Seaspun Magic (30 page)

"Bye, Larry. Drive carefully!" She couldn't resist being a little sarcastic. But he was already gone. The low-slung car drew back into the cross street, and she passed by it, her shoulders drooping in exhausted relief.

Leo wasn't home to greet her, but Uncle Art had already heard all about the incident in the woods, and he immediately went to "take the garbage out." When he came back he had news for her, too. The information about the MiGs and Floggers had finally been traced along a convoluted and surprising path.

The culprit who started the mess was a computer firm not presently supplying the armed forces with either computers or the programs to make them work. Rather too eager for business, they sought to discredit current supply firms by breaking into the navy's computer system and then confronting the navy with confidential information garnered in this manner. This was meant to prove that the current supply firms, among them MicroCon, were deficient in system design, as well as short on security.

It was a daring plot and might even have worked, except that one board member of the company, the one responsible for paying Barnes and dismissing him when the company had enough of the confidential information, saw an opportunity to make a little cash of his own on the side.

He kept the officer on in the same capacity as spy and sold the data received off him—that is, the entire first and second rings, as well as the very juicy tidbit about the Soviet combat aircraft, the Floggers and the MiG-21s, in possession of the armed forces.

The person he contacted to sell the data to was a low-ranking employee of the consulate of one of the South American countries. This staffer, while low ranking, had ready access to the consulate's computer system. Visiting the consulate in Seattle, ostensibly on company business but really to meet with his contact, the board member saw his neat little package of data continue intact to the next level in the spy network by prompt processing in the consulate's computer room.

Indiscreetly he mentioned this to Larry when paying him off for the juicy tidbit that very afternoon. Larry had then given the board member Arianne's ESP answer—the money presently in his hand had been supplied by Russia. Laughing disdainfully, the member had told him his psychic was a joke and a liar, and that he paid good money for information, not for hocus-pocus!

Barnes had left his contact's apartment with a pocketful of cash, but no additional hundred thousand dollars. He had begged for another chance to vindicate his source, but the board member had advised him, instead, to leave the country—if he still could. At that point, determined to give himself one last chance at the hundred thousand, Larry headed for Port Townsend as fast as his car could go, to apprehend Arianne in that dangerous and frightening manner on the dark country road.

Now, once again, the navy was closing in on Lieutenant Barnes. Arianne was thoroughly pleased about that. She and Uncle Art speculated on Larry's next move. Would he decide to leave the country, or would he, still hoping for more payoffs, try to convince the low-ranking consulate staffer of Arianne's credibility. It all depended on whether he believed in Arianne's Russians or the board member's scoffing over psychic idiocy.

"I knew there was a mystery going on," Arianne said, beaming. "I just knew it! When's Leo coming home, Uncle Art?"

"He's not. He's gone."

"'Gone'?" Arianne spun around, clutching Rae's green crocodile to her breast. "What do you mean, 'He's gone'? How could he be gone?"

"Sit down, Arianne. Come along now, honey." Uncle Art called her "honey'' the way Leo did, but since he was sixty-some odd years, she didn't mind. "Honey, he's gone to, er, tamper some with those computers at the consulate in Seattle. After he's finished, we'll know where that staffer sent the information and be able to trace the various levels of the network. And we'll be able to do a little rearranging of data to ensure that the information that does go through is false."

"Oh, no," she lamented.

"He had to go. You know he had to. He took the job and he'll finish it, you'll see. The admiral's used him before. He's good. Not to worry. He's real slick. How do you think he lasted so long in a rough business? Big bucks in computers, ya know."

"But when I think of him creeping down some dark hall..."

"Come along now, honey. Eat your dinner and relax. He can take care of himself, the lad. What do you think all them muscles are for? His head's not bad, either. He'll get in and out again, you'll see. Eat, eat! You're bein' a bad example for the boy!"

Rae wasn't eating, either; he was throwing his food willfully on the floor—something he wouldn't be doing if Leo were present. Rae knew he couldn't get away with such pouty behavior around his new friend.

