The Gossamer Crown: Book One of The Gossamer Sphere (10 page)

The friendly waitress called him “duck” and showed them to a booth.  Even though Kevin had been sitting on buses for the last three hours, he collapsed onto the bench gratefully.  The view out over the Thames was partially obstructed by boats moored in their berths.  He’d learned a bit from his time at sea, and it looked as if the marina housed all kinds, from twenty-foot fishing boats to forty-foot yachts to one hundred-foot luxury cruisers.

Lizbeth fiddled with the condiments after they ordered their food.  “I feel like a broken record, but – what now?”

Kevin bit his lip and shifted his eyes to the boats.  He hadn’t seen one person out there since they’d arrived.  Other than some gulls, the docks appeared to be abandoned.  “Do your skills extend to breaking and entering?”

She nodded.  “I can pick just about any lock.  Are you thinking about breaking into someone’s boat and sleeping there?”

He remembered the nauseating nights aboard the drill ship and reconsidered, but Zach said, “That’s a good idea, but what about security?  How do we do it without getting caught?”

Kevin shrugged.  “You tell me.  I’ve committed more crimes today than I’ve committed in my entire life.”

After they finished their meal, they found a path that paralleled the river and walked along it as dusk began to fall.  They hadn’t settled on a plan.  Kevin felt helpless and dejected.

The river was wide here, and he supposed it must be deep, because a huge commercial vessel slid silently downstream.  When they reached the outskirts of the marina, they stopped near the farthest dock and eyed the boats there.

“What about that one?” Lizbeth said, pointing to a classy-looking yacht.

Zach gently slapped her hand down. “You want to draw security a picture about what we’re thinking about doing?”

Her bottom lip came out in a childish pout.  “My feet hurt and I – I want to go home.”

Kevin raised his eyebrows as Zach took yet another opportunity to put his arm around her shoulders.  Zach said, “Yeah, home and bed sounds real inviting right now, I know, but we’d probably have to spend a few weeks or months or years in a nice foreign jail bed before we’d get to go home, remember?  Not to mention that home and bed might not be there if we don’t figure out how to fix things.”

Kevin turned away when Lizbeth sighed and leaned against Zach.  He took a deep breath of the fresh, cool air and looked out across the water again, aware suddenly of that strange anticipation, the sensation that something was going to happen.  In the dying light, he peered at the boats on the water.  A barge that looked like a garbage scow moved slowly upriver, a few sailboats headed for the marina, and a big cruiser floated downstream.  He focused on the cruiser.  It was just close enough for him to make out the name painted on the bow.

The Gossamer.

Thames River

Lizbeth saw Kevin’s face when Zach put his arm around her – saw his eyebrows disappear into his shaggy bangs and his eyes roll a little.  As self-conscious as that made her feel, she couldn’t help relaxing against Zach, enjoying his nearness.  It was getting cold, and he seemed to radiate warmth, like a furnace. 
A tall, handsome furnace with an incredible body
.

A wave of heat swept up her neck and settled in her cheeks and ears.  She was glad of the near-darkness; it hid her flushed skin, but if she didn’t get a grip on her heart rate and breathing, he was bound to notice her reaction.  Why it was important that he didn’t, she couldn’t really say.  He didn’t frighten her, but his effect on her certainly did.  This was not the time or place for a flirtation.

She’d just gathered her wits enough to move away from temptation, when Kevin said, “Look, the ship!”

“What ship?” Zach asked.

“
The Gossamer
!  Right there.” Kevin pointed to a boat on the water. 

Lizbeth knew a little about boats growing up in watery New Orleans, but this one was much bigger than any of the craft she’d piloted on the bayou.  The hull of the ship had once been white, but now streaks of rust attested to its age.  Like all the boats on the river, it was traveling slowly, and she wondered if there was some kind of speed limit.  Even so, if they didn’t do something soon, the ship would continue on out to the open sea and be lost to them.

Without conscious thought, she found herself running down the grassy bank.  By the time she reached the dock, long-legged Zach had caught up to her.  Their footfalls hammered hollowly on the wooden slats as they ran, passing boat after moored boat until Lizbeth reached her goal.

Out of breath from the second unaccustomed sprint of the day, she put her hands on her hips and examined the motorboat she’d chosen.  Zach scowled down at it and stepped over to the yacht she’d pointed out earlier as a potential place to sleep.

