Toad Hall - Quebec Province
“So come out of the cold, dears,” Ruth Rosenbaum said, smiling. She stood silhouetted in the doorway, arms outstretched. Tall, dark haired and slender, Ruth was still more than pretty in late middle age. But her intelligent face and ice blue eyes betrayed a sense of crisis barely under control.
“Trouble, Ruth?” Hugh grinned as he stepped over the threshold. “Don’t try to deny it. I can see it in your face.”
“Lew! Get in here. The sight of Hugh’s face does that to me every time.”
“Invokes panic, right?” Lew cracked.
Ruth chuckled, hugging Hugh; then she turned to Lew.
“Careful, Ruth,” Hugh warned. “The spy is injured.”
“Lew is what? Lew Springer! You hurt yourself shaving your mustache?”
Grinning, Lew stepped inside and gave Ruth a crushing hug with his good arm. “Necessity of disguise,” he said.
“Some disguise,” Ruth said, holding the large man by his lapels. “It is true, then, you are actually injured?”
“Stitched up in my shoulder and my leg, ma’am.”
A clot of wet snow clung to Springer’s back, having fallen from the narrow porch roof. “Okay, big guy. I guess it was your turn after Hugh’s last operation.” Ruth said.
“What operation?” Hugh asked.
“You know, the one where you had your conscience removed.”
“That was just chemotherapy following brain damage.”
“He had no conscience to begin with!” Springer snorted.
“I stand corrected. Inside, both of you.” Ruth stepped aside, brushing the snow from Springer’s back. “There are refreshments in the den,” she added. “And somebody else who just came in from the cold.”
“Isn’t that sociopath, McCahan, there yet? And where is my man, Springer?” Jack Falstaff’s voice was booming from a speaker.
“You never call. You never write,” Springer shouted back.
“I learned all my manners from you!” Hugh shouted.
“Lew Springer! You are there. And my best student, Hugh, as well! Be still my heart!”
“Where in the bloody hell are you hiding, Jack?” Springer looked around the entryway for the speaker.
“I’m playing with Finnegan’s new toy,” Falstaff replied.
“Don’t break it!” Hugh said.
“I’ll leave you two in Ruth’s gentle hands, then. I must tend to business. See you boys at dinner.”
As the outer doors smacked shut, Springer shook off his parka, taking care with his sore shoulder. “How long has it been since you and Finnegan have been able to use this place?” he asked Ruth.
“Since Thanksgiving last year. We make it twice a year at the most. If we’re lucky.”
“So what is the trouble?” Hugh pressed.
Ruth just shook her head and led the two men down a carpeted hallway. “Finnegan burned the roast.”
Hugh harrumphed at that; then he paused while Lew studied a painting of a Manhattan scene on the wall. “Somethin’ is up, Hugh,” Lew whispered as Ruth looked back at the two.
“Come on gentlemen! ‘Wheels’ will show you to the den.” Ruth pointed to her “KPU” – Wheels. The squat household robot, Ruth’s Kay Pee Unit, waiting next to her, was configured as a rolling tray-table. “I need to make some calls.”
“So how can we help?” Hugh asked.
“Just act like the guests that you are.” Ruth said over her shoulder, retreating to the other end of the lodge. “The former Australian PM was napping when I last checked. She’ll be out presently.”
“Ruth, really, what is going on?” Hugh asked.
“We’re making evil plans,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Now your job is to make yourselves at home and stay out of the way. Finnegan is still talking to Robertson about some new security concerns. We’re trying to work the problem from here. And if Jack Falstaff ever comes in from the…garage…he’ll join you for drinks and explain the whole situation.”
“Can I help at all?” Hugh offered.
“Give it a rest. You two stay out of trouble. Off to the den, okay?”
“Okay, okay,” Hugh replied with mock weariness. He patted the Kay Pee Unit on its cowling.
“What do we have to do to get a cup of Irish coffee?”
“In the home of Finnegan J. Gael, you ask?” the robot replied. “Follow this happy serving unit, sirs, and Wheels will take care of you.”
After the two men left the anteroom, Finnegan Gael emerged from the back and hugged Ruth.
“How is Mother Liz doing?” Ruth asked.
“Still sound asleep.”
“What did Jay have to say?” Ruth asked.
“He is in complete agreement with Jack Falstaff, damn it. There are some unidentified assets nearby, just hovering, like Dobermans on a leash. We need to be ready to evacuate.”
“Where exactly are they?”
“Somewhere in Quebec.”
