Sam nodded to himself. “All right, keep me posted on the progress. I know the Secretary of Defense and the President have a lot riding on this — not to mention the good people of Portland and the outlying townships — all the way through the coast, down into California and up into Vancouver.”
“No worries. We’ll find it.”
“Good luck.”
Sam checked his cell phone.
There was a message from the mechanic — The T-Bird is fixed and ready to go.
Chapter Thirty-One
Sam settled into the drive along highway 26.
It was long and straight, with a predominant speed of 55 miles an hour — exactly what the old T-Bird was designed to do. Caliburn nestled into Guinevere’s lap, positioning his head half inside and half outside the window.
Guinevere stroked the back of his ears and the dog mewled contentedly. To Sam, she said, “What is it with dogs and car windows?”
Sam shrugged. “What’s not to get? It’s the same reason middle aged men buy cars without roofs… there’s something rejuvenating about the wind blowing across your face.”
“You’re saying dogs and men are the same?”
“No. Probably not…” he turned to face her. “Dogs are better than men in every respect.”
Her lips parted in a smile. “Really?”
“Dogs are infinitely loyal, when you come home they race to greet you, not because they want anything at all from you, but simply because they missed you and have been looking forward to your company…” Sam took a dramatic breath of air and continued. “A dog’s love is permanent, irrespective of any changes you might make along the way. They don’t ask for anything in return. Dogs acknowledge your faults, but are quick to forgive. Dogs are infinitely more capable of love than most humans.”
“Wow…” she laughed. “You really like dogs.”
“Not really. I just think we have a lot to learn from them, that’s all.”
She fixed her jade eyes on him, seriously. “You don’t own a dog?”
Sam took his right hand off the wheel, holding it palm upward. “No. I don’t have time.”
“Time for what, exactly?”
Sam looked at her. His ocean blue eyes, honest, and sincere. “To give the love that all dogs deserve.”
Caliburn tilted his head to look at him. The dog gave an almost inaudible bark.
Guinevere said, “Hey, it looks like you’ve upset Caliburn!”
Sam glanced at the dog. “Not you Caliburn. You’re different.”
Caliburn tilted his head, trying to make sense of what he meant, and then finding little meaning in it, he turned his head and went back to sleep on Guinevere’s lap.
Sam pushed the accelerator down hard and the T-Bird overtook a slow-moving logging truck. In front of it, he took his foot off the gas and settled into a few miles over the speed limit again.
Guinevere said, “What are you going to do with Caliburn?”
Caliburn glanced at him; his big brown eyes regarded him beseechingly, but he remained mute.
Sam said, “I don’t know. We’ll work something out.”
“Will you keep him?”
The dog continued the imploring look.
Guinevere persisted. “Will you?”
Sam sighed. “I don’t know. Like I said before, I don’t have a lot of time to give a dog, even a very human one like Caliburn, enough attention.”
Caliburn mewled.
Sam said, “Sorry, Caliburn. I promise we’ll find you the perfect home.”
Caliburn turned his head away.
Sam looked at Guinevere. “What about you? What are you going to do when you get back to England?”
“I’m not sure. I’d like to follow up on a few things from my past. Also, what we’ve discovered since searching the wreck of the Hoshi Maru has made me more determined to find out what my brother was really involved in.”
Sam said, “Tell me about your brother.”
Guinevere’s gaze drifted toward the Broadleaf Lupines that lined the rolling roadside. The drought-tolerant perennials produced long silvery leaves and spires of blue-violet flowers, which announced the arrival of spring and early summer. Her smile twisted into indecision.
He concentrated on the road, letting her decide in her own time whether or not she wanted to confide in him.
After a few minutes Guinevere said, “Patrick was different than most people. He wasn’t always a good person. He had a dark side, we all do, but for the most part, he chose not to let it control him. But sometimes, the darkness crept in. Do you know what I mean?”
Sam nodded. “I think so. We all have it in us. Good and bad, even the best of people. For the most part, good is in control, but sometimes… when our guard is down, or under the right set of deadly circumstances, the bad can come out.”
“That’s right. Even murderers have some good in them. And some very good people are capable of evil given the… what did you call it?”
“The right set of deadly circumstances?”
“That’s it,” Guinevere said. “The most obvious is in the form of vigilante killings. But often those are mistakes. People being too lazy to control their primal urge for revenge. Sometimes, it’s simply a case of built up pressure. One thing, then another, until the person just snaps and does something evil.”
Sam heard the tension in her solemn voice. “Was that your brother?” Sam asked. “Did he do something evil because of something terrible that happened in your life?”
Guinevere held her breath, still unsure that she could let go and finally confide the truth. “No. My brother was pure evil.”
Sam waited for her to explain. When she didn’t, he said, “But you said he kept the darkness at bay?”
“No. I tried to keep him from embracing the darkness, but it was a battle too great for me.”
“What happened?”
She pursed her lips and sighed. “He joined the army. I convinced him that, if he had to kill people, it might as well be for his country.”
“Where did he serve?”
“Everywhere and nowhere. From what I understand, my brother killed a lot of people all over the world. Bad guys I guess… people that our country told him were bad. But somewhere along the line he got involved in something worse. The killing wasn’t enough.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You think killing bad guys wasn’t enough?”
She nodded. “It’s a definite possibility. I know he got involved in something new and whatever that was, it eventually cost him his life.”
“And you have no idea what he was involved in?”
Guinevere shook her head. “No. He never talked about it. You see, he worked with MI-6 — the British Secret Intelligence Service — they were working on some project.”
“Do you know what that was?”
“No.”
“After he died, did you ever look into it?”
“Yeah. But all I ever found was parts of the name of the project.”
“Do you remember them?”
“Sure, but they didn’t make any sense.”
“Shoot.”
“King Arthur’s Blade.”
“What the hell did MI-6 want with an old Arthurian tale?”
“Beats me.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Did your brother leave you anything when he died?”
“You mean in a will?” Guinevere replied.
“Yeah.”
She pursed her lips, unsure how far to go. “Yeah, he left me the name of a book, and said to look into it if anything ever happened to him.”
“Really. What was the book?”
“Historia Regum Britanniae.”
Sam grinned. “The History of Kings in Britain?”
Guinevere smiled. “That’s right.”
“So did you read the book?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“You’re kidding me!” Sam made a wry smile, filled with incredulity. “Your brother says he’s left a clue about his death, and you don’t bother to read the book?”