I didn't believe in omens any more than I believed in coincidence. But, in any case, the morning was clear with nothing more than a thin layer of coastal fog lying well off shore. It promised to be a beautiful day - ideal for the Bay to Breakers ... and other activities.

And my knee - almost miraculously - was feeling better than I could remember. Last night, after dinner, and after I'd finally explained the day's events, Lucille had taken me to her home where she'd prepared a poultice, grinding a mixture of herbs and chopped root in a large iron mortar, then painting the joint with a thin layer of the fragrant paste before wrapping it with an elastic bandage. The poultice had been cool, soothing and arousing ... all at the same time. Or, just maybe, the company had something to do with it.

Because, then, since she already had me immobilized and my pants off ...

Well, Lucille was a very attractive lady ... and my emotional state ...

The truth of the matter was that we'd spent most of the evening just talking ... and cuddling together, sure ... but I was too old to have the sexual libido of a teenager anymore ... and there are other pleasures. And healing takes many forms.

I'd also suggested a vacation in Phoenix ... but I'd been turned down. Gently but turned down none the less.

But, if she'd declined Phoenix, citing engagements and obligations, the possibilities for the future had been left open.

The bandage wouldn't let my knee fold fully. Instead, I appropriated a deck chair, moving it out to the edge of the bluff and relaxed, letting my mind unfold to encompass the soft, off-shore fog, to caress the waves below, to glide with the gulls and pelicans, to dance with the butterflies and bees visiting the blossoms on the lush succulents along the cliff.

I thought about yesterday - the thief who had stolen the wrong package. The punishment was inappropriate ... but that was how the world worked. It wasn't justice - just happenstance.

If there was any guilt, the guilt lay with the person who had prepared the package. I didn't want to put a name to the person - not even in the privacy of my own mind. All doubts had fled, yes, but it was not yet time for haste. There were still matters to arrange.

And it was unlikely - in the extreme - that another attempt would be made.

Still, if there were, if another mysterious package was delivered ... I wished I'd called the police bomb squad yesterday. But hind-sight is always twenty-twenty and we can't change the past. Only the future.

Yesterday, the possibility of a theft had not crossed my mind. It simply wasn't something you expect - particularly not when your mind is concerned with a more drastic problem. Instead - and I wasn't absolutely certain that there would be a bomb - my concern had been to investigate the package.

It might simply have been papers ... an early delivery for me to look over.

Then, when I'd felt the weight ... and smelled the tang of acetic acid ... supposition had changed to fear. At that point, my only concern had been to remove the package and transport it to somewhere safe ... and then to decide what to do with it. What actions to take - such as calling the police and putting up with the subsequent complicated explanations.

Next time - if there were a next time - I'd act differently.

This time was done ... but I could act to prevent a reoccurrence.

Breathing slowly and deeply, I deliberately shut down the analytical portion of my mind - analysis was done, past was past and the future comes at its own pace. Nothing I could do or think could bring future an instant sooner.

Now was now ... a dragonfly landed on my leg - four orange-patterned wings extended from an orange-banded body. A second, slightly smaller dragonfly joined the first, coupling.

A moment later, the pair took flight - still joined in a mating embrace.

A sea gull screeched overhead.

Time slowed.

A bee moved dreamlike across my vision.

Some timeless time later, I returned the deck chair to the porch and went inside to prepare coffee and breakfast.

* * *

Later, while Dan and the Captain cleaned the table, I was on the phone.

"Hola, Caesar. ¿Como esta? ... Bien, gracias. Favor de decirme ..." It took a few minutes to tell Caesar what I wanted. Partly because he was skeptical at first.

"Señor Tambeau," he'd protested, "Un grande hildalgo surely you do not need such a thing? If it is the ladies, I know many lovely señoritas ..."

"No, no," I'd laughed. "Nothing like that. I have found a lady I like very much, yes. But I like her very much awake. No, this is merely a matter of un amigo who needs a long rest. For his own good and others, I assure you."

"¿And how long would you like this friend to rest?"

"¿A week? ¿Ten days perhaps? I think maybe six weeks would be too long."

Caesar chucked briefly. "¿Then you maybe have found something, si?"

"Someone I'd like to send on a sea voyage, si."

"For you, Señor Tambeau, I will see if it can be arranged. I will call you, no?"