After dinner, since Leo wasn't there to take Arianne to the fort, another escort, one of her guards, slipped into the house to make her acquaintance. She discovered then that the shadow she'd seen earlier had been one of her guards. She was grateful for that revelation; it made her feel a whole lot safer.

However, once in her customary chair down in the clandestine computer cellar, Arianne simply couldn't concentrate on the tests she was required to do that evening. She kept pushing and pushing at her mind, only to conjure up pictures of Leo. His face was superimposed on every star and square and wave. And when she was supposed to point out on the map where the ensign and his girlfriend, still driving, had got to by now, she couldn't; she hadn't a clue, just as she hadn't had a clue about Leo.

The doctors gave up, not wanting to aggravate her more. Instead they just sat around together in an informal group and asked her simple questions about what it was like to be blessed and burdened with ESP.

About two hours after she arrived, one of the doctors suggested a little brandy would not be inappropriate. When the required number of glasses were assembled, he poured out the drinks. Arianne accepted a snifter and got up out of the deep plush sofa to stretch her legs. She wandered away from the group awaiting their glasses, then she put down the snifter, took a deep breath and quietly fainted.

Nobody noticed at first, but when they did there was a hue and cry and the admiral was sent for. Eleven doctors pored over her inert form on the floor.

It was the admiral's face she saw first, upon recovery just a minute or two later. She quickly closed her eyes again, but he shook her determinedly by the shoulders, and she mumbled, her eyes still shut, "They're shoving Larry into the trunk of a black sedan with... with diplomatic plates. He's... been shot." She blinked and reluctantly opened her eyes then.

"Good God! Get her on the couch! Where's some brandy! Get somebody on the line and find out what the hell is going on out there! Where's a pillow!"

"Wait," Arianne whispered. Everybody stopped moving at once. "They're arguing... they're stopping now under some trees where it's dark. There are two men and they're carrying Barnes. He's... they're putting Larry in the back seat of the car...." In the utter quiet her whisper sounded loud. "Oh, dammit, he's bleeding all over the red carpet...." Her voice shook.

The admiral offered her a small quantity of brandy, which she swallowed agreeably. "Where are they going, Arianne? Can you see where they're going?" he probed gently.

She lay back, feeling the brandy warm the terrible chills inside. Somebody got a pillow and somebody else a blanket. Arianne wasn't totally aware of them, and yet she wasn't oblivious, either, but a state somewhere in between. She didn't say anything for some time, yet they all stayed about her, waiting....

She sighed. "The car is stopped in an alley... it's dark and dangerous-looking. There are garbage containers... somebody's passed out in a doorway, but they don't notice. They pull him out and mess him up a bit, like he's been in a fight... throw him against... it's a hotel, an old seedy hotel. It's called the... the... something Moon. The Honey Moon—no, the Sweet Moon. No, that's not it, either. I don't know where it is, but it's the... Sugar Moon. That's it, the Sugar Moon Hotel! And he's still alive, but just barely...." Her teeth chattered, and the admiral administered more brandy, while Dr. Ekhart set about briskly rubbing her hands.

"If they can shoot Larry just like that,'' Arianne suddenly said, sitting up and pushing the proffered snifter away, "what are they going to do to Leo?"

"They have to catch him first," Thrush reminded her.

"But what if they do?" she insisted.

"Then, Arianne, we'll take that consulate apart at the seams! Honey, we'll get him back! But I don't think they'll catch Leo. I really don't."

The admiral's aide was kept hopping the next while, running messages back and forth. Everybody just waited—for Larry's hotel to be located, for Leo to send confirmation through from the computer in the consulate to the one in their building.

About an hour later, word came that the Sugar Moon and the lieutenant had been found. A local ambulance was at that very moment wailing through the streets, rushing him to the nearest hospital. He was still alive, but just barely, as Arianne had said.

"Go home, honey—" the admiral patted her hand "—try to get some sleep. Leo might not get a chance to take care of... business till the wee hours, maybe not until tomorrow! And as I told you, we'll not permit an asset like Leo Donev to fall into enemy hands. Between the two of you, you're worth a king's ransom! So go home and sleep, and that's an order!"