“Wonderful. So we are to get out of here posthaste?”
“We can’t just call this off and send everyone home. Not in this weather.”
Out of earshot of that conversation, Wheels was leading Springer and McCahan to a den. It was all leather and pine, a “man’s room” Hugh might have thought had he not known Ruth’s taste. The centerpiece was a pyre of burning hardwood logs, resting in a circular stone fireplace that rose a meter from the floor. The fire noisily discharged into a bell shaped copper alloy flu that converted the flame and smoke into a system of heat exchangers and scrubbers installed out of sight above the four meter high ceiling.
Hugh stopped, staring in admiration. “According to Jay Robertson, not a trace of smoke, not a detectable trace of excess heat betrays this building to the outside world.”
Lew walked over to a giant spruce tree, decorated with twinkling red, green, and white lights, old fashioned tinsel and delicately etched, antique glass balls, dominating the far wall. Behind the tree, between the partly opened curtains and framed in a leaded glass window, several long icicles glimmered faintly as the warm interior light leaked outside.
Hugh joined Springer at the tree while Wheels waited near the fireplace.
“That was two Irish coffees,” Lew said.
“Right away,” Wheels replied.
On top of a pile of brightly wrapped presents, a small box bore a bright blue tag. Lew turned it over in his hand. In Rachel’s handwriting, it read:
“To Finnegan, my favorite pagan:
Happy Hanukah.
I love you. Ru…”
“Have you actually met Dr. Delaney?” Springer asked Hugh.
“Not yet. Finnegan only told me that an expert by the name Sam Delaney, a physician-biologist with an unusual research background, has been working for him as a private consultant on various projects for about a year. And that Delaney has also worked for Jack Falstaff.”
“Really.”
“Evidently Falstaff first recruited Dr. Delaney from the US National Security Agency when the professor was doing some government contract work for them while on sabbatical from Columbia.”
“So why is Dr. Delaney here?” Lew asked.
“And you? And me?” Hugh asked rhetorically.
“The Antarctic anomaly, the missiles, Warehouse 25, Prime Minister Liz Hoopes… All to be tied together with a bright ribbon.”
“Speaking of Mother Liz,” Hugh said. “Where has the Prime Minster been hiding?”
“Not from us I hope. Hugh, I think I’ll to poke around a bit. Keep my drink warm.”
While Lew was gone, Hugh noticed a long parson’s table wedged behind an easy chair in front of the fireplace. A pile of folders and papers on the table seemed to have been recently disturbed. Hugh walked over and began browsing. Eventually, he began organizing several of the files and periodicals into neat piles. Then he noticed a research paper stamped with the Gael-Falstaff Enterprises logo, the signature, S. Delaney, and the data source. Stamped across the top of the file was the word “SECRET” in bold red type.
“Your Irish coffees are ready in the kitchen,” Wheels said. Its voice was now a husky contralto disconcertingly like Ruth’s. The serving robot vanished through an exit on the other side of the fire. Hugh tossed the two damp parkas on a stool near the fire, pulled the first file that had interested him and sank into the worn leather easy chair.
“Preliminary Analysis of Warehouse 25 Archive (McCahan/Springer; 12/13); S. Delaney.” My, my, was this is fast, Hugh thought…the data were just transmitted. He looked up. Wheels had returned with a tray containing crackers, Canadian cheddar and two steaming mugs.
“Where is the other gentleman?”
“You can leave his drink right here.”
“Very good. Dr. Delaney will be out in a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” Hugh said absently, lifting the mugs from the tray. As the robot exited the room again, he thought he caught a flicker of movement from behind the fire, but his attention remained fixed on the file in his lap.
When McCahan finally looked up, his hand jerked involuntarily, spilling hot Irish coffee on his leg. A very large representative of the great cat family stood between Hugh and the fireplace. The cheetah cocked its sleek head, regarding Hugh with predatory interest.
“Jesus!” Hugh McCahan sputtered. The cheetah was standing so close that Hugh could feel the cat’s breath on his face. Alarm and curiosity hung in delicate equipoise. Then he noticed the characteristic type two markings on the cheetah’s flanks. Genetic-enhanced cat. Pet. Safe. Hugh suppressed the “alarm” impulse. “So…smell blood, do you?” Hugh took an unnaturally large sip of his remaining Irish coffee.
Apparently satisfied, the big cat then rearranged itself at Hugh’s feet, and began purring in harmony with the thrum of the copper flu over the fireplace. McCahan twitched; then he carefully patted the big cat on its neck.
