The Web

35

He scratched a thigh, a cuff rode up, and I saw something shiny atop a loafer. Brand-new penny.

He saw something behind me and his head lowered shyly.

"Hi," I heard Robin say.

Then I saw something behind him.

Another man emerging from the shadows, even smaller, so severely hunchbacked his head seemed to protrude from his chest.

Red-and-black plaid button-down, blue jeans, high-top sneakers.

Two good eyes. One ear. The eyes soft.

Innocent.

Curling a finger, he turned his back on us and stepped further into the cave.

The first man's forehead creased again and he followed.

We tagged along, tripping and stumbling as our feet snagged on bits of rock.

The little soft men had no trouble at all.

Gradually, the cave turned from black to charcoal to dove-gray to gold as we stepped out into a huge, domed cavern lit by several more of the caged fixtures.

Rock formations too blunt to be stalagmites rose from the floor. A bank of refrigerators filled one wall. Ten of them, smallish, a random assortment of colors and brands. Avocado. Gold. Hues fashionable thirty years ago. The wires met at a junction box attached to a thick black cable that ran behind a crag and out of the room.

In the center of the cavern were two wooden picnic tables and a dozen chairs. Shag area rugs were scattered over a spotless stone floor. A whirring, humming noise came from behind the junction box- a generator.

The rain slightly audible, now. A tinkle. But everything was dry.

Moreland came in and sat at the head of the table, behind a large bowl of fresh fruit. He wore his usual white shirt and his bald head looked oiled. His hands took hold of a grapefruit.

Four more small, soft people filed in and sat around him. Two wore cotton dresses and had finer features. Women. The others were dressed in plaid shirts and jeans or khakis.

One of the men had no eyes at all, just tight drums of shiny skin stretched across the sockets. One of the women was especially tiny, no larger than a seven-year-old.

They looked at us, then back at Moreland, their ruined faces even whiter in the full light.

Place settings before each of them. Fruit and biscuits and vitamin pills. Glasses of bright orange and green and red liquid. Gatorade. Empty bottles were grouped in the center of the table, along with plates full of rinds and pits and cores.

The two men who'd brought us stood with their hands folded.

Moreland said, "Thank you, Jimmy. Thank you, Eddie."

Rolling the grapefruit away, he motioned. The men took their places at the table.

Some of the others began to murmur. Deformed hands trembled.

Moreland said, "It's all right. They're good."

Runny eyes settled upon us, once again. The blind man waved his hands and clapped.

"Alex," said Moreland. "Robin."

"Bill," I answered numbly.

"I'm sorry to put you through such a rigamarole, son- and I didn't know you'd be coming, dear. Are you all right?"

Robin nodded absently, but her eyes were elsewhere.

The tiny woman had engaged her visually. She had on a child's pink party dress with white lace trim. A white metal bracelet circled a withered forearm. A child's curious eyes.

Robin smiled at her and hugged herself.

The woman licked the place where her lips should have been and kept staring.

The others noticed her concentration and trembled some more. The generator kept up its song. I took in details: framed travel posters on the walls- Antigua, Rome, London, Madrid, the Vatican. The temples at Angkor Wat. Jerusalem, Cairo.

More cartons of food lined up neatly across from the refrigerators. Portable cabinets and closets, a couple of dollies.

So many refrigerators because they had to be small enough to fit down the hatch. I pictured Moreland wheeling them through the tunnel. Now I knew where he'd gone that night with his black bag. Where he'd gone so many nights, all these years, barely sleeping, working to the point of exhaustion. The fall in the lab…

A sink in the corner was hooked up to a tank of purified water. Gallon bottles stood nearby.

No stove or oven- because of poor ventilation?

No, the air was cool and fresh, and the rain sound was faint but clear, so there had to be some kind of shaft leading up to the forest.

No fire because the smoke would be a giveaway.

No microwave, either- probably because Moreland had doubts about the safety. Worries about people who'd already been damaged.

His lie about being part of the nuclear coverup a partial truth?

