"Good Lord, you've been in another scrap. What happened?"
"I found him, Michael. I found Alex."
He took her by the elbow — the one that didn't hurt — and guided her to a quiet corner. The station was tiny, a wood and plaster square that might have been built a hundred years ago.
There were two officers on duty, both filling out paperwork to explain the day s lively events. Lydia recounted her story, Thatcher taking in every word.
"Damn! I'm sorry, Lydia. I must have arrived at the station in Albuquerque just a few minutes too late."
"I definitely could have used your help. When I saw Alex I didn't know what to do. I'm afraid I acted without thinking. It was terribly impulsive, wasn't it?"
"It was brave."
Lydia thought the word sounded strange. Had it been? Was that what bravery was — impulsiveness in the name of good cause?
"At least you found him," Thatcher continued. "That's more than I've managed in the last week. Tell me, have you talked to your father? He's been worried about you."
"Yes, I already called him. He insisted that I come straight home."
"I see. That's probably for the best."
Best for who? Lydia thought. She had nearly been killed, but she'd finally done something useful. If Alex had managed to leave Albuquerque unseen, he might have been lost forever. Lydia had found him, sent him scrambling.
"I have to tell you about the papers," she said, "the ones I found under his pillow."
"Papers?"
"Yes. I told you I went into his room. There was a stack of papers under his pillow. They were scientific — equations and formulas. On top was a letter addressed to someone called Rainer. That's a German name, isn't it?"
Thatcher nodded, "Usually."
"The letter said the papers were important. It was all about something called the Manhattan Project. Do you know what that is?"
Thatcher's gaze drifted.
"What's wrong?"
"Something I've suspected for a while — but this proves it.
The Manhattan Project is a tremendous undertaking by your government. Its a new weapon, very secret. All along we've been chasing Braun because we considered him a threat to this project. But think about it — sabotage is no use. Germany has lost. And now we know he's met with a German spy in New Mexico."
"That's where the letter and papers came from?"
"Almost certainly. Was this letter signed? Did you see a name?"
Lydia tried to remember, but nothing came. "No, I never got that far."
"So Braun and this agent have somehow stolen information about the project."
"But there's no one to give it to," Lydia said.
"Isn't there?"
"You just said it yourself — Germany is finished."
"Yes," Thatcher rubbed his forehead, "but it could have terrific value. What else can you remember?"
Lydia squeezed her eyes shut.
"Something about a ship making port for a meeting. And that I'm sure about — nine a. M. on July twenty-seventh."
He swiveled his head, and then pointed to a day calendar hanging crookedly on the station wall. "That's next Friday. What else? Where? What was the name of the ship?"
She tried to recall.
"We know when, but without knowing where —"
"Guam!" Lydia spat out.
"Guam? The island? That's in the middle of the Pacific Ocean."
"Is it? So what can we do?"
She watched Thatcher's taught features strain as he considered the options.
"Excuse me, miss," someone said.
Lydia turned. It was one of the deputies. "Yes?"
"We're down to our last car, so I've got to run Ed over to the train depot — he needs to ask a few questions. Normally, I'd lock up, but if you two want to stay that's okay by me."
Lydia looked at Thatcher, who said, "We dont have anywhere to go at the moment, so if you don't mind we'll stay."
"No problem," he said, putting on his gun belt. "I'll be back in twenty minutes." The two men left.
Before she and Thatcher could resume their conversation, the telephone rang. They looked at one another. Lydia shrugged and picked up the handset.
"Winslow Sheriff's Department," she said.
"Hello, I need to speak to whoever's in charge."
Lydia thought the voice sounded vaguely familiar. Then it came.
"This is Tomas Jones, FBI. It's quite urgent."
"Um… one minute, sir."
She held the phone to her chest, and her eyes went wide. "It's him!" she whispered harshly.
"Who?" Thatcher mouthed.
"Jones! He wants to talk to the sheriff."
Thatcher frowned, then said quietly, "Tell him the sheriff just left, but you'll take a message." He put an ear next to hers so they could both hear.
"I'm afraid he just left, sir. May I take a message?"
"Where is he?"
"Um—"
Thatcher fumbled across the desk for a pencil and scribbled — Looking for German spy.
Lydia caught up. "He's out looking for a German spy."
"Right. Any luck yet?"
Thatcher shook his head, then wrote — And you?
Lydia nodded. "No, sir. Does the FBI have any information about the suspect I should pass along to the sheriff?"
"No. We're looking, but nothing yet. I have a pair of men headed your way from Phoenix — they should arrive soon. Have the sheriff give them whatever they need so we can find this guy once and for all."
"Of course, sir."
"There's a young woman, Lydia Murray. I understand you have her at the station?"
Lydia nearly giggled. "Yes, she's right here." She immediately regretted the answer, realizing that Jones might ask to speak to her. Lydia was contemplating a change of voice when Jones let her off the hook.
"Good. Keep track of her. Her father is a bigwig back East — he's coming out to collect her."
"Okay."
"Oh, and one more thing. There's an Englishman, a Major Michael Thatcher — has he turned up there?"
"Not that I know of, Mr. Jones."
"Well if he does, arrest him. Immigration charges — whatever the sheriff can come up with. We want him."
"Is he a spy too?" Lydia prodded mischievously.
"No, just a danged pain in the ass."
Before hanging up, Jones gave a number where he could be reached.
"All right, Mr. Jones, I'll have the sheriff get in touch if we find anything. Good-bye."
Lydia put the phone to the cradle and looked at Thatcher. She saw a slight curl at the corners of his mouth. They burst out laughing at the same time. Lydia bent at the waist, the laughter aggravating her pain, but there was nothing she could do. After all that had happened it felt incredibly good.
She said, "I can't believe I just did that."
He wore a satisfied smile. "You should do it more often."
"Lie to the FBI?"
"No, laugh."
She sighed. "I used to do it a lot. But lately—" Lydia paused, not able to finish the thought. She began to ponder what would happen next. "My father is on the way, Michael. He'll tell me I've had my little adventure, and now it's time to go home."
He looked at her pensively. Lydia knew what he was thinking.
"Of course, I have my passport," she said. "I never travel without it."
"Nor do I," he replied. "What we really need is transportation. I think it's time I put through a call to my boss in England."
Thirty minutes later, the sheriff arrived to find two FBI men outside his station. They all went inside and found a note tacked to the wall by his desk.
Please forward to Tomas Jones, FBI.
Braun headed to meet with unknown ship making port in Guam on July 27, 09:00 a.m.
See you there.
Michael Thatcher, Pain in Ass.