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Authors: Madeleine L'engle

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“He just went off and left Esteban …”
Cook said, “Even if Nausinio had not been Nausinio, Esteban was beyond saving.”
Angelique had her hand lightly on the blanket over my feet as though she were still warming them. She said, “It was brave of Otto to do what he did. He is not a killer. He loves his country deeply and he believed when he came on the
Argosy
that what he was doing was right, that the negotiations with Jorge Maldonado and Jack Nessinger were legal.”
Dick nodded. “When he realized what was involved, he could not stomach it.”
Benjy said, “He nearly betrayed you, Vicky, but he couldn't go through with it.”
“But
Esteban
—”
Dick urged gently, “Drink a little more tea, Vicky.”
Sam's voice was level. “Esteban is—was—not an evil person. He, too, believed he was serving his country. He was well taught, but what he was taught was not well.”
“He tried to warn me.” I took a swallow of tea.
Benjy said, “Esteban was torn between his heart and his mission.”
“He—” Words of anguish and grief would not come.
“Hush, Vicky,” Dick said. “Sleep now. Talk later.”
“Let me finish the tea. Please. Jorge—” I needed to know more before I could sleep.
“Gone,” Benjy said gently, “with Greta and Jack.”
“Where?” My voice came out in barely a whisper.
“Probably to that alleged scientific station where we surprised them. And from there by helicopter to Vespugia. At least, that's my guess.”
I looked at Adam. He was tanned, but underneath the tan he was pale, exhausted-looking. “Adam—you weren't at LeNoir—”
Adam said, “Cook and Papageno picked me up just before the purported Esteban–Adam exchange.”
Cook continued, “When Nausinio came to LeNoir with Esteban, planning to take Adam, there was no Adam at the station.”
Papageno smiled. “So Nausinio had to leave Esteban and pretend the exchange had been made.”
I pushed up on one elbow. “I don't understand.”
“Lie down,” Dick said gently, putting one firm hand on my shoulder.
“I don't understand about Esteban,” I reiterated.
Cook sighed. “Esteban was working for his beloved Vespugia, and working mostly with Jorge Maldonado.”
I asked Adam, “How much did you—”
“Nothing,” Adam said. “I had suspicions that Esteban was
not the simple, friendly guy he tried to seem, but I couldn't pin down my suspicions. Now I know that when I was in San Sebastián, Esteban gave Nausinio the letters he'd offered to mail for me. He told me the mail from his army post was more reliable than the general mail service, and I bought his story.”
Papageno nodded. “Nausinio's knowledge of English is rudimentary, and he read into the letters far more than they actually contained.”
Adam said, “There was one letter to Aunt Serena, my usual chatty stuff, in which I told her I hoped to continue Adam II's work. I meant in marine biology, but Nausinio thought I meant CIA stuff.” He laughed, but it wasn't funny.
Cook continued, “So Adam's mail was checked at Port Stanley, and in the pouch that carries mail to the stations, and your warning letter to Adam about the messages in your school locker was confiscated.”
“You never got it?” I asked Adam.
“No.”
Cook looked at me. “Vicky, has it occurred to you who might have written those warnings?”
I had feared it was Cook. But suddenly it clicked. “Suzy's Spanish teacher?”
“Right. He's ardently Vespugian, sees Adam as an enemy, and assumes anyone connected with him is also trying to hold Vespugia back. He faxed his suspicions to Guedder, so both of you were listed as potential dangers to the Vespugian state.”
“That's crazy.”
Papageno nodded. “Of course. Much of history is.”
Sam had come all the way into the cabin and was perched
on a high stool. “Esteban was well indoctrinated into believing that whatever he was asked to do was for the good of Vespugia, but when Captain Nausinio pushed you on the pyramid, Esteban was torn, deeply torn.”
“But why did Captain Nausinio push me?”
My voice had risen, and Dick warned, “Vicky. Calmly.”
Papageno said, “Nausinio is quite a stupid man, and he assumed you were a danger to the Vespugian plans in Antarctica. And men like Nausinio enjoy killing.”
“Esteban was a musician.” Siri's voice was deep with pain. “With a passion for his country that had nothing to do with understanding politics or economics.” She shook her head as though to clear it. “Such a waste …”
Benjy put his arm about Siri.
She leaned against it. “Vacillation is deadly. When Esteban decided he could not condone what Jorge was doing, he should have held to his resolve. I'm sorry, Vicky, I'm not making it any easier for you.”
My voice was heavy. “I don't think it was ever supposed to be easy.”
“No. But I don't want to add to the pain. I'm sorry. I do tend to treat you as a contemporary.”
“Thanks.”
Sam said, “Esteban was truly smitten with you, Vicky, and he didn't want to hurt you. He was just beginning to see that other people's patriotism was not as pure and simple as his own.”
Siri looked at Cook. Blinked back tears. “Cookie, you'll pray for him?”
Cook nodded.
“Otto—” I asked.
“He is on the bridge with the captain,” Sam said. “There is a considerable amount to explain. He is very shaken by what has happened, but he will be all right.”
There was a moment of silence. Then Cook's voice came, utterly quiet. “Otto did what he had to do to save you and Adam.”
“But he—”
“Yes, Vicky, he was caught in Jorge Maldonado's net, but he managed to get out of the net, and Esteban did not.”
I shuddered. Felt the bile of horror rise in my throat. Swallowed. Finally managed to speak. “The net—what was the net?”