Lots of partial truths; right from the beginning he'd swaddled the truth in falsehood.

Events that had happened but in other places, other times.

Einstein would approve… it's all relative… time's deceit.

Everything a symbol or metaphor.

The other quotes… all for the sake of justice?

Testing me.

I looked at the scarred faces huddled around him.

White, wormlike.

Joseph Cristobal, tying vines to the eastern walls, hadn't hallucinated thirty years ago.

Three decades of hiding punctuated by only one mishap?

One of them going stir-crazy, emerging aboveground and heading toward the stone walls?

Cristobal sees, is gripped by fright.

Moreland diagnoses hallucinations.

Lying to Cristobal… for justice's sake.

Soon after, Cristobal gives one last scream and dies.

Just like the catwoman… what had she seen?

"Please," said Moreland. "Sit down. They're gentle. They're the gentlest people I know."

We squeezed out our soaked clothes and took our places around the table as Moreland announced our names. Some of them seemed to be paying attention. Others remained impassive.

He cut fruit for them and reminded them to drink.

They obeyed.

No one spoke.

After a while, he said, "Finished? Good. Now please wipe your faces- very good. Now please clear your plates and go into the game room to have some fun."

One by one they stood and filed out, slipping behind the refrigerators and disappearing around a rock wall.

Moreland rubbed his eyes. "I knew you'd manage to find me."

"With Emma's help," I said.

"Yes, she's a dear…"

"Time's deceit. Including the deceit you used to bring me over. You've been leading up to this since the first day I got here, haven't you?"

He blinked repeatedly.

"Why now?" I said.

"Because things have come to a head."

"Pam's up there looking for you, scared to death."

"I know- I'll tell her… soon. I'm sick, probably dying. Nervous system deterioration. Neck and head pain, things go blank… out of focus. I forget more and more, lose equilibrium… remember my tumble in the lab?"

"Maybe that was just lack of sleep."

He shook his head. "No, no, even when I want to sleep it rarely comes. My concentration… wanders. It may be Alzheimer's or something very similar. I refuse to put myself through the indignities of diagnosis. Will you help me before there's nothing left of me?"

"Help you how?"

"Documentation- this must be recorded for perpetuity. And taking care of them- we must figure out something so they'll be cared for after I'm gone."

He stretched his arms out. "You've got the training, son. And the character- commitment to justice."

"Mr. Disraeli's justice? Truth in action?"

"Exactly… there is no truth without action."

"The great thinkers," I said.

His eyes dulled and he threw back his head and stared at the cavern's ceiling. "Once upon a time I thought I might develop into a significant thinker- shameless youthful arrogance. I loved music, science, literature, yearned to be a Renaissance man." He laughed. "Medieval man would be more like it. Always mediocre, occasionally evil."

He ruminated some more, snapped back to the present, licking his lips and staring at us.

Robin hadn't stopped glancing around the room. Her eyes were huge.

"Truth is relative, Alex. A truth that hurts innocents and causes injustice is no truth at all, and an evasive action that's rooted in compassion and leads to mercy can be justified- can you see that?"

"Did the second nuclear tests take place near Aruk? Because I know you lied about Bikini. If so, how was the government able to conceal them?"

"No," he said. "That's not it at all."

Standing, he walked around the table. Stared at the boxes against the wall.

"Nothing you do is accidental," I said. "You told me about the nuclear blast and Samuel H. for a reason. You held on to Samuel's file for a reason. "Guilt's a great motivator.' What are you atoning for, Bill?"

Putting his hands behind his back, he laced his fingers.

Long arms. Spidery arms.

"I was in the Marshalls during the blast," he said. "Perhaps that's why I'm dying." Looking down. "How have I lied?"

"You didn't participate in the payoffs. I know. I spoke to a man who did."

"True," he said.

"So what's the point? What were the blasts a metaphor for?"

"Yes," he said. "Exactly. A metaphor."

He sat back down. Retrieved the grapefruit. Rolled it.

"Injections, son."

