CHAPTER 10-1

 Rondo and Joe led the group off the bridge to Lombard Street, then to Divisidero, and across the city to Castro Street. As they passed the Castro Theater, Matt revisited his fantasy of a Gene Tierney retrospective, taking Laura's arm as she walked down the red carpet in a slim black gown, perhaps the one she wore for the Academy Awards at the Olema Inn, smiling at the adulation of a cheering crowd. They continued up to 21st, Street where they took a left and parked in front of a classic San Francisco Victorian, its complex shapes painted pink and blue.

Joe had a key. Matt wondered how and why. Just how extensive was Joe’s network? Single file they climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor, walked down the hall, hung their jackets on hooks in the hallway, and sat in the living room, which they filled to capacity. Rondo, who, Matt observed, seemed to know his way around, brought from the kitchen a six-pack of Heineken, a bottle of chilled white wine, wine glasses, and two blue bags of vinegar chips, one of which he ripped open.

Joe had everyone's attention. Matt felt uniquely available to go in whatever direction Joe suggested. The earthquake, Frankenstein’s Shadow exorcism, the roaring Harley escape over the Golden Gate Bridge, and now waiting to hear where Joe would take them next—all worked together to give Matt a sense of his growing courageousness. He felt strong, capable—fearless even. He yearned for adventure, a chance to test himself. He hoped Joe would wait to speak so that he could analyze this unique feeling before it passed. He concentrated on Joe—don’t start yet. He got his wish.

Joe said, “We have some decisions to make. But we’ve just gotten here and I, for one, am starving. I suggest we order pizza and then have our conversation. Rondo—would you call in a pizza order? For me, anything but anchovies.”

Matt went off to one of the bedrooms to think. He experienced a meditative silence, a feeling of joy, of good health, a youthful body-centered exuberance. He checked in with his internal Gremlins. They were sitting next to each other on a bench, grinning, giving him a thumbs up. He observed they were cooperating: that’s a first. Matt thought this is what happiness is. And he wondered how much of this glorious equanimity was circumstance, how much strudel drug, how much being loved and included by this extraordinary group. Whatever. Whatever? You bet—whatever. He went back to the living room to get his pizza, to listen to Joe, to go fearlessly where the winds would take him. 

 They reconvened and Joe began, “I have a friend at Plum Island who suspects someone is onto Dr. F and his experiment. So we can’t go back there. We have to stay under the government radar until I get a message from my contact back there that we’re safe. Matt, it turns out it’s very good that you came with us. Wouldn’t want you picked up back there. Not only for your safety. You know too much.” He smiled “And you haven’t been trained to withstand torture.” Was he kidding? Matt never knew when Joe’s wicked sense of humor reflected reality.

 “So we can’t fly anywhere or take trains or buses. For now we’ll stay here. No one knows about this place.”

"Or,"Matt began.

"Or?" Joe said.

"Or, we could," Matt hesitated.

 They all waited. 

"Or, we could, just take off. Go somewhere. Anywhere, everywhere. Dr. F has plenty of money. Why not go to a place that isn't dangerous? Some place Laura has never seen. Take to the road."

 Laura smiled and squeezed his hand. Rondo, willing to go anywhere, waited for his orders.

“That’s sweet, Matt,” Joe said.  “We’ll consider that. I, myself, would favor eventually getting to a tropical island.”

Joe looking at Laura and Matt realized the tropical island fantasy was one they had already shared. And not as a threesome.

“But for today, we’re here. And we’re vigilant.”

Sitting on the floor wedged in a corner by the window, Dr. F, the dreamy look still on his face, was working out complex formulas concerning infinite numbers of human copies in parallel universes. He imagined a gigantic cosmic kitchen, spinning out enough steamy, crisp, lovely plum strudel to feed all people in all universes for all time.

CHAPTER 10-2

 The group settled into life in San Francisco. Laura was still sleeping when Matt woke up. He gently disengaged himself and shuffled, rubbing his eyes, into the kitchen. Joe had already been out shopping. On the kitchen table was a pot of coffee, cream, bagels, lox, cream cheese, capers, Bermuda onion, and fresh squeezed orange juice.

 "You need to be filled in," Joe said.

"No kidding." Matt remembered when he had said “No kidding” when Laura had offered to fill him in, so long ago.

