The Secret of Excalibur (17 page)

I put a pot of water on the fire. As I wait for the water to boil, in the early, gray light, I look around our campsite. The boat, rods, camera, and pile of our clothes, right where we left them, even the bar of forgotten soap, which brings a lecherous smile to my face.

Pouring the steaming, boiling water into my cup of instant coffee, I stir until it's ready, then add a shot of Amaretto. Good old coffee-A. A friend hooked me on this stuff years ago. Good, difficult habit to break. Taking my cup, I wander to the boat. Picking up our wet clothes, I spread them over the sides of the boat, and with a grin, hang Ruth's panties on the radio antenna. They'll dry fast today.

As I turn back towards the campfire, I spy the impressions in the sand from where we made love. The sands packed down from her back and buttocks, and I can see the marks from my elbows and knees and her heels.
Hmmm.
Seeing those markings gets me thinking. I start visualizing Ruth asleep, naked in the sleeping bag, and I become half-hard.
Why not?
Go wake her, start the day off right, and … with a frown, I kneel.
What's this?

Within the impression of Ruth's lower back and butt, is a mark. After a few seconds of staring at the imprint, I figure it out, a footprint. A boot of some type, waffled sole, and some design I can't quite make out.

But that's impossible
, I think, rubbing my forehead.
My boots don't leave marks like that, and besides, the footprint would've been packed down by our bodies. Unless the print was made, after we went into the tent
. A cold shiver snakes down my spine. Somebody was out here last night.

Slowly rising, with narrowed eyes, I look around the area. There they are, in the sand, north of our tent by at least fifty feet, all the way to the tree line. Two sets of evenly spaced marks in the soft sand. I wouldn't have paid any attention to them, except for this one clear boot print. I mentally open up and probe the area, birds, rabbits, a deer, but nothing that wears boots.

I follow the tracks to where, right at the tree line, the sand tapers off to mud. From there, the marks are deliberately wiped out with a branch. I can see the brush marks as it was swept back and forth. I wander farther into the trees. Nothing, not one human being anywhere that I can feel. I pee on a tree, head back to the fire and sit, but turn my chair sideways, so I can observe the tent and beach for quite a distance.

I open and study the map of Lake George.
This doesn't make any sense
, I think uneasily.
No one can walk to our area from back there as the ground is nothing but one big bog. Hell, even the map warns about the bog, a swamp.
Closest place to here, except by boat, is fifteen miles away, along the beach. The only civilization for twenty miles is the Lodge, and the small village.

Colly. Could he have come out after the storm? Or Dobie's men? By boat, down the beach, then sneaked into the trees, coming out down here? Or even by chopper?
If the chopper landed far enough way, we would've never heard the rotor blades.

I quickly stride to the boat and open the live-well. All the fish are accounted for, alive and well, even Ruth's dead Northern.
Who the hell came out here last night, and why?
None of our belongings were disturbed, nor taken, not even the camera.
This makes no sense.
I hide the 9mm in my pocket, and sit in my chair, thinking, not liking where my thoughts are heading.

ZZZIPP. “Uhgh. Morning, Arthur,” Ruth mumbles as she crawls out the tent, toilet paper in hand, and heads for the trees.

I become nervous. Even though no one's around, I stand and follow her, hanging back far enough so she can't see me. All I see are her knees and the top of her head as she squats behind a tree. I stare at the gun in my hand.
Why bring the gun with my abilities? Maybe an old and forgotten habit?
Whatever probed me back at the Lodge sure has me jumpy.

Ruth straightens, then steps out, adjusting her shorts. “What? Were you watching me?” She notices the gun in my hand, quickly glancing around. “What's the gun for?”

“No, I wasn't watching you. I thought I might have to protect you from an amorous wild boar or squirrel. That's all, kid,” I explain lamely, feeling a slight flush on my cheeks.

“But you can zap them away, couldn't you?” she asks, staring intently at me, biting her lip.

“Yeah, but I thought a gunshot would work better. Besides, I like guns.”
Damn, how dumb. I'm getting deeper and deeper with each word I utter.

Ruth's jade eyes are unwavering, not giving an inch. “Sure, I remember the airport.”

“Hey, I said I like guns, just don't like to shoot them. Now, get busy on breakfast, kid. I'm really hungry.”

She glides away without saying another word, for which I'm grateful. The way I'm going, making up lame excuses, soon I won't get our names right. As I match steps with Ruth, she's staring at me from the corner of her eye.
What's she thinking? Do I want to know bad enough to read her mind and find out? I may not like what I learn.
Instead, I head to the boat and switch on the SSB, a single-side band radio, an offshoot of the regular CB radio. Using a FM channel, it's seldom prone to static.