"Medical injections?"

Long slow nod. "We'll never know exactly what they used, but my guess is some combination of toxic mutagens, radioactive isotopes, perhaps cytotoxic viruses. Things the military was experimenting with for decades."

"Who's they?"

He jerked forward, bony chest pressing against the table edge.

"Me. I put the needle in their arms. When I was chief medical officer at Stanton. I was told it was a vaccination research program- confidential, voluntary- and that as chief medical officer, I was responsible for carrying it out. Trial doses of live and killed viruses and bacteria and spirochetes developed in Washington for civil defense in the event of nuclear war. The ostensible goal was to develop a single supervaccine against virtually every infectious disease. The "paradise needle' they called it. They claimed to have gotten it down to a series of four shots. Provided me experimental data. Pilot studies done at other bases. All false."

He took hold of the white puffs over his ears. Compared to the soft people, his hair was luxuriant.

"Hoffman," he said. "He gave me the data. Brought the vials and the hypodermics to my office, personally. The patient list. Seventy-eight people- twenty families from the base. Sailors, their wives and children. He told me they'd agreed to participate secretly in return for special pay and privileges. Safe study, but classified because of the strategic value of such a powerful medical tool. It was imperative the Russians never get hold of it. Military people could be trusted to be obedient. And they were. Showing up for their injections right on time, rolling up their sleeves without complaint. The children were afraid, of course, but their parents held them still and told them it was for their own good."

He pulled at his hair again and strands came loose.

"When exactly did this happen?" I said.

"The winter of sixty-three. I was six months from discharge, had fallen in love with Aruk. Barbara and I decided to buy some property and build a house on the water. She wanted to paint the sea. She told Hoffman, and he informed us the Navy was planning to sell the estate. It wasn't waterfront, but it was magnificent. He'd make sure we got priority, a bargain price."

"In return for conducting the vaccination program secretly."

"He never stated it as a quid pro quo, but he got the message across and I was eager to receive it. Blissful, stupid ignorance until a month after the injections, when one of the women who'd been pregnant gave birth prematurely to a limbless, anencephalic stillborn baby. At that point, I really didn't suspect anything. Those things happen. But I felt we should be doing some monitoring."

"Pregnant women were included in the experiment?"

He looked down at the table. "I had doubts about that from the beginning, was reassured by Hoffman. When I reported the stillbirth, he insisted the paradise needle was safe- the data proved it was."

He bent low, talking to the table: "That baby… no brain, limp as a jellyfish. It reminded me of things I'd seen on the Marshalls. Then one of the children got sick. A four-year-old. Lymphoma. From perfect health to terminally ill nearly overnight."

He raised his head. His eyes had filled with tears.

"Next came a sailor. Grossly enlarged thyroid and neurofibromas, then rapid conversion to anaplastic carcinoma- it's a rare tumor, you generally only see it in old people. A week later he had myelogenous leukemia as well. The rapidity was astonishing. I started to think more about the nuclear tests in the Marshalls. I knew the symptoms of poisoning."

"Why'd you tell me you were part of the payoff?"

"Couching my own guilt… actually, I was asked by my superior to participate, but managed to get out of it. The idea of placing a monetary value on human life was repulsive. In the end, the people who did participate were clerks and such. I'm not sure they had a clear notion of the damage."

Craving confession for years, wanting some sort of absolution from me.

But not trusting me enough to go all the way. Instead, he'd used me the way a defensive patient uses a brand-new therapist: dropping hints, exploiting nuance and symbol, embedding facts in layers of deceit.

"I suppose," he said, sounding puzzled, "I was hoping this moment would arrive eventually. That you'd be someone I could… communicate with."

His eyes begged for acceptance.

My tongue felt frozen.

"I'm sorry for lying to you, son, but I'd do it all over again if it meant getting to this point. Everything in its time- everything has a time and place. Life may seem random, but patterns emanate. Like a child tossing stones in a pond. The waves form predictably. Something sets off events, they acquire a rhythm of their own… Time is like a dog chasing its tail- more finite than we can imagine, yet infinite."