"Yes, sir." Arianne smiled faintly.

Uncle Art took care to see that she got some sleep; he put a sedative in her cocoa, and she slept the night away and far into the next morning. Still there was no word from Leo.

***

Friday, at work, Arianne kept glancing at the telephone, wondering if Uncle Art would call her, but while the phone rang off the wall with last-minute orders for Christmas, only two days away, there was no news for her. And when she got home, all her pretend-uncle did was shake his head and shrug his shoulders.

As soon as she had eaten some dinner, she heard a guard tapping at the back door, ready to escort her on her nightly trip. Rather than the usual type of tests, which required a high level of concentration, that evening, Arianne and the doctors and scientists sat around conversing while a recorder taped everything that was said for later study.

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Apparently intelligence sources had reported that the consulate was hosting a large party that night. It was likely, Admiral Thrush said, that Leo had decided to wait until the party before attempting his... er... business.

This seemed to be the case. At midnight, one of the computers started quietly clicking away, and very shortly after that, Leo identified himself on a printout. He had, therefore, successfully linked the two machines. After a stream of directives in computer language, there was a miniscule pause and in plain English he relayed a special message.

"I'll be home Christmas Eve. XOX." The message wasn't addressed; nor was it signed. But nobody in the room had any trouble guessing to whom it belonged.

"May I say something in return?" Arianne asked the fellow running the console.

"Sure," he said, grinning. "You got the bug, too, huh? Go ahead, but keep it short." He keyed in a few command phrases, then motioned for her to use the keyboard.

Holding her breath, Arianne carefully typed, "I love you."

There was a slightly longer pause from Leo's end, and then he began the sign-off procedure. Trembling inside with anxiety, Arianne turned away.

***

The next day Arianne only had to work until three; as it was Christmas Eve, Orly closed the shop early. She went home laden with presents from him. He was looking forward to having Christmas dinner with Rae and her—and hopefully Leo—the following day.

She was glad to get home early, for she had a million things to do before Leo came home. She prayed he would get home. While she'd been at work Uncle Art had gleaned further details of the spy network.

When Larry found out the navy was after him he had panicked. Just as Arianne and the admiral's cook had speculated, he had tried to sell her out to the embassy staffer for one big cash settlement, while packing his bags to flee the country.

Of course the staffer, realizing Barnes had blown his cover and would have to be put away before he blew all of theirs, too, had immediately sent news of this potentially explosive situation to his higher-up. Apparently the directive had come back down through the ranks that he himself had the task of disposing of the officer. Enlisting the aid of the board member, using one of the consulate vehicles, he had carried out his duty. Except that Larry Barnes was still alive, after all, and under heavy guard in a navy hospital.

At this point, even though navy spies had found the bloodstains on the vehicle in question and had enough proof to lock away the two would-be murderers for umpteen years, no one was arrested. The object was not to scare the network into disappearing, but to follow the lead to the top man. As Larry's data was still in transit, it was deduced that it hadn't reached the top yet. To unearth every link in the chain might take months. In the meantime, thanks to Leo's "tinkering," the navy was learning all about the network, who ran the different levels and how they operated. And unfortunately, that was all Uncle Art was allowed to disclose to Arianne.

She was upstairs just finishing a quick bath, when Uncle Art yelled up the stairs, "Phone, Arianne!"

"Hello?" she said crisply into the receiver several seconds later, wanting to get the call over with so that she could get on with her numerous chores!

"Arianne, honey?"

She gripped the receiver tightly. "Oh!" was all she could manage.

"Darling?"

"Are you all right?" she exclaimed breathlessly.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Leo said, chuckling. "Darling, is there anything you want me to get while I'm out? Cause once I get home to you, Arianne, I'm staying!"

"I—I, no, I don't think so—I can't think!" she replied, laughing. "I know—a Christmas tree! With all the excitement, I forgot to get a tree."