"Later. Let's have a quiet day. We've all been through a bundle of stuff. This is a good place for us to be. "

After breakfast, Rondo and his chums settled in for a day of watching football. Joe, aware that he could soon be called to tend to a pending terrorist threat on Sears Tower, checked in with his handler, who told him all was quiet for now but to remain on call. Once again Joe hoped it wouldn’t come to a choice. Dr. F stayed in his room, humming and filling pages of a notebook with formulas. When Joe popped his head in, Frankenstein merely said, "Parallel universes. Leave me alone." Matt took a walk around the neighborhood and then read a Philip K. Dick novel he found on a shelf.

Laura disappeared mid-morning to return with a number of shopping bags. Smiling mysteriously, she retired to the bathroom.

Two hours later she reappeared, wearing her long black cape with the hood pulled tightly around her face.

She gathered everyone in the living room, whipped off the cape and threw it in the corner.

She was wearing black leather boots, tattered jeans, and a black sweater. Colorful makeup transformed her from a black-and-white movie star. But what startled everyone the most was her hair.

Laura had been letting her short hair grow back to the smooth, dark, parted-on-the-side signature pageboy of Gene Tierney. Now that was gone, replaced again by short hair, but this time it was very short and spiked. And the shocker to them all—she had dyed it pink, orange, purple and green, with streaks of silver.

With Hollywood fanfare, she announced herself: "Biker Girl!!"

Rondo, Aloysius, Mick and Frida screeched. "You go, Babe!" shouted Frida. Frankenstein looked up, amused. Joe picked her up and swung her in a circle, laughing, kissing her on the cheek.

Matt alone sat in stunned silence. Once again he felt the wrenching pain of losing his Laura. The new woman was no longer his silver-screen goddess. She was a fully-colored, HD, 3D, wide screen twenty-first century apparition. No one would mistake this new creature for Gene Tierney. A bold strategy to remain anonymous.

But more painful was watching Joe and Laura cavorting, laughing, kissing. He felt the fantasy of his being Laura's companion into the future shriveling up like a strand of celluloid held in a candle. Laura was no longer his, nor, perhaps, had she ever been.

She belonged with Joe.

Matt woke up early and found Laura already having coffee in the kitchen. He poured himself a cup and joined her at the kitchen table.

“Laura, how are things going with Joe?”

“OK.”

They were silent for awhile and then she said, “Do you know, Matt, why Joe won’t watch any of Gene’s movies? It’s because he loves me, now, in the present. He doesn’t want to confuse himself with images of what that other person became. And he doesn’t want to know much about my past in Hollywood either. He can’t share that with me. It was another time and place. I have a chance with him to give up my past and I want to.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Matt said. “It makes sense. No one has a better chance at a new beginning than someone transported to a new century.”

“Something else.”  Laura looked at Matt with affectionate amusement. “You, on the other hand, love Gene. Not me.”

Matt didn’t know what to make of that. He was silent. And then he realized, indeed, she was spot on. In some strange way, he loved Gene Tierney, a two-dimensional fantasy. Not biker girl with her spikey colorful hair, not the real person sipping coffee across from him. Not Joe’s girlfriend.

CHAPTER 10-3

Early the next morning Joe got a call from Aloysius who had been on watch during the night. He noticed that several black cars arrived and parked on the street but no one got out. Joe didn’t hesitate. The Volvo was packed with new passports for all of them, plus travel bags, laptops, clothes. When Joe's cell rang (theme song Goldfinger—Matt’s idea of a joke), he just said “Now” and signaled everyone that it was time, get jackets, go. They had practiced their exit strategy so they were ready to leave quickly, although Dr. Frankenstein had to be extracted from the bathroom where he was entranced by an issue of Vanity Fair featuring a pop culture string theorist.

They raced through the kitchen, down the back stairs, through the garden and up and over a fence. Two blocks to the car and the Harleys where they met Aloysius. Through the city, across the bridge north to a Sausalito exit, to the Marina. Matt noted that parking was by permit and that Joe's car had an Open Water Rafting sticker. Joe thought of everything.

They said goodbye to Rondo, Frida, Mick and Aloysius, unloaded their gear from the car and walked down the dock to the berth of the sailboat Tango where they were greeted by Stefan, Joe’s friend who had dumped the package of strudel drug in the chicken at Tennessee Valley. They boarded quickly. Tango backed out of her berth. Stefan sounded the rasping honking horn and then they were motoring across the Bay, toward the bridge. Cut the engine. Hoist the mainsail. Sail toward and under the Golden Gate Bridge. Joe appeared from below with windbreakers and life jackets. The wind picked up. Dr. F continued his reading on one of the bunks. Laura, dressed in Stefan's sailing gear, went to the bow where she hung on tight, swinging back and forth in the howling wind.