He wiped his eyes and bit back more tears.

I took Robin's hand. "After the other illnesses did you go back to Hoffman?"

"Of course. And I expected him to become alarmed, take some action. Instead, he smiled. Thirty years old but he had an evil old man's smile. A filthy little smile. Sipping a martini. I said, "Perhaps you don't understand, Nick: something we did to these people is making them deathly ill- killing them.' He patted me on the back, told me not to worry, people got sick all the time."

He gave a sudden, hateful look.

"A baby without a brain," he said. "A toddler with end-stage cancer, that poor sailor with an old person's disease, but he could have been dismissing a case of the sniffles. He said he was sure it had nothing to do with the vaccines, they'd been tested comprehensively. Then he smiled again. The same smile he gave when he cheated at cards and thought he was getting away with it. Wanting me to understand that he'd known all along.

"I'd planned to conduct an autopsy on the baby the next day, decided to do it right then. But when I got to the base mortuary, the body was gone. All the records were gone, too, and the sailor who'd been my assistant had been replaced by a new man- from Hoffman's staff. I stormed back to Hoffman and demanded to know what was going on. He said the baby's parents had requested a quick burial, so he'd granted compassionate leave and flown them to Guam the previous night. I went over to the flight tower to see if any planes had left. None had for seventy-two hours. When I got back to my office, Hoffman was there. He took me for a walk around the base and began talking about the estate. It seemed all of a sudden some other buyers had surfaced, but he'd managed to keep my name at the top of the list and to lower the price. It was all I could do not to rip out his throat."

He put on his glasses.

"Instead," he said. The word tapered off. He put a hand on his chest and inhaled several times. "Instead, I thanked him and smiled back. Invited the bastard and his wife to my quarters the next night for bridge. Now that I knew what he was capable of, I felt I needed to protect Barbara. And Pam- she was only a baby herself. But on the sly, I began checking the others who'd been injected. Most looked fine, but a few of the adults weren't feeling well- vague malaise, low-grade fevers. Then some of the children began spiking high fevers."

He dug a nail into his temple. "There I was, the kindly doctor, reassuring them. Dispensing analgesics and ordering them to drink as much as they could in the hope some of the toxins would be flushed out. But unable to tell them the truth-what good would it have done? What curse is worse than knowing your own death is near? Then another child died suddenly of a brain seizure. Another family supposedly flown out overnight, and this time Hoffman informed me my involvement with the paradise needle was terminated, I was to attend to all base personnel except the vaccinated families. New doctors had arrived for them, three whitecoats from Washington. When I protested, Hoffman ordered me to begin a new project: reviewing twenty years of medical files and writing a detailed report. Busywork."

"Sounds familiar."

He smiled weakly. "Yes, I'm a horrid sneak; being direct has always been difficult for me. I used to rationalize it as the result of growing up an only child in a very big house. One wanders about alone, acquires a taste for games and intrigue. But perhaps it's just a character flaw."

"What happened to the rest of the vaccinated patients?" said Robin.

"More were growing ill, and rumors had finally gotten out on the base about some kind of mysterious epidemic. Too much to keep secret, so the doctors from Washington issued an official memo: an unknown island organism had infiltrated Stanton, and strict quarantine was imposed. The sick people were all isolated in the infirmary, and quarantine signs were nailed to the doors. Understandably, everyone gave the place a wide berth. Then I heard a rumor that all the vaccinated families would be shipped back to the Walter Reed Hospital in Washington for evaluation and treatment. I had a pretty good idea what that meant."

He pulled down on his cheeks.

"I sneaked over to the infirmary one night after midnight. One attendant was on guard at the front door, smoking, not taking the job seriously. Which was typical of the base. Nothing ever happened here. Everyone had a slipshod attitude. I managed to sneak in through a rear door, using a skeleton key I'd lifted from Hoffman's office. The smug bastard hadn't even bothered to put on a new lock."