"Si," I agreed. "Muchas gracias."

And that was one element arranged.

* * *

"Somehow," Dan was smiling, "I don't think that even in California, repairmen would look appropriate driving a BMW."

"I was thinking of the van," I protested, pulling on the coveralls over slacks and a knit shirt.

"I've got a better solution," Dan countered. "Remember what you were saying about my accountant turned detective? How he should use his contacts in the community as resources?"

I nodded, remembering saying something of the sort.

"Well," Dan continued. "We're picking up a utility truck. A loan from one of my clients - I said we needed to move a couch and some furniture out of storage. Then I invented a grandfather clock that needs to ride upright. Let's take the beemer and pick up the truck." His eyes said that there was something more.

"Should I ask who the client is?" I hazarded a guess.

"Colma Security Systems," Dan grinned.

Captain Donavi and I laughed together.

* * *

The truck was a GM pickup outfitted with built-in tool boxes along both sides of the bed - the kind that stand up on each side, leaving the center of the bed free for other items. Originally white, the body was dinged in a few places, highlighted by an occasional rust spot and softened by dust, sun and weather. The Colma Security logo appeared on both doors. A studio props department couldn't have done a better job.

"This is fine," Dan was assuring his friend. "Perfect. I'll gas it up before bringing it back."

"No problem," the owner replied. "We're running diesel but, if you have trouble finding any, don't sweat it. I can top it off at the yard, Monday. Sure you don't need a hand?"

"Thanks," Dan declined. "I think the three of us can manage. I'll have it back this afternoon."

The Captain and I climbed in from the passenger side, letting Dan take the wheel. The two toolboxes were in the bed. One held the zip drive I'd purchased earlier in the week along with the larger floppy disk. The two smaller ones were in my pocket.

* * *

From the vantage of the freeway, we could see part of the Bay To Breakers - a textured river of heads ... and more than a few costumes ... beginning a westward flow that, for some, would take hours. It looked like the kind of thing - under other circumstances - which would have been fun to watch.

At the moment, we had more important concerns.

Dan tooled the pickup east, across the bridge and into Oakland, retracing the route we'd followed two days before.

Traffic was light and we reached Toland's address quite easily. "Front or back," Dan asked.

"Just park in the driveway," I suggested. "The whole point is to look like we belong. You two start by inspecting the windows - make notes and such - while I open the front door. Then bring the red toolbox when you come in."

"Got it, boss," Dan agreed.

Just as a precaution, I rang the doorbell and waited, listening for movement inside. I had a clipboard - borrowed from the pickup - tucked under my arm.

Everything was silent.

I bent to the lock, using the new picks. A brief moment later, the lock snicked open.

"If you'll bring the tool kit," I called to my associates. "We can get started here." Without waiting for a response, I stepped inside, calling a loud "Hello, Colma Security."

There was no response.

Toland's office was in the back - a large room with a fireplace. What had probably been advertised as the family room when the house was built.

Now, the room had two desks and a set of file cabinets. One of the desks held a computer. The fireplace was flanked by bookshelves.

I went to the computer first - that was the primary objective.

I flipped the power switch, watching while system lit up. The configuration was a standard system, PC-based, no big surprises.

The prompt appeared: "Press Ctrl+Alt+Del to login." I complied with the request.

A window opened, showing the name 'toland' in lower case and a blank space for a password.

I didn't even try to guess. I hit the reset switch and pulled out a floppy disk, slipping it in the drive.

The system ignore my attempt, bringing up the same login request.

I hit the reset again, this time holding the delete key down and bringing up the CMOS settings.

Sure enough, the boot sequence was set to 'C:-A:'. I nudged the Pg Up key until the sequence read 'A:-C:'. Then I hit ESC and saved the new configuration.

This time, the light on the floppy drive came on and, a moment later, the screen was blinking 'A:\' ... just like I wanted. "More than one way to crack a password," I spoke aloud. Toland was paranoid ... but not bright enough.

"We're in then?" Dan asked.

"Like a champ," I agreed. "Let's hook up the zip drive and then you can browse the files. Remember, don't waste time reading them, just grab copies of anything that looks likely."

The zip drive - a package the size of a large-format paperback and less than two inches thick - held an optical diskette capable of recording up to a hundred megabytes of data through a cable attached to the printer port.