CHAPTER 10-4

 The evening was chilly. Stefan cleared the dinner dishes (salmon, vegetables and rice) and then passed around glasses and a bottle of brandy.

 "Laura, we have to rent Jules and Jim when we get back to land. It's not fair for Joe and me to know the film and not you," Matt said.

 Laura nodded.

 “I'd love to hear you sing the theme song—“Le Tourbillon”—"Whirlpool of Life."

 "You know I can't sing, Matt."

 "Neither could Jeanne Moreau, but you have to hear the song."

 Matt was tapping on his laptop.

Suddenly the tinny sound of Jeanne Moreau's voice filled the air.

 "Elle avait des bagues a chaque doigt."

She has rings on each finger.

 "C'mere, c'mere," Matt said. Joe and Laura gathered around the laptop and there, as a YouTube, was Jeanne Moreau, in her black and white striped tee shirt, singing while a guitarist strummed along and Jules watched. 

They played it over and over. Stefan appeared from below with a print-out of the lyrics and a guitar, which he began picking at.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjJqHF0mb_k

 They all sang in bad French, over and over, louder and louder until they drowned out Jeanne Moreau, who seemed to be on Tango with them. For a moment Matt expected her to step out of the small screen and go below for another fisherman's sweater.

 Stefan and Joe sang the last lines in French, while Matt and Laura sang them in English:

 So we both went back

Into the swirl of life

We went on spinning

Both entwined

Both entwined.

 The pelicans flying overhead listened to the party on Stefan’s boat. Everyone was safe for the moment.

CHAPTER 10-5

 Matt rested his hand absently on Laura's head as she nestled up against him, asleep in the afternoon sun. The boat rocked gently. Matt's gaze strayed across the water and stopped when it reached two eyes. A seal was regarding him with some curiosity. The two stared at each other for a few moments and then the big creature slipped under water. What was it thinking, Matt wondered? Was it, like him, having a day of equanimity? Was every day in a seal’s world one endless experience of emotionless observation? Somewhere Matt read that the human is the only species that conceives of, and lives much of its time in, a concept of the future. Only a human can visualize dying. Only homo sapiens can conceive of killing off every last one of its own by some massive stupidity. Species suicide. Self-suicide. The French make it reflexive: se suicider. Cell suicide—apoptosis.

Today, at least for this moment when he and Laura were alone on deck, or rather he was alone on deck since Laura was off living some other adventure—he caught rapid eye movement beneath her lids—Matt felt at peace, as he imagined the seal to be. Where were the two Gremlins that constantly battled between his ears? Where was the little voice that urged him to do foolish things, or the answering one that battered him constantly with recriminations? Why was he not worried about not having checked in with his life in Pennsylvania, or mourning the loss of his pathetic novel? Why was he not worried about whatever dark spiritual forces or real physical governmental forces were chasing them, or where they were going, or how to think about the dynamics of Joe-Laura-Matt?

Was it just that he had now been taking low doses of the strudel-drug for months? Was the drug lulling his worry-mechanism into some dangerous complacency? Was he depending too much on Joe to keep them safe, and Stefan, and Dr. F and Rondo and his friends? Was he after all the pathetic schlub just along for the ride, the man chosen for his love of film to tell Laura about Gene Tierney's sad future, which he had done, and having done, should now just go home? Would they maybe even ship him off when they reached shore? They. Who were "they"? Who was Dr. F, really, or Joe? They really only gave him little snippets of information, enough to quiet him down when he got too inquisitive.

And Laura. Was she really the perfect specimen she appeared to be, or would she, like copied humans throughout the history of science fiction, have some fatal flaw that would in the end distinguish her from humans who had been born? What about her soul? Did she even have a soul? Did she share a soul with Gene Tierney? Was it maybe a half a soul? Was it Gene Tierney's soul, asleep in his lap?

The old engines of anxiety were revving up with their endless questions. Like Tango when Stefan lowered the sails and started the engines, his brain was lowering its fluttering white breezy thoughts and starting to churn the waters of consciousness.

Matt massaged Laura's left foot. He observed each carefully painted nail. Silvery pink.

"Is there anything you regret, miss, from Hollywood?"

She pondered and then smiled.

