I shouldn’t have taken the damned car.
It stood out as being British aristocracy. If he had been thinking he would have picked a more common American car. Something like a Ford, or a Dodge… which would have blended in with the rest of the local cars. It would have been a good precaution to take. Then again, he hadn’t expected such a show of force at Patterson’s place, and he hadn’t taken into account that Excalibur would simply run…
He input a cell phone number into the Range Rover’s touchscreen and pressed call.
A man answered on the fourth ring.
Jason said, “It’s me.”
Silence.
“Did you hear me, Arthur?”
The man audibly expelled a deep breath.
“I heard you, Excalibur.”
“Good.” Jason glanced to his left as the Pacific Ocean came into view. “Did your men manage to get the key from the old factory’s vault?”
“Yes. My men have it.” Arthur rediscovered his control. “What about you, Excalibur? Did you do your part?”
Jason fixed his eyes on the road ahead. “Patterson’s dead. But the dog got away from me…”
“Really?” Arthur’s voice was incredulous. “How the hell did that happen? You were supposed to be the sharpest weapon nearly a billion dollars of military research and development could produce. So what went wrong?”
“How the fuck do you think it happened?” Jason said, his voice curt and pugnacious. “They did the same damned treatment on the dog, so I’m going to take a wild guess, and say, the dog’s a hell of a lot smarter than you are.”
“All right. All right.” Arthur’s voice softened. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
Jason nodded to himself. “Yeah. I had better find that damned dog or the deal’s off.”
“Good to see we have an understanding.” Arthur’s voice was emphatic, but he didn’t belabor the point. They were both men of action. Mistakes had been made, but the project needed to be finished. “Do you have any idea where the dog would have gone?”
Jason grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Where?”
“A good Samaritan picked up the dog. He’s heading to Portland Oregon in a yellow 1956 Ford Thunderbird. It’s hard to miss. Let the rest of the team know to keep a look out for it.”
“Okay, my men will deal with it.”
“I’m on my way there now. And Arthur…”
“Yes?”
“Don’t fuck this up. You know what’s riding on it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sam Reilly climbed down from the wreck of the Hoshi Maru, leaving the Department of Fish and Wildlife to take over responsibility for removing the vessel from the beach — most likely by towing it back out to sea on the next king tide. He also asked their team of marine biologists, who were in the process of determining if the ship housed an invasive species, to take samples and analyze the DNA located on the only recently used bed on board.
By six p.m. Sam, Guinevere, and Caliburn all returned to the motel. They washed and got changed. Earlier in the day, Guinevere bought a new pair of jeans and an opaline tank top that matched her eyes, and accentuated her figure. They ate dinner from a nearby diner and were back to the motel by seven-thirty.
Guinevere had been mostly silent about their findings on board the Hoshi Maru. Sam wondered if she was taking the loss of her brother hard, but from what he saw, she maintained her generally positive and mischievous persona. She looked good, better than he would be in her circumstance, but maybe she was just better than him at hiding her emotions. He didn’t know and she didn’t want to tell him, so he let her be.
Without anything else to do to kill the time, they headed to the motel’s common room. It had table tennis, a pool table, and an old jukebox. At the back of the room was an old wardrobe with a sign noted, BOARD GAMES.
Guinevere said, “What do you want to play?”
“Sleep. I like sleep.”
“You’re no fun.”
Sam’s lips formed a half-grin. “But I’m happy to play whatever you like.”
“Board games? Or pool?” she asked.
“Either… you choose.”
“Okay, board games it is.” She opened the cupboard. There was only one game inside. She removed the box and handed it to Sam. “It looks like we’re going to be playing SCRABBLE.”
Sam laughed, a coy grin plastered across his face. “Then I’m afraid I’ll have to beat you.”
She arched a delicate eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“I work with a computer whiz who’s a genius. For nearly two years I’ve regularly played SCRABBLE against her. By now I’d say I can beat just about anyone.”
“So you beat your friend then?”
“Elise?” Sam laughed. “No. Two years on and I’ve never come close, but I’m pretty good. Certainly, good enough to kick your butt.”
“What do you want to bet?”
Sam asked, “What’s on offer?”
“How about the motel’s bed?” Before Sam could respond, Guinevere said, “Without me in it by the way.”
Sam suppressed a smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t imply otherwise.”
She met his eye. “Deal?”
“Sure.”
Caliburn sat down and placed his jaw on his paws, taking a rest on the motel’s old wooden floor, his brown eyes watching them as they set up the classic old word game. His eyes, lazily tracked their movements with mild amusement, as though interested in their progress.
Guinevere took the first move.
She licked her lips and played MUZJIKS.
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Hey, MUZJIKS is a word. It means Russian peasant.” She grinned. “As in, the MUZJIKS were starving in the field, while the Tzar was eating a feast in the palace.”
“Who knows that sort of thing?”
Guinevere made a coy smile and added up the score. “Hey, the Z is over the double letter score, that’s a total of 39 points, doubled for being the first word played. That’s seventy-eight…”
Sam steepled his fingers. “Well played.”
She glanced at the dog. “What do you think of that? Seventy-eight points straight off the bat!”
Caliburn gave a short, baritone, bark.
“You’re right, Caliburn. I do get a bonus fifty points for using all my letters! Let’s see, that takes me to one hundred and twenty-eight points!” Guinevere laughed and gave him a firm pat. She took a new set of seven letters, and then looked at Sam. “Your turn. See if you can beat that.”
Sam couldn’t.
He played well and caught up to within fifteen points of her by the end of the game, but never beat her.
Afterward, he asked for a rematch.
She agreed.
This time he won.
Guinevere frowned. “Best out of three?”
“Sure,” Sam replied, happy to keep playing with her.
They drew letters to decide who played first. The rule was that whoever picked the letter closest to A went first. Sam drew an M and Guinevere picked an S, meaning that Sam went first.
He said, “I guess I go first.”
Guinevere replied, “You need all the help you can get.”
Sam glanced at his seven letters.
XOGLDYI
Caliburn barked once. His wail started wagging eagerly.
Sam smiled. “What is it, boy?”
Caliburn nudged the SCRABBLE board and leaned forward on both paws.
Sam said, “Hey, careful with that.”
The dog barked again.
“What is it, boy?” Sam asked, giving him a good pat on his thick mane.
Caliburn nuzzled into him and then locked his eyes on the board game, giving another crisp bark.
Guinevere laughed. “I think he wants to play.”
Sam’s lips curled into a smile of incredulity. “Is that it Caliburn, you want to play SCRABBLE?”