Page List


Font:  

CHAPTER 36

GOLDFISH POINT,

LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA

“MYSTERIES HAVE BEEN SOLVED AND ENIGMAS FATHOMED,” SELMA announced, walking into the workroom with Pete and Wendy trailing.

Still on Madagascar time, Sam and Remi sat at the worktable, each nursing a double espresso. As before, they’d slept through most of the transatlantic flight home, but still they were exhausted.

After jumping from the bridge onto the paddle-wheel steamer they decided to simply act the part of tourists and, after cleaning themselves up as best they could, strolled the decks and took in the scenery with their fellow passengers. Not only did no one ask to see their tickets, but they were served cocktails and a supper by white-coated stewards in the main salon. After having spent the day crawling through caves, wrangling crocodiles, fighting rebels, dodging falling boulders, and being chased through the Madagascar countryside, Sam and Remi relished the chance to simply sit and be pampered.

Two hours after they jumped aboard, the steamer docked at a pier jutting from a forested peninsula. Sam and Remi disembarked with everyone else and walked through a stone archway onto a well-groomed gravel path. At the end of this they found a four-story mansion whose architectural style landed somewhere between antebellum plantation house and French country. A post-mounted plaque read HÔTEL HERMITAGE.

Dumbfounded at finding such a place in the middle of the Madagascan wilds, Sam and Remi lingered as the rest of the ferry’s passengers proceeded through the pergola-covered lobby entrance.

Behind them a female voice said in flawless French, “Welcome to the Hôtel Hermitage.”

Sam and Remi turned to see a smiling black woman in a blue skirt and a crisp white blouse standing before them.

Remi said, “Parlez-vous anglais?”

“Of course, madam. Can I be of assistance?”

Sam said, “It seems we’ve gotten separated from our tour group. Might you be able to arrange transportation for us back to Tsiafahy?”

The woman smiled. “Bien sûr.”

An hour later they arrived in Tsiafahy. One call to Selma took them to a private hostel for the evening, and the next morning they were on a charter flight to Maputo, Mozambique.

NOW SELMA TOOK a stool beside them. “You two look tired.”

Sam said, “Perhaps we didn’t properly regale you with

the details of our Madagascan adventure.”

Selma nodded and waved her hand. “Crocodiles, rebels, boulders . . . Yes, I remember. Meanwhile, we’ve been hard at work unraveling the unravel-able.”

“That’s not a word. Did we mention the bridge we—”

Remi intervened: “Selma, you have our full, if not fully animated, attention.”

“Good. First things first: We sent your samples from the outrigger to the lab in Point Loma. We should have results in a couple of days. Remi, as you requested, I e-mailed your pictures of the outrigger and a scan of the Orizaga Codex to Professor Dydell. He said he’ll have some preliminary thoughts sometime tomorrow.”

Remi saw Sam’s questioning expression and said, “Stan Dydell. My anthropology teacher at Boston College. Selma, did you—”

“I didn’t give him any details. I simply said you wanted him to do a cursory examination. Moving on to the mysterious Mr. Blaylock,” Selma continued, “Pete and Wendy and myself—”

“Mostly us,” Wendy said.

“—have read through most of Blaylock’s letters to Ophelia’s sister, Constance. Miss Cynthia was wrong: We think there was love between Blaylock and Constance—more on her part than his, though.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The first couple of letters Blaylock mailed from Africa were mostly travelogue. Blaylock is affectionate in a restrained way. He mentions that he wishes he could reciprocate Constance’s feelings but that he was”—Selma consulted the legal pad before her—“‘Afraid my grief over my dear Ophelia would turn to heartrending guilt.’ He talks a lot about his early days in Bagamoyo and even mentions ‘my mission’ several times but doesn’t go into detail.”

“Or so we thought,” Pete added.

“Right. After the initial ones, we noticed that each of Blaylock’s letters contained random dots beneath characters within the text.”


Tags: Clive Cussler Fargo Adventures Thriller