"Look, I woke up stark naked and half frozen in Frankenstein's bathtub in another century. So I earned a certain freedom from the Buddhist 10,000 possessions, everything I left behind to start over in a new time and place. And yes, in case you’re wondering, I’m much happier here. You know that’s true. Seriously. But yes, I sometimes think of my life then.” She caught herself.  “I should say 'her' life then. But—I think of things I had. A black dress Howard brought me. Oleg hated that dress. He wanted to design everything I wore. Howard had rare taste. They were so different. I'll tell you a secret. I liked the simple black dress Howard gave me more than anything Oleg ever designed."

"You know Oleg designed for Jack Kennedy's wife, Jackie?"

"Not surprised. Oleg was a gifted designer. But I miss that dress from Howard." She winked at Matt. "Oleg created my style. But Howard knew my body."

"Her body."

"Her body. Oh crap. Bloody Gene Tierney's body."

"Honey, I'm sorry. This is so difficult. For all of us. We are trying."

Laura leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Close up, Matt took a moment to notice the flawless skin from her eye to her chin. Her kiss lingered. Then she wrapped her arms around her knees.

"There's one thing I really miss. I keep thinking about it, wanting it. It pops into my mind at odd times, like this morning when I was eating oatmeal."

"What's that?"

"It's a kimono. Howard gave me that too. I loved that thing, wore it all the time. I keep thinking about it."

 "Hey, Frankenstein could have a trunk of kimonos airlifted, if kimono is what you wish for."

"No. Matt, you don't understand. There is something about that kimono. I think about my body, today, wrapped in that kimono, and I realize how odd this all is. Gene Tierney had a kimono in 1944. That kimono went somewhere. It was my kimono. I imagine the feel of it, the colors, the texture. What happened to it? Maybe she was transported to electroshock wrapped in that kimono. Maybe it was donated and someone else is wearing it today. Maybe it was thrown away."

"So, buy something. Victoria's Secret or something. We'll shop."

"Matt, stop, you don't understand. I had a kimono. Today the kimono is not here. Do you see?"

Matt realized he was being insensitive.

“Yes, I do. I can’t begin to imagine what you are going through. And with such good spirits.”

She smiled.

“Most of the time.”

CHAPTER 10-6

Stefan sailed into his favorite lunch cove and dropped anchor. Gentle waves made a soft tick-tock sound against Tango. He went below and began handing up a sumptuous spread of small sandwiches and various tasty delicacies and champagne. Joe popped the cork, poured into plastic glasses, and they all toasted. "To the mongoose."

Dr. Frankenstein, popping his head up from below, said, "Why mongoose?"

"Why not?" Joe said and they all laughed.

Laura, wearing a white blouse tied at the midriff and shorts, had a second glass of champagne and settled into the sunshine for a nap.

Stefan cleaned up the galley.

Joe went to the bow and stared at the horizon brooding. It was up to him to decide if they were to sail north or south. Joe, perpetually scanning all horizons for danger, felt a dark, nasty, wet energy that sent chills down his spine.

A pelican was having its lunch. He watched it as it gulped down a fish.

Something was bothering him and he couldn't quite identify the feeling.

Was it that he was, as usual, worried about Laura?

Or was he feeling responsible for the group when they were at anchor too long?

Was he worried about the world situation, as always, heating up? Always ready to call him away.

Or was he just worried about his left elbow, still hurting from his last mission, reminding him that he was getting too old to be a spy?

Or was it the real, imminent threat of the government discovering Frankenstein’s project and arresting them all? Joe was waiting for word from his contact. If someone were onto them, they would have to keep running. If not, it would be safe to go back to the Pelican—at least for now.

This was something different.

If Frankenstein, freed from the sense of a dark passenger by Father Max’s exorcism ritual, was innocently, blissfully serene, Joe was not. Father Max’s description of the Shadow that had been released and, hopefully, sent away had taken on a reality for Joe. He couldn’t shake the feeling of a malevolent presence hovering, ready to swoop, ready to do damage. Ready to take them all prisoner.

Joe was not given to interior misgivings—that was Matt's habit, swirling small worries into combative inner dialogues. He and Joe joked about how Joe was all business in the inner realm. But now Joe could almost feel the presence as something he would be able to grapple with, shoot even. Every nerve was on alert. A frisson went up his spine. There were goose bumps on his arms. All the signs. The presence seemed to be approaching. Joe was aware of the location of everyone on the boat.

What could he do but wait? He had everyone trained to leave the boat on a raft quickly if necessary, as he had at the Castro safe house.

