The container port was approachable, but there, too, the Coast Guard had some hard-and-fast rules. You had to stay at least a hundred yards away from any ships at the pier, and that no-go line expanded to two hundred yards at night. Any boat operating in the main channel or the approaches to the pier had to give way to any ship maneuvering in that area. That was kind of a no-brainer, with the informal but implacable law of gross tonnage being the enforcement mechanism. Sixty thousand tons versus four thousand pounds was how boats, even unsinkable boats, became debris. The bottom line was clear: The port authorities were nervous, and this was probably a good time to avoid the container port and all its works.
My objective in making this trip was to do it once in daylight before I tried it again at night. The inlet canal provided river water for the steam turbines’ condensers. It ended at a huge grated concrete blockhouse assembly where the cold water was drawn into the maws of the big steam condensers under the power house, some four hundred yards distant. A line of buoys prevented boats from getting close to the actual inlet, more for their own safety than the plant’s. There was visible turbulence around the inlet grates and a baby logjam of river debris plastered against the screens. I saw tinted hemispherical television camera pods on telephone poles around the inlet.
I was wearing jeans, sneakers, a baggy sweatshirt under a light windbreaker, a floppy hat, and oversized sunglasses. The shepherds should have been out of sight of the cameras unless there were some I hadn’t seen yet, and there probably were. But as I made a slow turn at the business end of the canal and headed back toward the river, there didn’t seem to be any reaction from plant security. Nighttime might be a different story. I was careful not to spend too much time staring at the two big green buildings of Helios, where the atomic dragons soaked in their elemental fires. And then my cell phone chirped.
“Richter,” I answered.
“Yes, we know,” a voice replied. It was my new best friend, Colonel Trask.
“So where are you, Colonel?” I asked, as I nudged the boat’s throttle up one notch, heading for the egress.
“I’m in central control,” he said. “My eyes are in that little green fishing boat on your starboard bow.”
I looked, and there was the “fisherman” who’d waved. He was holding binoculars on me, and behind him I saw the TV camera, mounted backward on his windscreen, pointed in my direction as I approached the river.
“I feel safer already,” I said.
“There you go, making assumptions again, Mr. Richter,” he said. “What were you doing at the moonpool this morning?”
“Dr. Quartermain wanted to show me something,” I said, “and I got to meet one of your Russians. Gotta admit, that was a surprise.”
“I’m with you on that one,” he said. “Omnia Russians de-lenda sunt.”
“How’s the visitation going with the NRC?”
“The way it always goes when they get their black hats on, Mr. Richter. Lots of noise and motion, but not much movement. Everyone’s really serious, of course, and very important. I understand you got to watch the wetback marathon last night over across the way.”
“Sure did,” I said. “Lots of noise and all kinds of movement. Including Dr. Quartermain. In fact, one of my mutts helped fish him out of the river.”
“So we heard,” he said. “A good German shepherd is hard to beat. Look-you take a drink of whiskey from time to time?”
“No more than once a day,” I said. I was abeam of the “fisherman,” who was no longer covering me with his binocs. His TV camera, on the other hand, was swiveling just fine, probably under the control of whatever room Trask was in. Only then did I notice that the boat was anchored at both ends.
“There’s a pleasant little watering hole down in Southport, called Harry’s,” he said.
“How original,” I said. I felt the main river current grab the boat’s bow and begin to slide us toward the south bank of the canal. I kicked up the power and veered out toward the main channel.
“Yeah, well, it’s kind of a hangout for various stripes of Helios people. How’s about I buy you a drink, say, around eight thirty or so?”
“I never say no to a free drink,” I said. “Do I have to be on the lookout for Billy the Kid anymore?”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Richter,” he said. “But bring your shepherds.”
“Count on it, Colonel.”
I put a call in to Mary Ellen Goode when I got back to the beach house. This time she answered. She sounded as warm and friendly as ever, but at the same time, a bit reserved.
“Cam,” she said. “I got your message. You’re back?”
“I am indeed,” I said. “Can we get together?”
“Um,” she began. Surprised, I let a small band of silence build.
“The thing is,” she said, “I don’t think that’d be, what’s the word I’m looking for-appropriate?”
“Seemed pretty appropriate the other night at the Hilton,” I said. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed about that, are you?”
“A little,” she said. “I have to confess to using you, in a manner of speaking.”
“Well, damn, woman,” I said, trying to keep it light while hiding my confusion. “If that was using me, you can use me and even abuse me any time you want. C’mon, Mary Ellen, what’s going on?”
“The thing is, I’m getting married in a month.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Yeah,” she said.
“And, lemme see: You were getting married in a month and a week when you came out to see your old buddy from upstate.”
A slight hesitation. “Yes.”
“So what was all that-your bachelorette party?”
“In a way. Well, no, that’s not fair. I just, well, I just wanted to know what it would be like. Edward is a nice guy, but he’s nothing like you. I had to know.”
I couldn’t decide if I should be mad or disappointed. “Know exactly what, Mary Ellen?”
“Cam, that night was incredibly exciting and eminently satisfying. What I had to know was whether or not I was in love with you, and you with me, or just turned on by the fact that you are so very different from all the men I work with and see every day.”
That sounded a bit lame to me. “As in, get it on with the pool boy one last time?”
“No, no, no. Please, don’t be angry, even though you have every right to be. But let me ask you something: Are you in love with me?”
“I hold you in great affection, Mary Ellen,” I said, suddenly the weasel. “You know that.”
“Yes, I do, but do you want to marry me? You want a family? A house in the academic suburbs and some kind of normal, nine-to-five life, one that doesn’t involve gunfights in the dark?”
I sighed. We both knew the answer to that question.
“Right,” she said, and I felt my heart sink, even though I knew she was absolutely right. I’d been married, and I was way past my sell-by date to go there again, even with this lovely woman.
“We smoked some mirrors that night, Mary Ellen,” I said. “You gotta admit, when we were good, we were very good.”
“Stop reminding me, Cam. But the truth is, I want all of those things, and it’s kind of now or never as I see it.”
“I guess I wasn’t really calling about having a drink, was I,” I admitted.
She giggled. “And I appreciate the sentiment,” she said. “Shit. This is hard. I thought all I’d have to do is send you a Dear John and go on with my life. Tell me one more thing.”
“What’s that?” I asked. I thought I knew what she’d want to know, and she did not disappoint.