Surprise, Surprise
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"My God, Vampy, I don't know how you keep track of anything in here," Fay sighed in frustration. She picked through one of the many piles of printouts, magazines and unopened envelopes, carefully avoiding a moldering bowl of cereal. "We just got rid of the mice; are you trying to attract roaches now?""think of them as mascots," Seamus answered, not looking up from the glowing screen that illuminated his face. "besides, there is a system. i can find anything i need in under a minute."
"Oh, you mean like last month's phone bill ...?" she teased.
He grimaced. "you have your priorities; i have mine." He leaned in closer to the screen and hastily stabbed at the keyboard. "besides, if i didn't have such excellent - albeit selective - focus, i wouldn't be able to do," he gave one last triumphant stab, "this!"
Fay hustled her way around Seamus' rumpled, unmade futon to stand behind his cluttered desk. It had been merely a month since the feds had paired them to work on the Waterbury case, and in that time, she and her erstwhile Internet pen-pal had developed an interesting working relationship. In so many ways, their minds ran on the same track. But the outward trappings were like night and day. Fay, with regular work hours and a complicated filing system, was the picture of organization. Seamus generally slept all morning, gently snoring on the office futon beside Fay's desk after hacking late into the night.
"What did you do?" she asked, intently.
He leaned back casually. "oh, not much. certainly not as important as paying your phone bill. i just hacked into Waterbury's system. a lot of stuff on there. not that you'd be interested ..." He reached to snap off the computer screen.
"Oh, pup. Don't be pissy. I'll make it up to you ... later. Show me what you've got."
"gladly," he responded salaciously.
"Behave. We have work to do."
"fine. where should we start? he's got everything here. tax records going back 20 years. business plans. drafts of novels ..."
"Doesn't surprise me. Waterbury was one of the first captains of industry to embrace computer technology. He invested early on in converting all his records to computer files. Even back-records. Ironic, really - a publishing mogul whose actions indicate that print truly is dead."
"well, what exactly are we looking for?" "Hard to say. I don't suppose he has anything so obvious as a file entitled Answer to the Sooner Than Never Riddle or Simon Waterbury - My Nefarious Doings.
"no such luck. there is a file for Sooner Than Never, but it's encrypted. i can't get into it -- yet. let's run down the list of directories. maybe something else will leap out at us."
Fay leaned in to look at the list:
awg
"well, this ought to be fun. what do you think? 'irs' - not of interest to us ... for now. 'bus plans' - business plans? 'notes' is a little vague. i say we check there last. ditto for 'mtgs.'"
"The ones that interest me are 'awg' and 'lw clips.'" Fay furrowed her brow. "I'm guessing 'lw' may refer to Lily Waterbury. Not an unpromising place to start."
"good enough for me." Seamus opened the directory. "take your pick, young missy. choose a doc." Fay scanned the list of files.
"Wait!" She waved at the screen, nearly toppling a half-empty box of Apple Jacks. Bnnermn, the file read. "Start there."
"your wish, she's-a my command."
***
The first thing he noticed was that the room was swirling. Not an unpleasant sensation, really. Swirling and rolling on gentle waves of air.
Slowly, a gentle buzz took over as the swirling gradually resolved itself into an insistent vibration located in the center of his brain. The focus shifted, and the feeling concentrated itself still further, turning to a dull, throbbing pain in the back of his head.
Ouch, Mike thought.
Without opening his eyes, he raised his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. They were cemented with a viscous glue. He cracked them open and winced at the half-light surrounding him.
I'm naked, he slowly realized. Why am I naked? His eyes scanned around the room. Empty liquor bottles littered the dresser. The night table was coated with a fine dust. A brassiere was hanging from the lamp. Spike heels by the bed. Mike turned his head and looked beside him. There was Brant, unconscious, handcuffed to the bedstead.
And the shower was running.
Mike's mind raced. All he could recall was ashes. "Dust is to dust," he uttered aloud, startled by the sound of his own voice.
A funeral. Whose? A nighttime sojourn. Pennsylvania.
But where was he now?
