As he knocked on the door, it swung open. “Hello, anyone home?” He called out. “Mr. Andleman, may I speak with you?”
No response. He walked into the screen porch that had a distinct tilt toward the lake and up the slight grade to the weathered wood door that led in to the camp. A shade blocked the window. He knocked, waited, and when he got no response, knocked again. Still nothing. He reached down and tried the doorknob. This one was locked.
“Damn,” he muttered as he turned around. What to do now? If Andleman wasn’t at the camp, he might be gone for an hour or two or for days. He checked his watch. He had some time. Even if they decided to follow this lead, Carl’s men were probably still a few hours away. There was no doubt they would have found out that he had been to Harvard too. He decided to sit it out to see if the retiree turned up.
A table on one side of the porch had a cribbage board on it. The pegs were in the middle of the game. A deck of cards with a large metal bolt on top of it lay next to the board. He sat down and grabbed the cards, and as he started to play solitaire, his cell phone buzzed with an incoming SMS message. He looked at the sender “Carl Moscovitz” and read the brief message ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ That was about what he had expected. He deleted the message and then looked up as the whine of a motorboat drifted across the water. A water-skier was being pulled at a ferocious speed around the relatively small lake. The sun reflected off the water in dizzying flashes as if uncountable diamonds bobbed on the surface. What a picture-perfect spot this was – a vacationer’s paradise, a great place to spend some time barefoot with the family for a few weeks in the summer – if he actually had a family, that is.
He returned to the cards and after a few minutes, was startled by a man’s voice.
“Can I help you?”
An elderly man with a tattered Red Sox hat and goggle-like green sunglasses stared at him from the side of the porch.
“Mr. Andleman?” Pell asked.
The man didn’t answer.
“I’m agent Paul Pelletier, with the FBI. Are you Maurice Andleman?”
The man nodded slowly and said, “Yes.”
“I’m sorry for making myself at home here, sir. I was waiting for you and saw the table… This is a beautiful spot. I can see why you would pick this place to retire.”
The old man walked around to the door and up the stairs along with an equally as aged Golden Retriever.
“Do you have some ID?”
Pell fished out his ID as the dog rammed his nose into his crotch and sniffed up and down his legs.
Maurice studied the identification before handing it back.
“When I got here and saw your car wasn’t around, I figured that I’d have to wait for a while,” Pell said apologetically.
Maurice took off his sun-glasses, exposing striking gray eyes and said, “It’s okay, Paul Pelletier. I don’t have a car, and I wasn’t expecting company today. Particularly the FBI.”
Pell smiled. People hated surprise visits by the FBI.
“He’s an old boy. What’s his name?” He asked as he leaned down and patted the dog.
“That’s Louie,” Maurice replied. “He’s almost fourteen. He’s old like me; isn’t that right, Louie, huh?” Maurice rubbed the dog’s back.
“You don’t have a car?”
“No, when I retired, I decided that I’d had enough of all that. I spent too much time in cars, on the phone, and watching TV in my life – too much time that was gone and would never be back. Everything I need is within walking distance from here.”
“You live alone?”
“My wife, Tracy, died five years ago, and since then, it’s just been Louie and myself.”
“I’m sorry about your wife.”
The old man grimaced and nodded as he unlocked the door that led into the house. “Come in,” he said and walked inside. Maurice went to the sink and poured himself a glass of water. “Do you want some?”
“No thanks,” Pell replied. The inside of the camp smelt of burnt wood and appeared to have only two rooms. They stood in the larger one which was a kitchen and family room combination. The other looked like a bedroom. The massive stone fireplace that consumed one wall was by far the most noticeable feature.
“That’s quite a fireplace,” Pell said.
“Yep,” Maurice nodded. Louie noisily lapped from his water dish as Maurice said, “So what can I do for you, Agent Pelletier?”
“You can call me Pell for starters.”
“Okay, Pell. What can I do for you?”
“Well, it’s a long story that I won’t bore you with, and I’m not at liberty to discuss it in detail anyway, but I’m looking for a former student of yours. It’s urgent that I find her,” Pell said. When Maurice didn’t offer any response, he continued, “Her name’s Sarah Burns. Do you remember her?”
Maurice’s expression didn’t change. Either he had a hell of a poker face or he wasn’t surprised to hear that she was the one he sought.
“Of course I remember her,” Maurice replied. “I’m sure you went to the University and they pointed you in my direction. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Pell chuckled – old but still sharp. “It is. I guess that it was kind of a long shot, but I wanted to know if you had heard from her recently.”
Maurice shook his grey head. “I haven’t talked to her in –” He paused briefly, silently moving his lips, “Sixteen or seventeen years.”
“So you don’t know where she is now?”
Maurice shook his head again, “Why are you looking for her? What did she do?”
Pell took a deep breath as he sat down in an old kitchen chair with rusty metal legs.
“You remember her major? Let’s just say that it’s rumored she’s using her skills in a not-so-positive way. I haven’t been able to prove anything yet – because I can’t find her. It’s like she dropped off the face of the planet eighteen years ago.”
“What do you think she’s done?”
“I can’t say. It’s all speculation at this point. Can you tell me a little about her?”
Maurice refilled his water glass and sat down at the table with Pell. “I’m not going to tell you anything until you tell me what you think she’s done. You say there’s rumor about something and you have no proof. Until I know what it is you are speculating here, I’m not about to start talking to you about a student of mine. So you’re either going to tell me everything, or you’re going to leave. It’s your choice. Frankly, I could care less either way.”
“I could get a judge to compel you to talk,” Pell said. “Wouldn’t take more than a few hours.”
“Go for it.”
Pell leaned back in his chair. Maurice was a tough old bastard but Pell had nothing to lose.
“I’m based in the Bangor, Maine office. A couple of days ago, a guy came into the office and told me a story.” He proceeded to tell Maurice everything he knew.
When done, he stood up and helped himself to a glass of water. Maurice sat quietly spinning the Red Sox cap slowly on his right index finger. Pell came back to the table, sat down and waited for him to respond.
“So she finally did it,” Maurice said as he flicked the cap onto the table.
“Did what?”
“Sarah was special. We’d get a student like her every few years.” He paused, as if to clearly frame his thoughts. “By her junior year all we could do was help her learn to focus. She was already into the realm of the theoretical, the unknown – a truly brilliant girl.”
“So you’re telling me that Sarah Burns could actually be creating a virus and it would be possible to do something like this in the woods of northern Maine.”