Finally, he took a deep breath and resumed perusing the folders, leafing through preliminary background information, until he arrived at an appended five-page analysis. It was also by Dr. Delaney and subtitled, “The Antarctic Correlation: Suppressed Intelligence Report 2435”.
“I see Schrödinger has found you.” Hugh looked up. A striking woman, probably in her late thirties, with intelligent features, sandy hair and penetrating green eyes stood next to the cheetah, scratching it behind one ear.
“You don’t need get up,” she said, smiling. “I’m Samantha Delaney,” she added, holding out her hand.
Hugh McCahan took the woman’s hand, briefly puzzled. “Hello…” he said. “Schrödinger, of course…the cat…It’s been a long day. I had just gotten to your analysis. I’m Hugh, Hugh McCahan,” he said, releasing Samantha’s slim hand.
“Ah, you are the ‘source,’” she said.
“Our firm, at least. My partner, Lew Springer, did the heavy lifting. Have you met?”
“Only by reputation…” Samantha Delaney smiled warmly. “My friends call me Sam.”
“Sam” leaned lightly against the rock fireplace and brushed a loose strand of hair from her high forehead. She was medium height and well proportioned. She wore old jeans and a loose fitting white turtleneck. Sam Delaney had one of those rare faces that violated conventional notions of classic female beauty while inviting an immediate redefinition of standards.
“Sam…” Hugh said, immediately drawn to this woman. Her green, candid eyes glowed with amused interest, a characteristic that seemed to reflect her basic sense of life. Then her expression abruptly grew more serious.
“I overheard Ruth talking to Finnegan before you arrived. Your ‘consulting’ business is suddenly under investigation. Search warrants, the whole thing. Your partner, Springer, is a wanted man for…um…information acquisition.”
“Burglary. We don’t do euphemisms.”
“Of course: Burglary.” Sam smiled. “Is he okay?”
“He’s a bundle of stitches.”
“Blimey, I may be stitched up, but I’m not deaf,” Springer shouted.
Hugh grinned. “Well, get back in here then Lew,” he shouted back.
“Reportedly, the warehouse you ‘visited’ was torched immediately,” Sam added. “I guess they figured out that you can’t get data from ashes.”
“Am I charged with arson?” Springer’s voice was closer.
“They don’t have any real evidence, yet,” Sam said. “The police just want to talk to you.”
“Well they can’t talk to me,” Springer said reentering the den. “And Ruth is too busy to give me any answers. Meanwhile, Finnegan Gael seems to be hiding somewhere in this labyrinthine place that even I can’t find. So where is this mug of mine, Hugh?”
Hugh picked it Springer’s coffee and handed it him. “Dr. Delaney,” Springer said, nodding.
Sam winked. “I am…and pleased to meet you. She dropped to her knees in front of the big cat and began rubbing his neck. “Ruth said you’re fond of large dogs.”
“I think Hugh still is,” Springer said. He moved next to the fireplace, cradling his mug in both hands. “But I’ve cooled on the subject. I don’t think I would prefer large cats, either,” he said, looking down at the Cheetah. “…A lot of bacteria in the bite. No offense, ma’am.”
“None taken,” Sam said, smiling. Hugh was rubbing the cheetah under the neck and Schrödinger was purring loudly. “Schröd can be pretty formidable,” Sam said, “when he’s not with friends.”
“I hope you briefed him before today,” Springer said.
“That’s right. I told him that Hugh McCahan and Lew Springer are friendlies. No eating the retired Australian PM either.”
“Thank you,” Hugh said.
“Did I just hear talk about political cannibalism?” Ruth had returned, seeming more at ease. She smiled.
“Is it cannibalism if a large cat does the eating?” Hugh asked with a wink.
“It is, if the cat is Schrödinger,” Sam said. “He thinks he’s a person. Don’t you Schröd?” She chucked the large cat lightly under the chin.
“We have another guest,” Ruth said, turning.
“That would be me.” The three turned to face an elderly woman with an imposing glower.
“Former Australian Prime Minister Elizabeth Hoopes is with us at last,” Springer said. “Hello Mother Liz.”
“Why Lewis Thornton Springer, what happened to that magnificent mustache?” Liz Hoopes’ glower turned into a radiant smile.
“I am re-growing it as we speak, ma’am. This is Dr. Samantha Delaney and my partner in crime, Hugh McCahan.”
Mother Liz nodded. “I so admire risk-takers.”