His hand went to the back of his head, where the pain originated. A lump, some scabbing. A blow to the head. Mike sat up and examined the rest of his body. Some bruises. A welt on his forearm. And some strange marks on the inside of his elbow. Injections?
The shower stopped. Mike froze as the bathroom door opened.
"Oh, hi, honey. I was wondering when you and your friend would wake up." Mike grabbed for the tangled bedsheet and hastily wrapped it around his midsection. The brassy blond smiled broadly. "Oh, so now we're modest? Some party last night, eh? I'm surprised we weren't busted. You two certainly make enough noise." She leaned forward in a conspiratorial whisper, "Not your first time, huh?"
She reached into the bathroom and pulled out a white towel. It was monogrammed "Boardwalk Inn." She wrapped the towel tightly around herself and sauntered to the bed. "How's your buddy?" She stroked Brant's hair. "I wanted to set him loose last night, but he said he wanted to sleep in the cuffs. Weird, but I've had coked-up johns ask for stranger things."
She pulled some small aluminum keys from a shiny black bag on the nightstand and unlocked the cuffs. She turned away from Mike and started to towel off. "Well, I'd better get moving." She pulled on red halter and tight leather skirt, and collected other bits of clothing and props from around room.
"Wait!" Mike reached after her as she opened the motel door. Light streamed in, blinding him.
"Well, aren't we the eager beaver," the blond smiled back at him. "Sorry, honey. I had fun, but now I've gotta run. Other clients, you know. A girl's gotta eat." She slipped on her spike heels. "Oh, that reminds me. Thanks for the tip. Pretty generous, big spender. I like a satisfied customer. If you want to party again, you know where to find me."
The door closed behind her with a thud.
"Wait!" Mike called after her. He struggled to his feet, fighting the heavy air around him. Moving through syrup, he thought. Stumbling to the motel door, he clawed at the handle. Finally, it gave with a click and a turn, and he leaned out, hanging on the doorjamb. "Stop!" he yelled after the figure retreating down the corridor and into the parking lot. "Who are you?"
Mike felt the world spin again, and he doubled over across the entrance way, his mouth filling with bile.
At the opposite end of the corridor, a stylish man in Armani slid back around the corner, avoiding Mike's line of vision. He was smiling.
***
"file open." Seamus looked up at Fay. "what do you make of it?"
"They're press clippings. A virtual scrapbook. I guess it's a remembrance book of Lily."
"and bnnrmn?"
Fay leaned in closer. "Oh," she whispered. "Their wedding. That's where they were married!"
A grainy black-and-white pic, almost indistinguishable, dominated the first page. Fay slowly made out the outline of a turret against the sky. In the foreground, a grayish blur resolved itself into the vague shape of a group of celebrants. Just beneath, a small vessel floated, moored to a grainy shoreline.
The caption read: Simon Waterbury and his new wife Lily, with well-wishers.
The accompanying story filled in the blanks:
Simon Waterbury, king of the publishing world and darling of the glittering Manhattan jet set, finally tied the knot last Saturday in a ceremony on Bannerman Island, an historical Hudson River landmark. Known for years as the most eligible bachelor in New York, Waterbury dodged many a marital bullet before succumbing to the charms of a fresh-faced Nebraska girl, Lily Baker. Waterbury and his young bride met at a charity function a little over one year ago and announced their engagement three months later. With some 20 years between them, they were seen as an unlikely pair and many claimed they would never to make it down the aisle.
While many a Manhattan dowager and many a high society deb has reason to lament the unlikely nuptials, Waterbury himself seemed blissful at the ceremony. Welcoming friends and press alike, the publishing magnate exhibited a free hand, lavishly serving one and all with imported champagne and Cuban cigars.
The ceremony began at 11:00am with a trimphal river convoy to the island. Guests were ferried to the island aboard lavish gondolas as Puccini's aria "O mio babbino caro" played soothingly in the background. Early arrivals supped on a feast of pheasant pat<é>, chocolate dipped strawberries and assorted delicacies and enjoyed the crisp air of early fall.