He didn't know what it was, but it was so palpable he felt he could catch it in a bottle and send it out to a lab for analysis.

So he waited.

CHAPTER 10-7

 “Gene."

 The word created itself in Matt's brain, activated his vocal chords and slipped out his mouth before his sleeping censor could wake up and run after it.

 Too late. He saw it slip into Laura's ear as she read.

 "Don't bother me. I'm reading."

 He felt a chill.

 That was not Laura's voice, that cold put-off. That was Gene Tierney speaking. Matt went back to the first time he had called her that, at the Pelican, when she turned and revealed in that decisive moment that she was Gene. And the time at the Olema when she had demonstrated Gene’s cold voice to show him how different she planned to be as Laura. This was not a good place to go.           

 Laura was unaware of having spoken.

 Matt waited. 

 How did Gene and Laura co-exist? Did Laura often think of herself as Gene? Was Laura just an act?

 Dr. Frankenstein had not only replicated a body, he had copied a consciousness, a memory bank, a personality. Laura was Gene in a new landscape, a new century. But Gene still existed for her somehow, somewhere. Had Laura repressed the voice of an icy Gene, who somehow responded to Matt's voice while his lovely, warm Laura was occupied in nineteenth century London, reading Dickens?

 He waited and waited. About a half an hour later, Laura looked up from her book, smiled and stretched.

 "I'm hungry.  Should we see about some lunch?"

 It was Laura who spoke. Matt took a very deep breath.

 "Lunch would be ducky."

CHAPTER 10-8

 Dr. Frankenstein closed his laptop, nestled into the pillows, and pulled the covers up to his chin. The rocking motion of Tango at anchor matched his inner calm. He replayed events: Max and the exorcism, escape with Rondo and his friends, the safe house in San Francisco, escape again to the sailboat. All the time working, working, scribbling in his notebooks, using the laptop to go to those esoteric end-of-the-universe places made accessible by the Internet and his formulas. Dr. F knew he was way overdoing the enhanced good strudel drug and much of the time was being led like a child by Joe, who honored his need to be in places other that those inhabited by his body. They would keep him safe, or at least as safe as the wild current circumstances allowed. An expert at delegating, Dr. F gave over worrying to his guards.

Above him Laura was sleeping with her head in Matt's lap. Dr. Frankenstein knew he had to think something through about Laura. What would he do if something happened to her, if she disappeared or was killed? Would he fly back to Plum Island, go immediately to his lab and fire up the program that would create another Laura? It would be so easy. A few hours of work at the computer, buying some supplies, setting up the tanks, waiting long enough, running the programs, and then—the ultimate keystroke—the one that would animate his creation. He would have another Laura. She would be exactly like Laura above, or rather as Laura above had been in her first moments in the twenty-first century.

But how his Laura was developing. He thought of her hair which she had colored a soft golden-brown and then recolored the punk pink combination, her on-hold love affair with Joe, her deep friendship with Matt, her mature coming to terms with the details of the rest of Gene Tierney's life, and her determination to live a happy, sane life. She had gained a few pounds and looked healthier. He thought of Matt’s clever retrospective diagnosis and her bravery in facing, and curing, the syphilis, saving her from the madness that Gene experienced. Laura was not flawed as a creation. She would not suddenly degenerate as clones and replicants in science fiction always did. She was perfect in that way. Maybe she had the human flaws Gene Tierney had but there was nothing to do about that. Dr. F knew he could change the DNA prior to creation. But there he drew the line, not as a scientist, but as an artist. He wanted his creation to be a perfect Gene Tierney, not one whose parts had been jimmied.

The fictional Victor Frankenstein's monster was a product of surreal technique: the sewing together of random juxtaposed body parts of dead people, a crazy quilt of a human. Laura was perfection. Dr. Frankenstein felt pride, ego-maniacal joy when he contemplated what he had achieved. He saw all humanity as a pyramid with himself standing balanced on the top, the ultimate artist. He tried to pry apart how much of that feeling was his own and how much was the strudel drug, but he couldn’t make that distinction any more and for a moment that troubled him. Then he let that go and watched his mind create the answer to his question.

He could not make another Laura. Why not? Because he loved this Laura. Could he love another Laura? He could not. And so. This Laura had to be protected at all costs.