The hardest part was simply to decided what files to copy. Later, hooking the same machine up to Dan's computer, the duplicated files could be read at leisure ... and without the hazard of being discovered.

"Looks fine," Dan announced a few minutes later. "Lot of it we can ignore - don't need his system and application files - just the data files." Then, "Here's a subdirectory labeled 'Thorne' - looks like document files."

"Better grab them," I suggested. "Any other authors listed?" I was looking over the bookshelves. There were copies of books by all the authors Toland had represented - neat rows arranged by author.

"No," Dan answered. "Don't see any. Here are financial records - he uses Excel - and some database files - probably Access. I've got both of those. Hey, you know how to read a directory, right?"

"I think so," I agreed. "Why?"

"Why do you think someone would keep a file in the root directory titled 'keys.txt' with the system and hidden flags set?"

"Bad memory?" I guessed, then asked, "Is it?"

"Looks like," Dan confirmed. "Hum, looks like more than that. First entry's probably his password - 'white_ninja' - one word, underscore, no caps. That sound like Toland?"

"Looking at some of these books, yes," I agreed. There were a lot of titles on the shelves which weren't tied to any of Toland's clients - things like 'Race War', 'The Preservation of the Elite', 'Poorman's TNT', 'Guerrilla Methods and TV News' ...These looked better read than the ones on the upper shelves - the ones written by clients.

"What else is in there?" I asked.

"Just a few account numbers and passwords," Dan answered casually. "Nice of him to list the banks and phone numbers as well."

"Very nice indeed," I agreed. "Hey, where's the Captain?" I suddenly realized that he wasn't with us.

"Said he was going to take a look around," Dan answered. "Man, I wish tape backups were this fast!"

"Tapes are cheaper," I reminded him, "but, yeah, these are faster. I'll be back in a moment, want to see what Mikael's doing."

* * *

I found the Captain in the kitchen, looking through an upright freezer.

"Hungry, eh?" I mimicked.

"Eh?" he turned and smiled. "Think maybe you should check on this." He offered me a flat slab wrapped in clinging plastic.

The slab was covered with frost condensing from the air. I peeled the wrappings back. Inside, the material was cold but not entirely frozen ... like it had a freezing temperature lower than the ice box could manage. The texture was hard but ...

I sniffed. The material was too cold for much odor but ...it was faint but there. I wondered what he kept in his spice cabinet. Under peppercorns, maybe?

"Much of it?" I asked.

"Four or five kilos," the Captain answered. "Half kilo slabs, eh?"

I smiled. "Then I guess we could borrow a sample. Chances are he'll never miss it, right?"

The Captain nodded. "I'll just arrange things slightly, eh?"

I restored the wrapping, then slipped the slab in the pocket of my coveralls. It sat like a block of ice against my thigh. Maybe the toolbox would be a better location.

I ripped a couple of pieces of paper towel off the roll over the sink, adding them for insulation.

"You guys hungry or something?" Dan asked from the doorway. "I think I've got all the files we need. We could go somewhere else to eat."

If we stayed and looked around, there were several questions we might find answers for ... but we'd already found at least one ... and, if matters worked out, there'd be plenty of time later for a more detailed examination. Today's venture had never been intended to be more than a hit-and-run - fast in and fast out. "Either we've got enough," I decided, "or there's nothing here to find. Let's pack up and get out."

* * *

It took me longer to relock the door than it had to open it in the first place - I definitely needed to practice ... but I hoped I wasn't going to make a habit of this.

We'd been inside roughly forty minutes. Across the bay, I wondered how far the racers had gotten.

As we drove off, I shucked the coveralls. The day was turning warm.

We were half-way across the bridge when I remembered. I'd forgotten to reset the boot sequence on the computer. I checked my pockets. The floppy disk I'd used was secure. I wondered if Toland would notice? Or if he'd think anything about it if he did?

In any case, it wasn't worth going back again.

Even if he did, what could he figure out from it? That his CMOS had been reset? That can happen by accident even.

And we'd only taken two things: information - which wasn't traceable - and a half-kilo of material which wasn't legal in the first place.

* * *

Back in the city, we found a station selling diesel and filled up before returning. The sun was already warming things nicely as we tossed the coveralls and tool boxes in the trunk of Dan's beemer. "Now what," Dan asked, taking the wheel.