Waterbury joined his guests minutes before noon, floating downstream to the island on a gold-plated barge. Dressed as a Scottish Lord, Waterbury carried a decorative spear and shield, representing (his publicist reported) his war-like feats in the world of industry. He was quickly followed by his bride-to-be. Carried aboard a gleaming white gondola, young Lily reclined on sumptuous lace-trimmed satin and voluminous pillows of shimmering silver crepe.
A lengthy ceremony followed, featuring sacred texts from the Judeo-Christian, Hindu, Shinto and Buddhist faiths, all read in their native tongues. The crumbling edifice of Bannerman Castle provided a haunting backdrop to the festivities - one that seemed to inspire a striking degree of revelry among the guests, as well as the host himself. Local police were concerned for the safety of the celebrants who explored all parts of the crumbling structure. This reporter noted a certain hesitancy in the bride's participation, as she wearied early and retired to the shore by 10:00. Her new husband, notably, remained with his guests until dawn the next morning.
"That's rotten," Fay said upon completing the article. "He ditched her on their wedding night?"
"sounds like she ditched him."
"No -- you expect to leave your wedding reception early. You assume your husband wants ... quality time with you. Old Simon should've taken the hint."
"maybe he had better things to do. or better people."
"Don't be crude. It's interesting, anyway. We should get this info to Will and Laura. At the very least, it tells us that there is some kind of plan behind the treasure hunt. It's not just random locations. They seem to have something to do with his life."
"or maybe, more specifically -- his life with Lily."
***
Will glanced around the auditorium. Blank, slightly hostile faces stared back. He was sorry they had agreed to this. We should be keeping our findings secret, he thought. But no one listens to me. If we lose the treasure, it won't be my fault.
He glanced over to Laura, who was grinning nervously. "Let's just get in, say as little as we can, and get out of there," she told him in the cell. Local authorities weren't going to let them go until they shared the latest clue. It's for the protection of the Bannerman structure and the other treasure hunters.
"You don't seem so worried about the protection of me!" Professor Hattamari had whined. He sat beside Will, still nursing his sprained elbow. Mr. Yemeshigi sat by his side, stony-faced.
Will still didn't know why Hattamari and Yemeshigi were on the hunt. They clearly were forced together. The entire 10 hours they spent crammed in the tiny holding cell, the two men alternated between ignoring each other and shouting in sharp, punctuated bursts. When asked about their stake in the contest, Mr. Yemeshigi made convoluted and incoherent statements about his orders, while Professor Hattamari smiled blankly, feigning non-comprehension.
But Will had his suspicions. There's more to this. They're working with Takamoto. They're up to something. Something no good.
He sighed. Laura was probably right. Keep it simple. Keep it perky. Come off as enthusiastic 20-somethings with boundless energy and a sense of fun. Nobody would suspect how much more was at stake.
And besides, Will thought, there's no way to keep our every move a secret. People across the country shadowed them every step of the way. Giving an interview might at least get them out of their hair.
Across the stage, David Nimoy made some last arrangements with the camera and sound crews. Will hoped having David as their anchor would control the damage. But he couldn't be sure.
David stepped to the center of the stage and turned to the audience for the warm-up. "Hello, everyone. I'm David Nimoy, and I'd like to welcome you to the local taping of E!: Hot Headlines! I know you're all excited to get your questions answered, but we need to keep our comments polite and considerate. Everyone will get a chance speak who wants to. We can't guarantee you'll all get to be on t.v., but we can promise a lot of fun and a lot of information. And isn't that what we all came for?"
His enthusiastic build-up was answered by dead silence. Finally, it was broken by a coarse voice from the back.
"When the hell are you jackasses going to start?"
David froze. This was not what he expected. Happy treasure seekers. A lucky break for all. The front-runners were giving away their edge. But these people ... they looked like they had been cheated of something. Like he owed them something. He didn't like this one bit.
Forcing a laugh, David tried to recoup. "Alright, alright. That's enough of that." He turned on his comforting grin. "We'll get going in just a moment."
He ran to his producer, exchanged a few hurried comments, and then returned to the center of the stage. Casting a comforting smile to Will and Laura, he signaled the camera and began.