Dr. F imagined himself as a Pelican flying gently in the air above. He looked down on Green Gulch, on the Pelican Inn, Muir Beach, and then out to sea. There was Tango, Laura so exposed on the deck, so vulnerable. Did forces of darkness hover around the area? Or had the dark shadow been only a manifestation of his inner journey? Had Max dispersed them for good? And was Joe right to worry that there were real people on their trail, wanting to appropriate Laura? Where was there to go? Dr. F's euphoria crumbled. He felt himself falling from his pyramid. What was he but a simple scientist, given the impossible task of protecting this delicate creature? His eyes filled with tears. He enjoyed crying.

He vowed to lighten up on the strudel drug. Maybe it was time to come back to earth. Focus up. But he was so close to getting the 12th dimension parallel universe formula right. So close. No, that would have to be his focus until he figured it out.

CHAPTER 10-9

 It was dark and Joe’s sixth sense was going crazy. Somehow he knew. It’s coming! Everyone off the boat! Now! Stefan had gone ashore to get supplies. According to plan Joe ushered Laura, Matt and Frankenstein onto the motorized raft Stefan called the Duck. They were off in a few minutes, racing through the night to shore. And just in time.

 Tango blew to smithereens, orange and red and gold billowing heat against the night sky. Matt thought of all the movies he had seen of boats blowing up. Everyone on the raft felt the relief of a close call, a group death just missed.

 Stefan was waiting when they got to shore. Clearly shaken watching his beloved Tango blow to a million pieces and sink as his special charter client-friends escaped in the nick of time, Stefan went off by himself, presumably to file a police report and call his insurance agent, leaving Matt, Joe, Laura and Dr. Frankenstein at Saylor's Landing with a pitcher of margaritas and a double order of guacamole.

Frankenstein was already lost in thought, writing complex formulas on a yellow pad he had borrowed from the waitress, as if just about being blown to bits was nothing to be concerned about for very long. Joe and Laura were silent, thoughtful. But Matt was agitated.

"Joe, you said, 'It's coming. We have to leave now.' I've been playing along with this Force of Darkness bullshit, this Shadow that's been dogging us, this exorcism nonsense. But this time we were within a nanosecond of obliteration. And this wasn't some government agency, malevolent or benevolent, wanting to put scraps of a living Laura under a microscope. I don't believe in the Devil. But I believe that Tango made one hell of a fire bomb. Laura, check in here, ok?"

Matt held tightly to the atheism of his adulthood while the Catholicism of his youth assailed him with images of devils, in particular, a Devil that was out to get him, or Laura, or all of them.

Laura was solemn. "Maybe I'm an abomination with no soul or worse, a stolen soul, and maybe this is just about erasing me as a big mistake. How do I know? What am I but a reconstituted dandruff muffin who can talk? And I'm putting your lives at risk if that is so."

Matt patted her hand but he didn't know what to say.

Ignoring Laura's concern, Joe said, "Matt, you didn’t hear Father Max, so you don't know what we know. This thing is real in some way, and it's tracking us. I don't know why. But it didn't kill us just now. It gave me a tangible warning and I acted on it and here we are. More than that I don't know."

"He's right, Matt," Laura said.  "Joe keeps us one step ahead of it because he has a way of sensing it. I don't. You don't. Neither does Dr. F any more. Maybe running isn't the answer. It doesn't seem to want to kill us. But blowing up Tango was certainly a violent act. Poor Stefan. He certainly loved that boat."

"Love, hate," Joe said. "I happen to know he'll be happy enough to trade it for a nice insurance settlement. He’s been telling me he wants out of the sailing business for some time now."  Stefan might have wanted to blow up his boat for the insurance, but he wouldn’t have done it with them on board.

CHAPTER 10-10

Ignoring his margarita, Frankenstein continued to scribble a formula that was filling half a page.

Joe said, "Hey, Dr. F, we love your work but come back to us, we have to figure out what to do next. Run? Face it?"

Frankenstein waved his right index finger in the air in a way that said, Leave me alone! Hold on! Wait!

Joe resalted the rims of the empty margarita glasses and poured another round from the pitcher.

Finally Matt lowered his head and whispered, "Maybe it's just waiting to blow up Saylor's Landing."

Laura went to the bathroom and came back. Joe stared out at the flat water where an hour before Tango in all her teak and sailcloth majesty had settled in with the fishes. They ordered chicken cheddar quesadillas.

Frankenstein drew a double infinity symbol at the bottom of the fourth page of notes.

"OK," he said.  "Here's what we do. This Thing, this Force, this Whatever it is, may track us easily through our laptops. So they have to go."