She shook her head. “That one’s too big, I can’t drive it.  This one’s small, it looks fast, and it’s so ugly maybe no one will miss it.  Get the lines.” 

Before Kevin had even caught up to them, she was on board and in the driver’s seat.  She rooted around in her bag for her tools before realizing she hadn’t had the foresight to remove the kit from her luggage.  It was getting darker.  She estimated they only had about half an hour before they’d need a light to see out on the river.  For now, there was enough light for her to see that the owners of the boat hadn’t left any lock-picking devices lying around.

Zach and Kevin’s low voices reached her, as they engaged in a brief argument about how to unfasten the mooring lines.  The boat dipped as they climbed in and then rocked as they struggled over who would sit shotgun.

“Will you two knock it off?”

Pointedly, she asked, “Zach, how much do you know about boats?” 

Zach conceded the seat to Kevin.  The boat began to drift backwards.

Lizbeth took a steadying breath and said, “We have a little situation.  Do either of you have anything sharp and thin on you like, say, a bobby pin?”

She sat in frustrated silence as Kevin patted himself down and Zach began unzipping and checking inside all the myriad pockets of his backpack.  He produced a pen, she shook her head; he held up a flash drive, she shook her head; he pulled a plastic comb out and she said, “Stop showing me things that are not
sharp and thin
!”  The boat drifted past the end of the berth.

“Someone’s coming,” Kevin said.

Lizbeth glanced up.  Two men had just stepped onto the dock.  They appeared to be chatting and laughing as they walked, but they were headed their way.  Through gritted teeth, she said, “I can’t start this thing without a key or a reasonable facsimile thereof.”

Zach came forward and knelt between the front seats.  He put his hand on the dashboard next to the steering wheel and closed his eyes.  His face was so close she felt his breath on her cheek.  “What are you doing?”

“Caitlin started a truck just by putting her hand on the steering column,” he said.

Kevin put his hand on the dash a couple of inches away from Zach’s.  “Well if we’re going to do this, we’d better do it fast.  Those guys are going to notice us any second now.”

Lizbeth set her hand next to Zach’s, too, feeling like an idiot.  She believed him when he said Caitlin started that truck, but none of them was Caitlin, despite the fact that she’d chosen them.  In her whole life, Lizbeth had never done anything as impossible as start a vehicle with just her, what, mind?  Her willpower?  She’d learned how to mimic the impossible by perfecting her father’s magic tricks.  Smoke and mirrors and prestidigitation did not cause motors to start without the cold hard reality of a key.

She closed her eyes.  In her mind, she heard her grandmother drumming a voodoo chant.  It worked because Granma’s clients believed.

I believe
.

She
did
believe.  The evidence was all over the news.  The earth was in very real jeopardy and she believed that Caitlin could stop it.  But Caitlin wasn’t here.

I believe in me.
 
I believe in me!
 No matter how fiercely she thought it, it rang false in her mind.  Her hand on the dash was cold. 

She heard the men’s footsteps now.  One of them called out, “Do you need a hand there?”

Lizbeth looked at her hand and had an epiphany.  She lifted it from the dash and placed it across Kevin and Zach’s, creating a bridge.  The engine roared to life.

Thames River

In the back of the boat, Zach wasn’t protected by the narrow windshield and every time the hull hit a rough patch of water, he got a face full of spray.  They were slowly gaining on
The Gossamer
, even though Lizbeth drove like an old granny.  She’d pointed out that none of the other boats on the water were making much of a wake, which indicated there was a speed limit.  The last thing he wanted was to attract the British version of the coast guard, so he swallowed his complaints about the slowness and sat back on the moist cushions.  After a few calming breaths, the unhurried pace stopped bothering him.

He thought about the ship they were chasing, about who might be piloting it.  The original owners and half the crew had died years ago, presumably from having contact with the crown.  His mind conjured an unbidden image of the sick blonde scientist in the ambulance with her blood-red eyes.  Was she dead now, too?  What about him and Kevin and Lizbeth – did they have enough of the “ancient blood” to protect them if they found the crown?  He supposed so, or why else would Caitlin have picked them?

Lizbeth had followed directly behind
The Gossamer
.  As they neared, the motorboat bumped along in the bubbly wake.  Zach coughed when a cloud of spent fuel from the old diesel-powered ship wafted across the motorboat’s bow.  Over the rumble of the ship’s engines, he heard the motorboat’s rpm’s increase as Lizbeth changed course to come alongside.

