enough of. “You don’t like flying.”

“I am terrified of it. And boats and electric storms and snakes and having someone steal my mind. They’re all looming.”

“You’ll do fine, Willy. You always do.”

No, I always cried and quivered and ate too much.

We said good-bye.

I went looking for chocolate cake.

G
RANDMA EVE HAD CHOCOLATE MOUSSE cake. I left her the professor and took the cake. And the whipped cream. Would I ever see whipped cream again without thinking of Matt? That was better than thinking of tomorrow, or those poor women today.

I saved him a piece. Okay, a small piece. But I felt better after eating the cake and if he cared for me as much as he said he did, he’d want me to have it. So I ate his piece, too.

Five pounds heavier and three “oh, dears” guiltier, I gave Little Red a good-bye cookie, and went to help Matt in his office. I needed to keep my mind off the storm and my ridiculous plan that didn’t have a chance in hell of succeeding, but a hellishly good one of getting me and the professor and who knew how many others killed. Like Matt, whose cake I’d eaten, among my other faults, like getting him involved in the first place.

I should have saved some of the cake for my last meal.

The vet clinic had havoc of its own: appointments backed up because Matt was gone for an hour; the vet assistants and kennel staff trying to work the computer instead of holding animals for Matt to work on; the waiting room full of nervous dogs, yowling cats, and panicked, impatient owners. Everyone wanted to get on with their emergency plans before the storm. Even placid Moses seemed distressed at being ignored.

I don’t know who was happier to see me, Matt or his
dog. Maybe the rest of his staff because I took over consoling the puppy and managed the front desk. I was damn good at it, too.

Sure Melissa had set up the computer system to be navigable by an orangutan and the directions for credit card transactions were almost as simple. Maybe she could do it better, faster, more efficiently, but I helped reassure the worried people their pets were in good hands. Hypnotized or not, she never cared enough.

Moses leaned against me behind the counter, drooling on my shoes, which was better than Little Red peeing on them, so I cuddled him and talked to him between patients, and we both felt better.

Especially when I found the portable TV on a shelf in the hall so I could stay in touch.

The Weather Channel’s hurricane expert reported a sudden change in Desi: a shift farther out into the Atlantic, away from shore. Somehow the Gulf Stream, with its warm waters, had taken a favorable easterly bend. Desi tried to follow.

I sent a silent thank you to the wind and water wizards at DUE.

A hurricane lost some of its strength over cooler water, which was why hurricane season didn’t usually last far into the fall. Something about hot air rising. Desi got downgraded to a category four, still wildly dangerous, but not absolutely guaranteed to destroy everything in its path. Cape Hatteras, sticking out from the mainland the way it did, escaped a devastating blow. Now all the attention and red flags got pinned on eastern Long Island, still in the killer storm’s trajectory. Desi hadn’t lost its size or its forward motion, only a few mph’s in the wind speeds. In fact, to the forecaster’s admitted surprise, all indications had the storm traveling north at a greater velocity than he’d seen in a lifetime of hurricane watching. Its first bands might reach the Island’s South Fork as early as late tomorrow, far ahead of earlier predictions. Which, of course, sent everyone in the waiting room into a frenzy, with fights breaking out and messes on the floor. And the dogs didn’t behave well, either.

I handled it.

What I couldn’t handle was not knowing if Paumanok Harbor’s own meteorologists were watching the radar screens, too. Someone had to tell them to hurry. Heaven knew what the shorter time frame could do to our schedules. They had to work harder, faster, better. The ship had to get to us. The girls had to be rescued. Our equipment had to be loaded. Vanderman had to be neutralized. And those were only a few of the pre-storm plans.

I thought about Vanderman, and Lou, who was still the scariest man I knew. Capable and efficient, yes. Cold-blooded and ruthless? Maybe. Was neutralized a more polite way of saying eliminated? Assassinated? Killed? And what about that chilling mention of divestment? Did they dissect a bad dude’s brain and leave him dribbling and diapered?

If Vanderman had a part in bringing N’fwend to the Hamptons, if he used Lolly and Melissa against their will, I’d cheer Lou on. Mind control had to be one of the most dreadful crimes against humanity. But making Lou judge and jury? And executor? Were DUE’s actions okay if they used it to protect the rest of us? I’d ask Matt what he thought, later. For now he thought I was an angel and a goddess, and if I ever got tired of writing stories or ran out of ideas, he’d hire me in a minute.

When the waiting room emptied and his staff could take over the phones and the files, I went home, after a detour to Shearwater Street.

The House stayed quiet, there amid its deserted neighbors. I said thank you anyway. And then I asked it for more help. “If you have any influence, tell them we could use some assistance.”

“All you need is love.”

Sure, tell that to Vanderman and the water dragon.

Oey was waiting for me at my house. She seemed anxious, agitated, hopping from branch to porch railing, into the tub, swimming in circles, blowing bubbles.

“It’s coming, isn’t it?” I knew better than to mention N’fwend’s name, which usually had Oey disappearing.

The bubbles turned blood red.

“We are going to need your friends, the new dolphins.”

The parrot head popped out of the pool. “Thmart.”

“Yes, they are.” But were they smart enough to know we’d need their help, or smart enough to stay far, far away? “Will they come?”

“Thoon.”

“Good. They won’t be hurt by the riptides and storm surges, will they?”

Oey clacked her beak. I knew by now that meant I was dumb as a dodo. Which were dumb enough to let their whole species get wiped out. “Okay, the dolphins can disappear. We can’t. So we might need the big guy.”

“Rulth.”

M’ma rules his kingdom, or he won’t break the rules? He did, for his own safety and for the sake of his symbiotes, or to warn us. All I could think of was that phrase about needing to break some eggs to make an omelet. Oey might get offended by the words “eggs” and “omelet” in the same sentence. “It is his enemy, too.”

Oey did not comment.

“Do you know anything about the two women on the ship? Are they alive?”