“Yo, the Lodge. Anyone read me? It's Merlin, Dobie, you there?”

Quiet.

“Mr. Merlin, Relman here. I hear you, go ahead.”

“Relman, how are you guys doing there?”

“We were hit pretty hard, sir, but we're okay. Lots of broken glass, one boat sunk. But, the helo's okay. How did you fare?”

“We're fine. No problems here. It sounds as though you got hit with the worst of the storm. Hold on, Relman.” Leaning against the boat, staring at that mocking boot print, I sort through several scenarios in my mind. I have to figure out a plan, fast. “Relman, do you have any new maps of the lake? I'm afraid I left ours out, and they got wet and fell apart.”

“Sir, Commander Dobie has the latest satellite maps of the whole area. Will those do?”

“Will he let me see them?”

“I'll have to ask, but I don't see why not. Why do you need them, sir?”

“Tell Dobie this for me. I need the new maps, and I want him here ASAP, but by boat. I have something I need to discuss with him.”

“Roger, sir, I'll tell him.”

“Relman, how many men do you have at the Lodge?”

“Sir, you know I can't give that information to you over the radio.”

“Listen, just say yes or no. More than ten?”

“Yes.”

“More than twenty?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, that's fine. I'll wait for Dobie to get here. Tell him soonest, got that?”

“Roger, sir, soonest and by boat.”

“Right, Relman, with the maps. Merlin out.”

“Relman out.”

I stride back to the fire-pit, fill my cup with hot water, then add instant coffee.

“Why did you lie? Our maps are fine,” Ruth asks, staring intently at me again.

“Uh, I need new ones, kid, these are pretty old.”
More lame bullshit. I'm so fast on my feet today, it's scary.

Changing the subject, Ruth asks, “When can we dive the cavern?” She's busy whipping eggs in a tin cup. Two fish fillets are sizzling away in the frying pan, almost done.

“We can dive later today, after I look at the new maps. Okay?” I pick up a fish fillet with my fork, placing it on my plate.

“I don't think the fish are ready yet,” Ruth says with a quirked brow.

“Sure they are, but those eggs don't look so healthy,” I say with a teasing grin.

“Then, why don't you wait until I finish cooking them? I'm mixing them now, dummy.” She gives me the 'eye roll' that all women seem to know from birth.

After we're done eating, we lounge around, chit chatting about nothing, or anything. Ruth's rambling on about the huge fish she caught. I can't blame her, I remember my first big catch, and it wasn't nearly the size of hers. Around ten o'clock, we start hearing the low rumbling of a boat motor. The boat is still out of sight, but the bay is so quiet we can hear the rumbling sound echoing across the water. The whole area is eerily quiet, with a worn out feeling. The pine trees are drooping, the birds are hiding, and even the smoke from the fire is lifting tiredly into the air. That had been one doozy of a storm.

I mentally focus on the boat. Nothing.
Damn it.
I concentrate harder, my brows furrowed. There, it's Colly's boat, with Dobie, Tober, Relman and two other men on board. Dobie's men. About twenty minutes later, they finally come into view, and we watch them moving around on deck. Dobie and Relman are using glasses to watch us. Idling down, Colly stops his boat behind ours, where the waters ten-foot deep. Standing on the rolling deck from the waves washing up from behind, he throws me a bow line. I tie off his line to our anchor line.

“How ye all doin'?” he says with a big grin. He seems in a pretty good mood, maybe because it's not his boat that sank.

“We're fine, Colly, but you're not,” I say with a snide smirk. I can't help myself.

Dobie, Tober, and Relman clamber onto our boat from Colly's bigger one. Relman is a little green around the gills, but Tober looks worse, all pasty-faced and sweaty.

“Never did like boats, ever,” the good Doctor complains as he removes his handkerchief, holding it over his mouth. He makes me feel nauseous just looking at him.

“Okay, Merlin, what's going on?” Dobie demands in his usual authoritative manner. “I brought the maps, but they're classified. I didn't want to show them to you, but Dr. Tober convinced me you would probably pop in and abscond with the maps anyway. So, here they are, but they don't leave my sight.” Dobie is the only one, other than Colly, not affected by the long boat ride.
Too bad.

“Commander, first I have some unfinished business with Mr. Dewhurst.” Colly starts shuffling his feet, nervously glancing around. “Help me here, Relman,” I say as I open the lid of the live-well.

Relman peers in and exclaims, “Holy Mother of God, look at the size of these bastards, sir.”

Dobie glares at him with a curled lip and wrinkled nose, but I can't fault Relman for his choice of words. I couldn't have said it better myself.