Matt nodded. Without his deleted Pelican journal, the laptop was useless anyway. "And through our cell phones."

Joe laughed. "There goes the day job."

"So we are free if we dump the gadgets?" Laura said.

"Not quite that easy. We need to go somewhere far away.”

"Fine, then, we go to Greenland and sit on an ice cube with the penguins and eat fermented puffin bird and whale blubber with the Inuits," Matt said.

"Or the desert," Joe, just back from Iran, added.

"Or the desert," Frankenstein said. "But, maybe it can also track us biologically. As long as it has our coordinates, it can follow us. To lose it, we have to disappear or camouflage ourselves or overwhelm it with carbon-based input." He returned to his yellow pad with an idea that had grabbed him in the middle of a sentence and scribbled some more.

"This is our plan and maybe our salvation," he said. "First, we dump all our electronics. Then we disappear from the grid. Do any of you know what a Faraday Cage is?"

"No," they said in unison.

"A Faraday Cage is a copper box. It effectively cuts out all emanations from electromagnetic fields. Faraday Cages are used to encase electron microscopes to eliminate the slightest electromagnetic field jiggle. They create an electronically pure space. So we either order a transport Faraday Cage for all of us or we will make body suits out of copper.  I have to work on that. But, that's nothing, that's nothing, I can do that. And we'll disappear. We'll travel in this disappeared state to another place."

Joe tickled Laura. "Honey, you will look so cool in copper. Watch out, Angelina Jolie."

Matt thought of a YouTube he had watched comparing pictures of Angelina and Gene.

“And tell me I don't have to live in a copper wetsuit forever," Laura said. "Oh, Oleg would have been so jealous. Besides, won't we melt?"

Matt said, 'Have any of you read Dune? People in the desert wear stillsuits to recycle their bodily liquids. I always wondered if they almost melted with the heat. Copper stillsuits, ok."

"Just until you get out of range," Frankenstein said. "So we need a place that is remote and that has a mass of seething humanity, a packed-in wad of protoplasm, like Mardi Gras in New Orleans for at least three days. Four or five would be better."

"Sure," Matt said.  "And where are you going to find such a place?"

Frankenstein had their attention. He pulled up a website in his computer and turned the screen to face them.

"Children, my dears, I give you thousands of partying humans in the desert. It's called Burning Man.  We just have to get there encased in copper.”

Frankenstein frowned.

And then they all burst out laughing and laughed until he joined them.

"Back to the drawing board, dear Doctor,” Laura said.  “No copper body suits. No dumping our gadgets. No Burning Man.”

CHAPTER 10-11

Joe, deep in thought, ignored the banter.

He took the blowing up of the boat seriously. They were almost killed. On his watch. He disappeared for a few minutes and when he came back, he interrupted hilarious laughter. Again he was the only one concerned, maybe because they knew he was in charge. So much for that. The boat was gone. But they were alive.

“OK, here’s the plan. Rondo is on his way. He’s going to take you to a restaurant in Corte Madera where you’ll stay until I come back later, no matter how long. I’ve talked to the owner.”

Four hours later, he showed up at the restaurant.

“Here’s what’s going on. I checked in with a friend who is very, very high up in the spy world. You don’t want to know how high up. I trust him, that’s saying something. He’s been working with me to figure out if we have to worry about anyone knowing about Laura. And he has all good news. Here’s a summary. There was someone who got a whiff of impropriety in Dr. F’s reports and started sniffing around. My friend organized a number of quick transfers and wiped a few hard drives.”

Matt had watched a lot of spy movies. “Did he have to, you know .  .”

Joe laughed.  “No, Matt, no one got killed. Just transferred. No one in the government suspects a thing. That’s across all agencies. We’ve done well. Dr. Frankenstein is officially retired from Plum Island with his fake reputation as a failed researcher intact. The lab has been disbanded. The mansion is being sold. The staff has been well-compensated and debriefed, with a believable warning about what will happen to them if they reveal anything. They’re a trustworthy bunch and not stupid. They made money, they had fun.”

“No one dangerous suspects anything about Laura. I’m convinced that’s true now. We have to remain vigilant, but we can relax about dark figures with guns coming from the government for Laura or Dr. Frankenstein.”

“Great, great, good news, Joe. You trust this friend of yours? So who blew up Tango, then? Matt asked. “The Shadow?”

Joe waited until he had their full attention.