Papageno said, “The net was money and power. Zlatovica needs money. Vespugia needs power.”
“Jack—what did Jack have to do with all this?” Until Jack dumped me into the Zodiac, he had not fitted in with any of my suspicions.
“The triangle,” Benjy said, “is that Jack Nessinger is a drug trafficker feeding major syndicates in the United States.” He looked at Papageno, who continued:
“Jorge represents the most powerful drug cartel—a government monopoly—in Vespugia, controlled by Guedder. Jorge therefore had the money to buy for Vespugia what he needed from Zlatovica, and thus Otto had the hard currency to bring back to his people.”
I made a sound halfway between a grunt and a groan. “I had this crazy idea about Otto dumping nuclear waste.”
Benjy's arm was still comfortingly around Siri. “Your crazy idea was not that crazy. Part of the bargain was that Vespugia would help get rid of some of Zlatovica's weapons, including the Chernobyl-type reactor, which Otto knew was a danger to his country.”
I said, “Otto wanted everyone to sit under his own vine and fig tree.”
Cook said, “Special lubricants are needed for jet turbines, so both Otto and Jorge were buying jojoba bean oil from Jack, and as far as Otto knew, that was Jack's only involvement.”
That rang a bell. Something in one of Todd's lectures. Yes. Jojoba bean to replace whale oil instead of—I didn't remember what.
Papageno continued, “Jorge needed not only to sell drugs to Jack but to buy the oil of the jojoba bean from him.”
Benjy smiled at me. “Back to your theory, Vicky: Jorge did indeed plan to dump the residue of the Zlatovican warheads in Antarctica. But they hadn't gone that far in their plans.”
“What, then?”
Papageno rubbed his hand over the bald spot on top of his head in exactly the same way that Cook did. But he did not look like a monk. “There are cities in what was the former Soviet Union which are not on any maps. Although the U.S. knew about them, they were not included in U.S. maps, either. They remained secret.”
“Zlatovica had one of these cities?”
“Yes. When the Soviets pulled out of their Eastern European satellites, they did not take with them all their resources, including top-secret research, because everything was happening
so swiftly they could not. For instance, they left papers behind in Zlatovica with instructions on how to build a fan blade made from a single crystal of metal.”
I looked blank, and Papageno continued, “I'll try to simplify this for you. In the workings of nuclear fission and fusion, whether for peaceful or for military purposes, there are turbines which require fan blades. The higher the temperature at which you can burn fuel, the more effective the turbine, and these blades will take unbelievable temperatures.”
“So that's where the jojoba bean oil fits in.”
“Right. It's used for many other purposes, such as cosmetics and soap, so Jorge's interest in it did not strike Otto as suspicious.”
“Yes. I can see that.”
“Also important to Jorge,” Papageno went on, “are instructions from the Zlatovican secret city on how to make helicopter blades that will rotate at twice the speed of sound, because of tiny jet engines at their tip.”
“So the helicopters can go faster?”
“Incredibly faster.”
“Okay.”
“Such new copters would require less fuel and have more speed as well. So such fan blades would be, as the old saying goes, worth their weight in gold. Actually, much more.”
Benjy added, “It was this kind of sensitive information that Otto had in his cases, camouflaged with useless material.”
“But the case he threw overboard—”
“Otto is a pacifist,” Papageno said. “When he realized that
Jorge was not opposed to war, that his interest in Jack's jojoba bean oil was military, Otto's first act of rebellion, of separating himself from what was going on, was getting rid of the material Jorge wanted. He had copies of everything salient back in Zlatovica.”
Benjy said, “Unfortunately, Jorge kept a watch during the entire trip. You were seen. Otto was seen.”
There was a long silence, during which I tried to absorb all this.
Dick patted my shoulder. “Vicky, love, we know there's more you have to have cleared up, but let's wait till Otto has finished talking with the captain. Meanwhile, you've been through a horrendous experience, and you need rest.”
Cook's voice was gentle. “So rest, Vicky. Dick's pumped you full of antibiotics, and we got to you just in time to prevent frostbite. Thank God the temperature was mild.”
Mild! I thought. But probably it was, for Antarctica.
I felt like a small child as Cook tucked the blanket carefully around my shoulders. He put the back of his hand against my forehead. “I thought you'd be safe on the
Argosy
. I knew something ugly was going on in Vespugia, but I believed the
Argosy
was a safe place. I should have known better.”
“Hush,” Papageno reprimanded. “Vicky knows that you would give your life for her if need be.” He came over to me, bent down, and kissed me gently. “Angels watch over you,” and I heard the echo of Aunt Serena, of Owain, of Cook, who had had no way of knowing the
Argosy
was a place of danger for me.
 
 
I was hardly aware of the cabin emptying as I slid into sleep. When I woke up I saw Adam sitting across from me on the other couch. He had pushed up the cushions to prop his arm.
“Hi!” His face lit up.
I looked at his shoulder. “Nausinio shot you.”
“You'd have been next,” Adam said, “after he'd finished me off. He couldn't have left us alive.”
“Esteban—”
“—is dead, Vicky. We have to let him go.”
I shuddered. “Aunt Serena said some judgments are best left to God.”
“She's right. Can you abide by that?”
“I can try.”
He shifted position. “We both owe our lives to this Otto guy.”
“The Prince of Zlatovica,” I said flatly.
Adam's face was dark. “Both he and Esteban were trained from childhood. Programmed. They both tried to escape. Otto managed.”
“I'm sad.”
BOOK: Troubling a Star
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