Dragging out the flapping fish, we lay them on the deck for everyone to examine. Colly stands there like a statue, thunderstruck, looking as his brother Godzilla did when I put his lucky piece in a bottle he couldn't break. As I tell him the weight of the fish, and while Ruth recites a blow-by-blow commentary about her monster Northern, Colley's shoulders slump lower and lower.

Straightening his shoulders a tad, he says, “Lord above, sir, the largest Gar Pike ever caught in the Isles is only twenty-seven pounds. This'ns got to be three, four times that'n. And they ain't no arguin', thems the biggest Whites I ever seen. Uh, ye got it on tape, sir?”

Knowing he was going to ask, Ruth hands me the videotape. Holding the tape out to Relman, I say, “Relman, I'm giving this to you and nobody but you runs the tape, or touches it. This film proves we caught the fish and didn't net them, so we won by the rules.” I glance at Colly, who isn't smiling now.

“Mr. Merlin, if'n this tape shows ye catch these fish, then the Devil take me old woman, ye'll be fer gettin' yer money. From all of us.” With a defeated sigh, he starts helping Relman and Dobie's men load the fish into his boat.

“Commander, I'd like you to take a walk up the beach with me.” I help him jump off our boat, along with Tober, then we head up the beach. Ruth stares after us with a puzzled frown, but doesn't follow.

Dobie hands me the maps, and I look them over as we stroll in the sand. “Dobie, is it possible for anyone to walk here from the west?”

“No, Merlin, it's not.”

“You know that for a fact?”

“Certainly, every time the Royal Family decides to holiday here, our Marines have to check the land around the lake. You would sink before you walked very far. Why?” he asks impatiently. He's starting to get upset.

“In a minute,” I assure him. Pointing at the map, I ask, “What do these colors represent?” The map shows lots of red, brown, and blue colors.

“Well, that's classified, but then, so are the maps.” With a heavy sigh and a scowl, he continues, “The red color represents a concentration of iron ore, and the blue color represents magnesium. The brown color represents a magnetic influx, probably caused from the two mineral deposits touching or overlapping. We would've already mined the magnesium, but the deposit is too thin and not profitable. Then again, these colors could represent different types of ores. Now, why?” His hard, brown eyes glare at me
.
Yep, impatient old Dobie.

“Doctor, can you tell me what else might cause the same color combinations?” I kneel, spreading the map on the sand. Peering down his nose at me, Dobie reluctantly sits next to me, trying not to mess up his expensive suit.

With some huffing and puffing, Tober slowly plants himself on the other side of me. Removing his handkerchief, he wipes the sweat from his brow. “Our nuclear plants radiate blue and brown. The atom smasher is represented by a much bluer color. The similarity of the colors on these maps would be closer to a nuclear plant. That's all I can think of, sir”

“Has your country every tested, or lost a nuclear device near here, Doctor?” I ask quietly, looking over at the line of pine trees, not wanting to meet their puzzled and impatient expressions.

“Good heavens no, sir,” Tober adamantly shakes his head. “We would never test so close to an inhabited area. Why?”

Rubbing my forehead, I kneel there, staring at the sand. “Look, I can't explain this to you yet, but something around here is very strange.” Anticipating an outburst from Dobie, I stop him with a raised hand. “Don't talk. Dobie, just listen first. I can mentally scan large areas, either above or below ground, and never have problems, except near a heavy magnetic influx, a nuclear plant or a nuclear explosion. And even then, it's never a serious problem. But here, right now, I'm having a serious problem.” I shake out a cigarette and light it, blowing out a long stream of smoke. At least they finally seem content to hear me out.

“Ruth assures me this area has been mapped and searched so many times that there isn't anything around here that couldn't have been missed. But I've already found one discrepancy, and you've just given me another. You say there isn't enough magnesium to make it worth mining, yet the satellite map shows an enormous influx. That influx can't just be from the iron ore, at least not this big.” Taking another drag, I continue, “Later today, I'll investigate the other discrepancy. If I find what I'm looking for, I'll let you know.”

Dobie's face is turning red, looking ready to burst if he doesn't speak up pretty soon. He finally sputters, “See here, Merlin, we've known about the magnesium for years. The amount of color on the maps has always been the same.”

“How long have you had a satellite that shows this depth of detail?”

Dobie stares at me with pressed lips, then gives a slight nod. “About six years. Although the latest map is more detailed, and taken, oh, about three years ago. Why?”

“And the influx reads the same?”

“Yes, of course. Now, Merlin, why?”

I rise, flicking my cigarette butt into the water. “When you return to the Lodge, I want you to study every photo taken from your satellites. Go as far back as this influx shows up. This is important, Commander. Can you do that?”