"Hey, you're the detective," I reminded him. "The black bag job's only the fun part - now you have to sort through the booty and tell us if we got anything."

"Lunch first," Dan directed. "Burglary makes me hungry."

* * *

"You said you had some errands to run," Dan suggested. "Why don't you guys get out of my hair for a couple of hours. I'll have an answer or two for you by dinner time, okay?"

"Sure," I'd agreed. "We'll fetch you in time for the services tonight."

The zip drive had been no more trouble to attach to Dan's computer than it had been to Toland's - easier really, since there was not need to change the CMOS or bypass security. Now Dan was sitting at the terminal with three application windows open and happily covering a yellow legal pad with hen scratches.

The Captain and I were only in the way.

The half-kilo brick from Toland's freezer was now resting on a shelf in the garage. Just in case of accident, I'd added a label - 'Do Not Ignite' - but, other than this, no further provisions were necessary. Certainly freezing wasn't.

I'd missed picking up the laptop up yesterday afternoon. That would have to wait until tomorrow. There was no rush.

In the mean time, our first target was a sporting goods store.

* * *

"The two man model," the clerk was explaining, "is perfect for shooting the rapids or just a little fishing. Together with the foot pump, you can inflate it in a few minutes. And, deflated and folded, it fits in your trunk with plenty of room for tackle boxes, a cooler or two and anything else you want. The paddles breakdown.

"Now, if you don't like the foot pump, we have a twelve-volt power pump which you can also use to fix flat tires, inflate air mattresses ..."

I tuned him out in favor of examining the inflated model. Bright yellow, the kayak was fitted with two inflated seats and had a nylon rope running through plastic fittings along both sides - something to grab a hold of if you fell overboard. It wasn't something I'd choose to cross an ocean in ... but, on the other hand, it looked pretty tough. And, with multiple air chambers, it wouldn't sink easily.

"That will be fine," I interrupted the sales spiel, holding out my card. "Kayak and foot pump will do."

* * *

"These are the same MREs used in Operation Desert Storm. Unopened, they'll keep for years and ..."

"Never mind," I interrupted more quickly this time. "Just give us three weeks worth, assorted. Okay?" I extended my card for payment. "And one of those small duffels to carry them," I added.

* * *

The Office Max store was a relief - no sales people offering spiels. Instead, I found a hard-shelled attaché case with an aluminum frame. The case had a double combination lock and a sturdy handle.

"What do you think?" I asked Captain Donavi.

"Should do," he considered. "Maybe a cheap wood chisel, a padded vice and some gel superglue?"

"Sounds easy," I agreed, carrying the attaché case to the checkout counter.

* * *

The hardware store had a variety of vices - I left the choice to the Captain.

In a few minutes, he'd assembled a vice, a pair of locking pliers, a pop-rivet tool with an assortment of rivets and washers, a pair of plastic-handled chisels, four tubes of superglue - the gel variety, a small can of rubber cement, a rolling pin - I should have thought of that - and a smaller roller - about an inch wide - with a wood handle.

"Should manage things, eh?"

"We still need some fabric," I reminded him.

* * *

Explaining to the clerk at the fabric store what I needed was harder than I'd expected. Finally, I went back out to the van and fetched the attaché case.

"Maybe a light nylon or poplin," the clerk decided. "You'll need adhesive to make it stay. If you'll follow me, we have a nice variety of patterns ..."

I found a plain gray that matched the original well enough.

* * *

"I really recommend the padded variety," the clerk kept insisting. "A nice mink trim for those special moments does wonders. I mean you don't really want ..."

"Wimp," I sneered, trying not to laugh out loud as I examined the locking mechanism on the handcuffs. They were stainless steel - Korean made - but the lock was decent and the spring on the ratchet mechanism was solid. Add a plug - or a little superglue - and they should be almost impossible to remove.

I kept a straight face while paying for the implements, then walked out, still working to contain myself.

Outside, the Captain exploded with a laugh that tried to rattle the Triple-XXX painted on the windows. "No wimp, eh?" he gasped. "Did you regard the lad's face?"

I didn't answer - I was too busy laughing myself.

* * *

Last, an RV supply provided a port-a-potty and a 32-ounce bottle of digester / deodorant.

"What about lights?" I asked. "A battery powered lantern might be handy."