"I'm here live from the Hudson River Valley, hot on the trail of the Sooner Than Never treasure. Just last week, the two front-running teams made a break at the local landmark Bannerman Castle. In the interest of public safety and fair play, they've graciously agreed to share their lead with us. So let's welcome Will Gilbert and Laura Dial," he gestured to the couple, "And Matsura Mako and Bill Sutsumo."
Will nudged Laura and raised an inquisitive eyebrow when David announced their companions pseudonyms.
"But before we get into the details of the latest clue, why don't you folks tell us how exactly you managed to get aboard Bannerman Island. It's well known that the river is rough, even unnavigable around the island, and even experience kayakers ..."
"WHO CARES ABOUT THAT!!!" a woman's voice chimed in from the audience. "WE WANT THE CLUE!!"
David put on his most soothing tone. "There, there. We'll get to the clue soon enough. But first, let's get a little more ..."
"NO!" chimed in a teenager in the front row. "We don't give a flying fuck how they got there. Give us the clue!!"
David glanced nervously over to his producer, a slick, neatly coiffed woman in her early 40s. She waved her assent.
"Alright then!" David switched gears. "Why don't you folks," he turned to the center of the stage, "Let us know what you found?"
Will and Laura looked to Yemeshigi and Hattamari, who remained resolutely silent.
"Well," Will started, "The four of us met accidentally in the castle. There was a bit of an accident ..."
"GET TO THE CLUE!!" an old woman of 80 hollered, standing on her chair.
"... and," Will quickly changed gears, "We tripped a switch. 'The Chimney Sweep Song" from Mary Poppins played and the room was filled with popcorn."
He stopped, expectantly. The room was silent.
"What the hell does that mean?" the octogenarian snarled.
"I ... don't ... know," Will said slowly. Suddenly, the room erupted. Chairs flew across the stage. People stomped; people shouted. The main camera was pushed over. The octogenarian stomped up and down, shouting, "They've done it again! They've cheated us again!!"
Will felt himself being carried from his chair. He glanced to his left and saw David by his side, pulling him out an emergency exit.
"You and Laura need to get OUT of here!"
Will nodded, grabbed Laura's arm, and ran headlong into the night.
***
A ball of sweat, forming just beside the hairline. Heavy and round, it began to slide down the side of her face.
Nina hated sweat. She hated Chad. She hated Leia. And she regretted she had ever brought the two together. But now that she was in, there was no getting out.
Crouching in the hallway beside Chad, she startled at a sound. The rustle of feet on carpet. No! she thought. The indignity, being caught during a break-in. Vesper would love that. She would be arrested. She would be ruined. And for what? Petty revenge.
Ah, Nina thought, But this revenge would be sweet. She would get the information she needed -- and she would topple Vesper Shillington. And rub her nose in it to boot. Her with her pretensions to fashion and presumptions of importance. Why Waterbury hadn't fired her long ago, she'd never know.
Nina peered down the darkened hallway leading to Vesper's front door. It was only Leia, carrying a crowbar and some rope. Nina exhaled lazily and turned back to the crazed bald man beside her.
"Are you sure Shilah's not there?"
"Always sure. Shilah goes to bingo every Wednesday. Every Wednesday. Every Wednesday."
Nina rolled her eyes. One of Chad's latest 'eccentricities' was that the thrice-fold repetition of every phrase he deemed important. Every phrase. Every phrase. Every phrase.
Nina thought she would go mad.
Chad suddenly sighed loudly and settled back on his haunches, seemingly relieved.
"What was that?" Nina asked, as Leia joined them by the door.
"It's open. I got it open. It's open. And I had an accident."
Nina jumped to her feet while the spreading pool darkened the carpet around Chad.
"Oooh, it's so disgusting," Leia cooed to Nina, shaking her carefully manicured finger tips before her. "But maybe no one will notice."
Nina grimly pushed past Leia and tried the knob. Beneath her rubber gloves, she felt it turn and click. Open. First step. But so much more to do. She pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Be sure to tune in on
Thursday, October 21,
for the saucy and ribald
Chapter 38
of
THE WEBSERIAL
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