David Sakmyster - The Mongol Objective

“Not at all. I have plenty of money. But since I’m fairly certain your father survived, and since the regrettable incident in your lighthouse basement, I fear he will be after me with a vengeance now. So, it would be prudent to have some leverage.”

“They’re going to look for the boat,” Alexander said. “My dad knows I know where the key is hidden, that you made me tell you how to start it. They’ll come after us with helicopters, jets, satellite stuff. And of course they’re psychic. There’s nowhere to hide.”

Montross walked back toward the cabin. “I’m not worried about that. I avoided their detection for years.”

“How?”

He smiled to himself. “I’ve got something. Something I found after the Pharos incident. It’s old. And it has the side benefit of blocking the user from certain prying eyes.”

“I don’t understand,” Alexander said. “But-how old?”

“Never mind. In any case, we’re not going to be on your precious boat much longer. Maybe this was my escape route all the time.”

Montross cut the engines and they drifted into a choppy area of the lake. A moment of calm, and then suddenly Alexander had to hold on tight, feeling his stomach lurch. Just then, a big wave caught them and they rose higher than he could have imagined, then slammed back down.

Wiping spray from his face, Alexander looked over the side at the sleek black thing rising from the lake, the thing at first he took to be some fanciful lake monster. But then he saw the hump wasn’t a hump at all, especially when a door in its base opened.

“Come on,” Montross said. “Our sub is here.”

Five hours after the rogue submarine and its small crew made its way into the Atlantic Ocean, Caleb, Phoebe and Orlando arrived at Sodus Point, jumped out of the car and passed through the crowd of neighbors, firemen and police. They walked to the edge of the caution tape, where they stared in silence at the smoldering wreckage of the house that had been in the Crowe family for four generations.

The lighthouse alone stood above the ruins, just its brick and concrete facade remaining, up to the scorched glass cupola. The intense heat had turned it black, and now it stood lording above the smoking ruins, like one of Sauron’s towers.

“All gone,” Caleb whispered, with Phoebe at his side as the police approached.

“Your books…”

He held out his hand, seeing black body bags lying in one section of the lawn. “Wait, we need to be sure Alexander wasn’t inside.”

“He wasn’t,” she voiced hopefully.

“Mr. Crowe?” The first officer took off his hat. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your wife…”

The FBI agent arrived an hour later.

She found Caleb with a blackened book in his hands, the pages crumbling, the cover brittle. He held the book, and without a word remaining on its cover, he knew it was the first book he had written, The Life and Times of the Alexandrian Library. Not only that, it was the one he had signed for Lydia. The day they met, at his first book signing.

He trembled as the images rolled through his mind like a tender wave, picking up the shells and stones and sand with the flotsam of his memories. Not psychic visions, just clear, pure memories. Their memories, together. Like a kaleidoscopic light show, Lydia and her jade eyes, her scent of cinnamon perfume, cascaded through this vision.

“Caleb?”

At first, the word mingled with Lydia’s voice, speaking close to his ear. Caleb, goodbye.

“Caleb Crowe?”

A tremor shook him and he let the book drop. He blinked, then glanced up into a woman’s face. Short auburn hair, brown, not-unsympathetic eyes that were darting around a little too fast for him to follow. Grey suit. She held out a hand, helped him up, then pulled away. “Renee Wagner, FBI.”

Caleb forced his eyes to focus. “FBI?”

She nodded curtly. “The police chief called us as soon as it was clear that in addition to arson and murder, this involves a kidnapping, with evidence that the perpetrators have fled to international waters. I’m so sorry for your loss, but time is of the essence. We really have to-”

“You know,” Caleb said softly, looking at the brittle book at his feet, “there’s a theory beloved by bibliophiles everywhere, one that suggests that the way to keep alive, to stave off death itself, is to constantly read. If you’re reading many books at once, perpetually awaiting the resolution of cliffhanger moments, you’ll be unable to rest until you know it all works out. All the mysteries, plot twists and turns, everything that keeps you guessing-and turning pages-all of that will keep you striving to live another day.”

“That’s interesting,” Renee said, frowning. “But we really need to start a workup on who did this and what they want. We’ve got agents canvassing the vicinity, checking satellite photos, police logs, all concentrated on finding your son and his abductor.”

Caleb looked away from her, toward the sea and the missing boat. “I’m pretty sure I know how we can find them.”

Renee followed his line of sight. “Ah yes, the lightship. Sorry, but the Coast Guard found it deserted about thirty miles out. Seems they jumped ship. Any other ideas?”

Caleb shook his head. “No, I just need some time.”

“Any idea who did this?” Renee looked around. “Or who the two other bodies we’re still trying to identify are?”

He nodded. “Robert Gregory is one of them. My wife’s brother.”

She glanced at him suspiciously. “How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

“I see. So, you’re involved with parapsychology, research and remote viewing.”

Caleb stared at her.

“Unusual line of work, Mr. Crowe, but I understand your group has had some successes. Located sunken wrecks. Salvage, treasure-”

“I know what you’re getting at,” he said. “Wondering if we had enemies.”

“Or just jealous followers.”

“Look, Agent Wagner-”

“Renee.”

“-I’ll help in any way I can, but please, give me and my sister some time. An hour maybe, at one of our neighbors’ homes. We need to sort things out.”

She looked at him steadily, and Caleb had the sense that red lights were lighting up inside her skeptical brain. Facts and figures, percentages. Wasn’t the husband the perp in something like seventy percent of these cases? Right now she was probably running scenarios and creating a follow-up checklist: see how he and Lydia got along, whether he’d wanted full custody, what unsavory friends he might have contracted for arson and murder…

“All right,” she said at last. “I’ll continue working the scene here, and I’ll call on you in an hour.”

“Thank you.”

“But Mr. Crowe.”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever you find out, promise you’ll share with me.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

She smiled. “Let’s just say, Caleb, that I’m open-minded about what you do here, and in what you’re about to do.”

He considered her for a long time. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but would you like to watch?”

Phoebe and Orlando were off to the side, sitting on a bench overlooking the lake.

“I’m sorry about Lydia,” Orlando said. His hand hovered around her shoulder uselessly, not sure whether to touch her or not. He had felt something close to a connection with Phoebe ever since interning for her class four years ago. Although only a few years older than he, she had a way of making him feel like an awkward teenager. “I know you were close.”

She gave an attempt at a shrug, trying to appear stoic despite her tears. “Sometimes, she could be like a sister to me. When she wasn’t being all Keeperly.” Her voice cracked. “And Robert… Are they sure it’s him in there?”