“All life is risk.” The voice was Finnegan Gael’s brassy baritone, from the hallway. “Or so Jack Falstaff keeps reminding me.”
At first glance, Gael looked like a man in his late 40’s. He was ruddy and tanned, sturdy of build, almost completely bald, with arctic blue eyes that closely matched Ruth’s. With his close cut white hair over each ear, Hugh thought of Finnegan Gael as a buff, overgrown elf.
“Mother Liz,” he said, kissing the PM on the cheek.
As a couple, Gael and Rosenbaum were almost the same height, although Finnegan Gael’s carriage projected that of a taller man. In conversation, Gael exuded warmth and humor and a pleasant playfulness emerged. Even in his seventies, Finnegan Gael exuded the energy of a teenager.
“Hugh, I see you’ve finally met Samantha…I take it, you probably already asked her for a date. She has no time for romance now that she is working for us, you know.”
“Hey, I’m working for ‘us’ too,” Hugh said. Ruth smiled. “Actually, Dr. Delaney and I were just discussing custody of the cat.”
“And you, Finnegan, are a shameless and brazen…rake,” Samantha added.
“We’d all agree on that,” Ruth said.
“And you, Lew Springer.” Finnegan paused. “Damned good to see you again, my friend…and intact in spite of all.” Gael slapped Springer on the right shoulder.
“I’m so grateful you picked his right shoulder,” Hugh said laughing. “Lew is difficult enough to travel with as it is.”
“The right shoulder? Wasn’t that the one the stitches are in?”
“This is why the man enjoys such a long life,” Springer said.
“Because he’s uninformed?” Hugh asked.
“Because he’s so blimey lucky,” Springer said, chuckling.
“I knew the man was a sadist, right from the start.” It was a robust low voice from just off stage. Jack Falstaff had entered the room. He was a towering bony man, with a pleasant, homely face, and piercing, intelligent, unnaturally gray eyes.
“Finally he arrives,” Ruth said. “Is our taxi ready, Jack?”
“Ready as a bloodhound with the fox in sight. I locked the launch sequence at three minutes.”
Finnegan gave him a nod, as if to say, “good work.” “Jack was readying the “‘family taxi,’” he said. “Just as a precaution.”
Jack Falstaff then shook Prime Minister Hoopes’ hand, smiling warmly. “Mother Liz, I’m so glad you made it safely.” Liz beamed at Jack’s attention. Then he turned to McCahan. “Hugh, good to see you again.” Falstaff held out an oversized hand to McCahan, who returned a friendly pressure. There was a flash of eye contact. Hugh felt he had instantly been subject to a searching appraisal…as he was. “And I am very pleased to hear how you turned out.” Smoothly he caught Dr. Delaney’s eye. “Hello Samantha, are you settled in?” Sam nodded. Then Jack faced Springer, grinning widely. “Lew, you old swaddy - still in the game…and at your advanced age!”
As Springer and Jack Falstaff exchanged handshakes, Springer feigned outrage.
“I’ve been demoted from bloke to an old swaddy?”
Jack chuckled. “Gentlemen, we are looking forward to our discussions after dinner. With Dr. Delaney’s help Finnegan and I have arranged a special presentation based on your recent acquisition.”
“Why not now?” Hugh asked.
“Better for coffee and dessert,” Gael interjected, “because our dinner is now ready in the kitchen.”
Ruth turned to Sam. “Wheels has provided something special for Schrödinger on the back porch.”
Then Gael issued a jovial “Come on gang” and led the way to the dining room.
Sam held back, considering whether to check on Schrödinger. As Jack strode after Gael, Hugh hesitated too. He found himself enjoying his proximity to Dr. Delaney.
“I think I’ll check on Schröd first,” Sam said.
“Mind if I tag along?” Hugh asked.
“I insist,” she replied.
“We’ll be right there!” Hugh had shouted over his shoulder; his full attention was on Samantha.
The back “porch” was a commodious room with windows on all sides and a tiled floor. A full blizzard was still in progress outside, and the room was distinctly chillier than the rest of the lodge. Sam and Hugh managed to stand close to each other as Sam inspected her cat’s meal, which appeared to be dead by as many as five minutes.
“Too rich for him,” Sam said disapprovingly, looking at the fist sized chunks.
“Anybody we know?” Hugh asked.
“Probably Ruth’s dog…”
“Fat chance: more likely Finnegan Gael’s cat.”
“Too big for a cat, Hugh, unless it’s another Cheetah. But enough of this rough and ready humor, Mr. McCahan; I’m famished myself.”