He knew she was going to say it even before she raised her voice to be heard over the noise.  “Now what?”

In the near dark, Zach saw Kevin offer a useless shrug.  Zach looked at the side of the ship, at a complete loss as to how they were supposed to get aboard.  Then a man appeared at the rail, and another.  There was just enough light on deck that Zach could see the men wore some kind of uniform.  He felt his stomach clench in apprehension.

Lizbeth turned to him with a panic-stricken face.  “Why are they dressed like that?”

“Let’s hope it’s just a formal crew.”

Zach heard a faint shout and a third man joined the first two, taller and older, with a cap on his head that gave him an air of authority. 

“This may not have been one of my best ideas,” Lizbeth said.

“Can we make a run for it?” Kevin asked.

“Not without stopping for gas first,” Lizbeth replied.

Moments later, the ship’s engines wound down.  Once the huge vessel slowed enough, someone on board extended a ladder.  Lizbeth flipped the boat’s fenders over the side while Kevin tied the mooring rope to the ladder. 

Zach went first, emptying his mind of thoughts and emotions with every step.  At the top, he swung his legs over the side and dropped lightly onto the deck, ready for anything.  To his left stood two men who wore dark jackets and some sort of floatation device with the prominent label “Metropolitan Police.”  Zach had no doubt they were part of a marine unit, but he didn’t give them more than an assessing glance.  His full focus was for the older man in the cap, and not just because he was clearly in charge.

Lizbeth and Kevin came aboard behind him and she placed her hand on his waist.  “Do you feel it?” she asked softly.

Zach was certain that the man in front of them had the crown on his person or had been in contact with it recently.  He radiated the same sort of almost electrical energy as Caitlin.  Zach nodded his head once to acknowledge Lizbeth’s question and gave her a quick warning look.

The man ran his eyes over the three of them almost dismissively.  In an accent that sounded just like Len’s, he said, “I’m Chief Inspector Griffey.  What is your business with this ship?”

The lights on the ship were reflected in Griffey’s eyes like spinning pinpoints.

Zach’s plan had vaguely involved storming the ship and fighting his way to the crown, but that was before he knew it was crawling with cops.  He didn’t have time to muster up a good lie, however, because the Chief Inspector’s face suddenly fell into a fierce frown and he stepped towards him threateningly.

“What do you know about the-”

He stopped and his eyes flicked to the officers.  Zach noticed his chin came up slightly as he regained control.  To his men, he said, “Bring them to the captain’s quarters.”

If he’d been alone, Zach would have taken out the two officers and leapt overboard.  He had no idea if Lizbeth and Kevin could swim, though.  Besides, after that display, his interest in the Chief Inspector was piqued and he wanted to hear what the man had to say.  His outburst made no sense at all.

The Captain’s Quarters were not impressive.  Paneled in a dark wood circa 1960, the room smelled like a cross between foreign cheese and a musty old cigar.  The Chief Inspector sat at a scarred desk and after Zach and the others were seated in front of him, gestured to his men to leave.

“Who are you?” he asked, looking at Zach.

“Zach Wong.”

The Chief Inspector placed his cap on the desk, revealing close-cropped black hair with traces of gray at the temples.  His long fingers adjusted the cap just so in the center of the leather blotter, and he smiled, looking anything but amused.  In the light of the desk lamp, his green eyes glittered. 

“How did you know about the crown?” he asked.

Zach went cold.  Either the Chief Inspector was jumping to a conclusion because they’d chased after this ship, or he’d read Zach’s mind.  Which meant Zach hadn’t sensed the crown, he’d sensed
Griffey
.

Zach said, “Chief Inspector Griffey, did you say? 
Brian
Griffey?”

“The crown, Mr. Wong.  Who told you about it?”

Zach emptied his mind as the Chief Inspector stared him down.  He thought of the lotus blossom painting in his mother’s parlor and how the light from the late afternoon sun highlighted the dust motes in his bedroom.

“Very clever,” the Chief Inspector murmured.  “I have to assume we have a mutual friend.  An incarcerated friend.”

Lizbeth spoke up for the first time.  “She thought you died on the Titanic.”

Brian Griffey produced a feral grin, and then his nose thinned, his lips plumped and his hair sprouted almost instantly into curls reaching down to narrow and newly feminine shoulders under Griffey’s uniform.  In a husky falsetto, he said, “Women and children first.”