“I trust my government friend completely. Not so my other friend Stefan. It appears that his amusing little strudel drug run to Tennessee Valley for us a long time ago was just part of his drug involvement. It turns out he was a big player in the cocaine and fentanyl trade. He got greedy. Tango was blown up by a major drug cartel from Mexico. He wasn’t supposed to survive. Now he’s long gone with a new identify he stashed in case this happened.”

“And us?” Laura asked.

“We were just collateral damage, our misfortune to be with him. Stefan didn’t expect this. He wouldn’t have put us at risk. So my misplaced paranoia saved our lives.”

“Did Stefan know about the strudel drug when he dumped it at Tennessee Valley?” Matt asked.

“Fortunately not. He thought it was routine weed. And a good thing. From what I know now about Stefan, he would have come after us. And not for Laura. For the formula of the strudel drug. It’s a good thing for him that he took off. He used to be a good guy. My friend. It would not have been pretty if he stayed to deal with me. ”

The side of Joe they rarely saw.

“So for now, yes, we don’t have to fear our cover being blown. But we should remain vigilant. We can return to the Pelican, but I think we should begin working on an exit strategy and a long-term plan. Dr. F has no home. We can’t stay at the Pelican forever.”

And me, Matt thought. I have my boring, horrible teaching job and undecorated little faculty housing apartment to return to. And sooner rather than later. He hadn’t yet told his friends that he had agreed to a break in his sabbatical to return home and teach one short summer session of film noir. He planned to come right back—but what if they weren’t there? Matt’s life was with Laura, Joe and Dr. F. He felt his life in Pennsylvania was over. Looking back at it now, it wasn’t much of a life anyway.

CHAPTER 10-12

Joe felt relief that his long vigil and fear concerning government agents threatening Laura was over. Now he just had to worry about the Shadow. So they would return to the Pelican again. And then what?

 “You seem to be free of your Shadow, Dr. F.  But it still bothers me. A lot. I don’t understand it. And I don’t like what I can’t understand.” Joe had asked Dr. F to have a serious conversation.

“Let me see what I can do about that,” Dr. F said. “When I experimented with accessing my unconscious, or my primitive brain stem, or whatever you want to call it, I crossed a barrier that nature put in place for a very good reason. The horrors that I brought up, and that appeared to me as the Shadow, were manifestations of my Catholic childhood and my education in the history of the world, humanity both magnificent and barbaric. I lost the ability, for a time, to distinguish between what I was imagining and what was real. Father Max set it right. He’s very good at what he does.”

“Which is?” Joe asked.

“To understand this sort of phenomenon and to do what’s necessary to put everything back in its place.”

“God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world?”

Frankenstein smiled. “More as a practicing psychologist. Max has a sophisticated ontology. You should have a conversation with him sometime. He’s wise. A lovely man. But to get back to your concern. My side trip with my own Devil or Devils was unique but at the end of the day not very useful. And not enjoyable either. Bloody terrifying, if I may be frank. Now I’m back to my real work. So, you ask, why are you carrying around my Shadow experience? I’m guessing your empathy with me, and your belief that I’ve gone beyond what current science is comfortable with, led your own imagination to create the experience of a Shadow. I suggest you do your own little ritual to kiss it good-bye. Maybe Father Max could help.”

“An exorcism? Me? I don’t think so.”

“I don’t either. But ask yourself if my explanation makes sense and if you can let it go by yourself,” Dr. F said.

“That might explain what’s going on. But wait a minute. If it wasn’t the Shadow, how did I know the drug lords were about to blow up Tango?”

“Maybe that’s your sixth sense. You’ve been on high alert. I’ve watched that. Maybe your training as a spy has developed your sixth sense.”

“Extra senses, extra dimensions. I don’t know, Dr. F.”

“Whatever it was, you saved us. And your friend in spydom has relieved us of the fear of men in black suits with guns ready to take us to interrogation rooms with bright lights. And now if you can let go of this silly Shadow fantasy, because that’s what I think it is, we can get on with our lives. And you, my friend, may be able to have a real love affair with our Laura. I want to be a godfather. Let’s enjoy this safe time slot but use it to work on a longer term solution. For all of us.”

“Godfather. Dr. F, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Laura can have normal, healthy babies, right?”

Frankenstein smiled.  ”Of course she can. Gene had Tina, didn’t she?” Joe took a moment to sort that one out.

Joe, Matt, Laura and Dr. Frankenstein went back to the Marina where they had left the car and returned to the Pelican Inn.