London Bridges

The captain and his mate showed us how to hoist a sail with a block and tackle, and soon we had caught a breeze with a loud whoosh and the rhythmic smack of waves against the hull. What an afternoon it was. Gazing up at a sixty-foot mast made from a single log shipped all the way from Oregon. The smells of salt air, linseed oil, residual oystershells. The closeness of my two eldest children, the look of trust and love in their eyes. Most of the time, anyway.

We passed stands of pine woods, open fields where tenant farmers raised corn and soybean, and great white-columned estates that had once been plantations. I almost felt as if I were back in another century and it was a good break, much needed R amp; R. Only a couple of times did I drift into thoughts of police work, but I quickly pulled myself back.

I half listened as the captain explained that "only boats under sail" can dredge for oysters-except twice a week, when engine-powered yawls were allowed on the bay. I suspected that it was a clever conservation ploy to make the watermen work hard for their oysters; otherwise, the supply might run out.

What a fine day-as the boat heeled to starboard, the boom swung out, the mainsail and jib filled the air with a loud smack, and Ja

"Best day of my life," Ja

"Same here," I said. "And I'm not exaggerating at all."

Chapter 91

When we got home early that evening I saw a scuffed-up white van parked in front of the house. I recognized the bright green logo on the door: HOMECARE HEALTH PROJECT. What was this? Why was Dr. Coles there?

Suddenly I was nervous that something had happened to Nana while I was out with the kids. The fragile state of her health had been on my mind more and more lately; the reality that she was in her mid-eighties now, though she wouldn't tell exactly how old she was, or rather, she lied about it. I hurried out of the car and up the front steps ahead of the kids by a couple of strides.

"I'm in here with Kayla," Nana called as I opened the front door and Damon and Ja

"So who's alarmed?" I asked as I slowed and walked into the living room, saw the two of them "kicking back" on the sofa.

"You were, Mr. Worrywart. You saw the Health truck outside, and what did you think? Sickness," said Nana.

She and Kayla both laughed merrily, and I had to smile, too-at myself. I made a very weak protest. "Never happened."

"Then why did you rush up the front steps like your trousers were on fire? Oh, forget it, Alex," Nana said, and laughed some more.

Then she waved her hand as if to chase away any unwanted negativity in the room. "Come. Sit down with us for a minute or two. Can you spare it? Tell me everything. How was St. Michaels? Has it changed very much?"

"Oh, I suspect that St. Michaels is pretty much the same as it was a hundred years ago."

"Which is a good thing," Nana said. "Thank God for small favors."

I went over and gave Kayla a kiss on the cheek. She had helped Nana when she was sick a while back, and now she stopped in regularly. Actually, I'd known Kayla since we were both growing up in the neighborhood. She was one of us who got out, received an education, and then came back, to give back. The Homecare Health Project brought doctors to the homes of the sick in Southeast. Kayla had started it, and she kept it going with incredibly hard work, including fund-raising, which she mostly did herself.

"You look good," I told her. The words just came out.

"Yes, I lost some weight, Alex," she said, and cocked an eyebrow at me. "It's all this ru

I had noticed. Kayla is close to six feet, but I had never seen her looking so trim and fit, not even when she was a kid. She's always had a sweet, pretty face and a disposition to match.

"It also sets a better example for folks," she said. "Too many people in the neighborhood are overweight. Too many are obese, even a lot of the kids. They think it's in their genes."

Then Kayla laughed. "Plus, I must admit, it has helped my social life, my outlook on things, whatever. Whatever."

"Well, you always look good to me," I said, putting my foot in it again.

Kayla rolled her eyes at Nana. "He lies so easily. He's really good at it." They both laughed again.

"Anyway, thank you for the compliment, Alex," said Kayla. "I'll take it for what it's worth. I don't even consider it too condescending. Oh, you know what I mean."

I decided I'd better change the topic. "So Nana is fine, and going to live to a hundred?"

"I would expect so," Kayla said.

But Nana frowned. "Why do you want to get rid of me so soon?" she asked. "What did I do to deserve that?"

I laughed. "Maybe it's because you're a constant pain in my butt. You know that, don't you?"

"Of course I know it," Nana said. "That's my job in life. My reason for being is to torment you. Don't you know that yet?"

And as she said those words, I finally felt that I was home again, really home, back from the wars. I took Kayla and Nana out to the sunporch and played "An American in Paris" for them. That's what I had been not too long ago, but no more.

About eleven, I walked Kayla outside to her Health van. We stopped and talked for a moment on the front porch.

"Thanks for coming by to see her," I said.

"You don't have to thank me," Kayla said. "I do it because I want to. It just so happens that I love your grandmother. I love her tremendously. She's one of my guiding lights, my mentor. Has been for years."

Then Kayla leaned in very quickly, and she kissed me. She held the kiss for a few seconds. When she pulled away she was laughing. "I've wanted to do that for the longest time."

"And?" I asked, more than slightly surprised at what had just happened.

"Now I've done it, Alex. Interesting."

"Interesting?"

"I have to go. I have to run."

Laughing to herself, Kayla ran out to her van.

Interesting.

Chapter 92

After some much-needed R amp; R I went back to work and found that I was still assigned to the extortion/terrorism case, which apparently now involved chasing down whoever was responsible, whoever had the money. I was told that I was picked because I'm relentless.

In a way, I was glad it wasn't over. I was still in touch with several of my contacts on the case: Martin Lodge in England, Sandy Greenberg with Interpol, Etie

The Wolf, or maybe al Qaeda, or some other clever, homicidal bastards were out there with close to two billion dollars in their coffers. Among other things, three city blocks in Paris had been destroyed. Political prisoners had been released. There had to be some slipup, some way to find them, or at least some way to discover who they were.

My second day back, the analyst Mo

Joe Cahill met me at the door of the house. The former CIA agent was all smiles, just as I remembered him from past meetings about the Wolf. Joe had told me over the phone that he was eager to help the investigation in any way he could. He invited me inside and had coffee and a store-bought crumb cake waiting in his den. The room had views of an outlying pasture, a pond, and the Blue Ridge Mountains off in the distance.