"Look, Thatcher, we've hit a dead end here. This guy probably never made it to shore from the submarine."
Thatcher suddenly wasn't listening. He stared at the paper. Of course!
"I've got bigger fish to fry," Jones continued, "but if you do come across anything, call me at this number. All right, Thatcher?" The FBI man's tin voice kept coming from a handset that swung freely by its cord. " Thatcher, are you there?
Twenty feet away Thatcher threw a dollar bill onto the bar as he raced for the door.
"Brown! B-R-O-W-N."
The woman behind Harvard's administration desk had been preparing to go home. She sighed at the Englishman, her patience wearing thin. "All right."
She went back to the same filing cabinet and in a matter of seconds pulled out a manila file. "Alexander Brown?"
"Yes! That's it!"
She gave it to Thatcher who began rifling through loose pages — transcripts, application for admission, personal data sheet. There were also tuition payment records.
"Is there not a photograph?"
"Photograph? No." She looked over the transcript. "The seniors have one taken for the yearbook, but this boy never made it past his junior year. Good grades, though. Do you really think he's a Nazi?"
Thatcher ignored the question. "Can I have this?"
"The records? Not a chance, mister. I'd lose my job." She looked around the room. "Of course, most everybody has gone home for the day. If you really think he's a Nazi — I could stick around and let you copy some of it."
Thatcher smiled.
Chapter 19
An hour into the trip Lydia wished she hadn't come. She was laid out miserably on a couch in the main cabin, an arm draped across her sweaty forehead and a bucket waiting on the floor. The bucket was empty, so far, but with Mystic rolling heavily it was only a matter of time. The skies outside were dark and wind whistled through the rigging. She wondered what had possessed her to come. One last afternoon together with Alex? And this is what he'd remember. Still, he'd been very understanding — checking up on her, the occasional comforting touch. Edward, on the other hand, was lost on deck tending to the boat. Her husband was not a mean-spirited man, but there would be no compassion for her suffering, nor any thought of cutting the trip short — he had told her not to come.
A fresh wave of nausea swirled through her innards and Lydia moaned. She heard the two men talking above, their voices loud enough to overcome the thumping of waves into Mystics hull, and the rattle of sea spray raining across her deck. With another muffled thud, Mystic gyrated yet again. Lydia rolled to the bucket just in time, her stomach heaving lunch into the pail. She remained curled in a fetal position, retching violently, again and again until there was nothing left.
Spent, she rolled into a ball, shaking, the putrid taste in her mouth, the sour smell in the air. How embarrassing. How utterly embarrassing. If only she had the strength to get up and empty the bucket. But she just couldn't do it. Yes, she thought, this is how Alex will remember me.
Footsteps pounded to the top of the companionway. She hoped it was Edward. Even in his I-told-you-so mood he'd have to have the compassion to remove the humiliating evidence. Alex appeared. She could only see his legs as he stood strongly against the wind. He was yelling toward the front of the boat, something about the foresail. She heard a muffled reply, and then Alex clearly, "Watch your step up there, man!"
He descended to the top step, one arm extended back out of sight to hold the tiller, which was just aft in the cockpit. He paused on seeing her. What a revolting sight I must be, she thought. Lydia heard something drop to the deck up front, and Alex shouted again to Edward before refocusing on her.
"Are you all right?" he called down.
She nodded, trying to force a smile. Alex left the steering long enough to trot down and remove the bucket, sliding it above and out of sight. He then scurried back up and divided his attention between her and the compass.
He said, "I should never have asked you to come, Lydia. This is my fault. I'll tell Edward we're going to turn back."
"No, it's not important. I feel better now."
"This weather is miserable. I'm not enjoying it."
Another ill wave rose in her stomach and Lydia rolled away, moaning. When it passed, she felt his gentle hand on her cheek. "Oh, Alex," her lips quivered, "it's all right, really. I'll be fine. Edward won't want to turn back."
"Then I'll make him."
"No. Please don't."
He seemed not to hear her as he moved to the stairs, but in the next moment Mystic lurched hard. Lydia heard the rigging creak and she was nearly thrown to the floor as the boat heeled severely to port.
"Dammit!" Alex raced above to the tiller and the boat soon righted. Lydia heard him yelling again. "Sorry Edward —
Edward!" Alex's head twisted back and forth. "Where the devil are you?"
There was an edge to his voice Lydia had never heard. "What is it, Alex?"
"I don't see Edward!"
"What do you mean? Where is he?"
She saw Alex scurry forward on deck, then reappear moments later. "I don't see him! I think he's gone over!"
It took a moment for Lydia to register the significance of those words. "What? You mean he's in the ocean?"
"Quick, come here! I need your help!"
Adrenaline overrode her suffering, and Lydia scrambled topside. Alex was at the helm, his hands feeding lines, his eyes scanning Mystics wake.
"When I left the steering the boat heeled over hard. He's gone overboard. We have to come about and find him."
"Dear God! Edward!" She stood next to Alex and began scanning the waves. White patches of foam where waves had broken dotted the surface everywhere. She squinted as the wind whipped salt spray into her eyes.
"Look over there," Alex pointed. "I'm reversing course."
He worked the sails and soon they were looking ahead. Lydia's stomach churned again, but the source was different now — sudden dread, a panic that swept over her. Time and again she thought she saw something, but it was only the tossing seas, splashes of foam bristling to life and then receding into the cold black water. After what seemed an eternity, Alex turned the boat again.
"We'll go back over it once more!"
Lydia looked to Alex for hope, but his face had turned grim. She instinctively took his arm. "We have to find him, Alex. We have to!"
He put an arm around her shoulder and said with certainty, "We will."
The second pass was no more use than the first. Alex turned the boat toward shore.
"What are you doing?"
"We have to go for help."
"No! No, Alex, we can't leave him out here!" Her body trembled and Lydia felt herself losing control. "We have to find him!" she screamed, reaching for the tiller.
He took her by the shoulders and forced her eyes to his. "Lydia, we must get help! We can't do this on our own. Within an hour there will be twenty boats out here. That's how we'll find him."
Lydia felt his strength, his will, but her heart sank at the idea of leaving Edward out here alone.
"It's his best chance," Alex insisted.
Lydia nodded, tears welling up as she looked helplessly across the reeling ocean. "All right, Alex. You know best. But please hurry!"
Indeed, within the hour, twenty-three boats were scouring Rhode Island Sound for Edward Murray. They swarmed across the water like a colony of bees in search of a lost queen. Captains considered wind and current. Sailors, police, friends, and family scanned relentlessly until the light was lost. Even then a handful kept at it, waving flashlights and lanterns, shouting into the inky darkness in hope of a weak reply. The last boat docked shortly after midnight, Alex Braun and Sargent Cole aboard.