"No need, mate," Captain Donavi assured me. "Lights are provided."

"Then I guess we've got it all," I agreed. "Except the bottled water and the supermarket has that. Unless you can think of something."

"No rush," the Captain reminded me. "Ship's not in until Monday. If there is, tomorrow's time enough, eh?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I admitted. "And we need to pull Dan out of the computer. Lucille said seven and George and Anne-Marie are meeting us at five so we can have dinner first."

* * *

"Message for you," Dan announced. "Caesar called. Said he had something for you. Mean anything?"

It did, of course, but I didn't want to explain - not right now. "Did he leave a number?"

"Here you go," Dan handed me the note. "Said he'll be there anytime until seven." Dan also had news - but it would have to wait. The brief version was that he had found the proof we'd been looking for - and a lot more as well. But there wasn't time right now.

While Dan was getting ready for the evening, I called the number Caesar had left.

Caesar, it seemed, also had an engagement that evening but we tentatively arranged a meeting for tomorrow - at the hospital, since he was working then.

It would also give me a chance to pick up the laptop.

And, I supposed, if I was going to head off to Phoenix to finish Sucker Game, I'd better pick up a minimum of luggage - tomorrow maybe.

* * *

Quickly enough, when George and Anne-Marie arrived, it was time to leave for supper.

Conversation over dinner was largely devoted to bringing George up-to-date - partially up-to-date, anyway. By mutual consent, nothing was said of the bomb, the black-bag job or running a tail. And, by extension, the entire Morrison Arms was omitted.

Which left enough to talk about. Dan's success in discovering my identity was one - this was all news to both George and Anne-Marie. And my identity brought up the topic of the book I was working one - The Sucker Game - which I used to turn the conversation to Dan's plot - the fictional one, not the real one.

Of course, the fact that the Captain would be shipping out was also news

Then, in turn, we had to hear how things were going for George ... and George Jr.

Grudgingly, George admitted that his son was "doing all right. Not a bad job really." The problem George was facing was simple - George Jr. was doing things differently. Not better or worse particularly, just differently.

And, as for Anne-Marie, she wanted George Sr. to take a rest - preferably a vacation.

"So," George sighed, "we're looking through travel brochures. Actually," he leaned across the table to confide in us, "what I'd really like to do is buy a motor home and do some traveling that way."

"What he wants to do," Anne-Marie interjected, "is visit quarries looking at stone. And I suppose I'll let him ... just as long as it gets shipped home - I'm not driving a rock quarry across country."

"There are some fine formations around Arizona," George jumped in. "Maybe we can look you up in Phoenix."

"Speaking of Phoenix," Anne-Marie changed the subject in typical female fashion, "I'm glad you and Lucille are getting along well. Why don't you invite her again? She might change her mind."

"And she might be bored stiff," I pointed out. "I'm not sure she'd enjoy sitting around watching me punch keys on the laptop ... which is why I'm going down there in the first place."

"Don't push, dear," George cautioned his wife. "They're doing just fine on their own."

I didn't know if I was doing fine or not - but I did know I was blushing.

* * *

Dinner finished, we followed George and Anne-Marie to the church. I don't know what I'd expected. Thatched roof and dirt floor maybe?

That wasn't exactly what greeted us when we arrived. From the outside, the church was a pleasant white building surrounded by flower gardens and a wide lawn. Toward the back, the gardens extended under cover of tall spreading trees.

Inside, the building - or peristyle as it was termed - was a large open room with a ceiling rising in the center where it was supported by a single thick post with a rainbow spiral running it's length. Furnished only by a bench running around the inside, the walls were painted white. The polished wood floor was currently unmarked but seemed to have been marked - marked by chalk and then rubbed out again perhaps - many times in the past. More an impression than anything.

Lucille was there - dressed entirely in white this time. She smiled briefly as we entered, then turned her attentions back to the man she was talking with.

At George's direction, we took seats to one side of the room.

* * *

What transpired for the next two hours or more, I didn't even have enough information to describe. It was - at the same time - beautiful, strange, a little frightening ... and very intense.

At one point, I observed a man - 'ridden,' as George explained it, by a loa - become first a fox and then a horse and last a bird. It wasn't a physical transformation - not the kind of thing you see in the movies occasionally - that would have been almost easier to understand.

Instead what I saw was a man - whose form did not change in a physical sense - but whose every movement, expression and gesture suddenly ceased to be human and, instead, became the living, breathing embodiment of a fox - so real that I kept wanting to see whiskers and that it seemed strange not to see the tail.

Then, as a horse, he moved like a horse, galloped, reared and knickkered like a horse.

As a bird, I couldn't imagine what held him to earth.

Then, just as suddenly as he had transformed, he was a man again ... but exhausted.

And this was only one loa among many.

The drums were hypnotic ... but it wasn't hypnosis. Instead, it was an energy. The flow and presence were palpable within the peristyle.

And through it all, there were songs, rhythmic prayers ... some in Cajun French, some in tongues less familiar. It wasn't the glossania - speaking in tongues - of some charismatic churches. These were simply different languages - and sometimes mixtures of languages - from the African continent.

And, finally, it was over - the rhythms of the songs died as I watched Lucille leading a final prayer.

Then it was over - people began gathering themselves, small clumps chatting together, people going from group to group to exchange comments, some walking out in the gardens at the rear to cool off - the room was warm - others, finished, leaving to return home.

A hand on my arm, I looked around to find Lucille standing there. She didn't say anything for a moment, just smiled quietly.

I didn't know what to say either.

"Have you had supper?" I invited.

"Not tonight," she answered. "Call me tomorrow?"

"Of course."

"How is your knee?"

"I haven't thought about it," I admitted. "I guess it's fine. Lunch tomorrow?"

"Uh-huh, tomorrow," she promised, giving my arm a final caress before slipping away again.

There was more before we left - each of us were introduced to several people. And there were questions: Had we attended a voudoun church before? What were our impressions? Things like that.

In a sense, I think we were all feeling a little numb. The experience had been intense as well as unfamiliar - and it was going to take a little time to digest.

* * *

Back at Dan's place, it was still Saturday evening and here we were - three bachelors with no place to go. Almost classical in a way ... except that Captain Donavi set me to dismantling the attaché case while Dan, now that we had time, began recounting the results of his investigation.

"I suppose," he offered, "that I could compliment Toland on his bookkeeping - he was very careful and very through. But, there's no question about it, he was embezzling. And not just from you, Alex. You're his most successful author so he hit you harder than the others but he skimmed a few extra points from all his authors. It's all there - even records showing which overseas accounts he sent everything to.

"Unfortunately, he didn't do any withholding or tax work for you - no legal withholding anyway. Your tax records are somewhere else. We didn't check all the files, of course. There might be something, we could find ..."

"That can wait a day or two," I suggested. "Then we can look around at leisure. What else did you find?"

"Well," Dan continued, "he also seems to have had copies of all your manuscripts in his computer ... including the 'finished' copy for Sucker's Game. Also, there are what look like notes for a couple of other titles. You may want those."

"But it's not exactly admissible in court is it?" I popped half the shell off the attaché case.

Dan shook his head. "Afraid not - not this way. You'll need something to present the courts to get a warrant to seize his accounts and to force an outside audit."

"Not exactly," I corrected. "I can demand an audit anytime. Which may be why I was shot. A dead man doesn't make much noise. And, since I traveled so much, it was almost an ideal setup - made to order. If nobody knew I was back in the states, I could have disappeared anywhere.

"Add the fact that Toland seems to have tried to make it look like I was still alive ... and overseas. Simple really. Almost elegant."

"That's right," Dan agreed. "Since all your royalty checks come to Toland in the first place, he could have kept on collecting indefinitely. And without having to split with you."

"Man shouldn't let himself be that greedy," Captain Donavi commented, turning the half-shell in his hands.

"So," Dan asked, "what's the next step? Clean out his overseas accounts? We've got the passwords and everything. And I can tell you almost to the penny what and where."

"Oh, we'll do that," I agreed. "Except what we'll do is have it all transferred back to his U.S. account. Then we'll let the courts straighten who he owes what to. After a formal audit."

"I'm missing something," Dan complained. "What's to stop him from cleaning out his account and skipping? We're talking about a lot of money."

"Easy," I matched the Captain's grin. "Toland's going to be taking a sea voyage. He'll be out of touch for a while. Well," I turned to Captain Donavi, "should I remove the other half? Or you think one side will be enough?"

"What in the hell," Dan demanded, "are you doing with that attaché case?"