Reaching out, he grabbed the grapefruit, clawing so hard juice flowed through his fingers.

"Some of them," he said softly, "were already dead. Lying in cots… unconscious, rotting. Others were on the verge of losing consciousness. Sloughed skin was everywhere… limbs… the room stank of gangrene."

He began crying, tried to stop, then to hide it. It took a while before he resumed, and then, in a whisper.

"Bed after bed, crammed together like open coffins… I could still recognize a few of their faces. No attempt was being made to treat them- no food or medication or IV lines. They were being stored."

The grapefruit, a mess of pulp and rind.

"The last ward was the worst: dozens of dead children. Then, a miracle: some of the babies were still alive and looking relatively healthy. Dermal lesions, malnutrition, but conscious and breathing well- their little eyes followed me as I stood over their cribs… I counted. Nine."

He stood again and circled the room unsteadily.

"I still don't understand it. Perhaps the relatively low dosage had protected them, or something in their newborn immune systems. Or maybe there is a God."

Wringing his hands, he walked to the refrigerators and faced a copper-colored Kenmore.

"Sometimes it's good to be a sneak. I got them out. Four the first time, five the second. Swaddled in blankets so their cries would be muffled, but it wasn't necessary. They couldn't cry. All that came out was croaking."

Facing us.

"The vaccine, you see, had burned their vocal cords."

He picked up his pace, stalking an invisible victim.

"I had no place to take them but the forest. Thank God it was winter. Winter here is kind, warm temperatures, dry. I'd discovered the caves hiking. Had always liked caves." Smile. "Secretive places. Used to spelunk when I was at Stanford, did a senior thesis on bats… I didn't think anyone else knew of them, and there was nowhere else to go."

"What about the land mines?" I said.

He smiled. "The Japanese had plans to lay mines, but they never quite got around to it."

"The night of the knives?"

He nodded.

"You spread the rumor?" I said.

"I planted the seed. When it comes to rumors, there's never a shortage of gardeners… Where was I?… I placed them in a cave. Not this one, I didn't know about this one. Or the tunnel. Once they were secreted, I checked them over, cleaned them up, gave them water and electrolytes, returned to the infirmary, disassembled their cribs, scattering the parts in the hope they wouldn't be missed. And they weren't. The entire place was a charnel house, corpses and dying people had slid onto the floor, lying on top of one another, body fluids dripping. I'll never forget the sound. Even now, when it drizzles…"

His face took on that absent look and for a moment I thought he'd slip somewhere else. But he started talking again, louder:

"Then, a complication: one of the adults had survived, too. A man. As I was finishing with the layettes he came in, reaching for me, falling on me. I nearly died of fright- he was… putrid. I knew who he was. Aircraft mechanic, huge fellow, enormously strong. Perhaps that's why the symptoms hadn't taken him over as rapidly. Which isn't to say he wasn't gravely ill. His skin was pure white- as if bleached, one arm gone, no teeth, no hair. But able to stagger. He hadn't been a good man. A bully, really, with a vicious temper. I'd patched up men he'd beaten. I was worried he'd have enough strength to somehow set off an alarm, so I dragged him out too. It nearly killed me. Even starved, he must have weighed a hundred and eighty pounds. It took so long to get him across the base. I was sure some sentry would see me. But I finally made it.

"I put him in another cave, away from the babies, and tended to him as best I could. He was shaking with chills, skin starting to slough. Trying to talk and growing enraged at his inability… He kept looking at the stump where his arm had been and screaming- a silent scream. Rabid anger. His eyes were wild. Even in that condition, he frightened me. But I calculated it would only be hours."

Lurching toward a chair, he sat.

"I was wrong. He lasted five days, fluctuating between stupor and agitation. He'd actually get up and lurch around the cave, injuring himself horribly but remaining on his feet. His premorbid strength must have been superhuman. It was on the fifth day that he managed to escape. I'd been at the base, got back that night and he wasn't there. At first I panicked, thinking someone had discovered everything, but the babies were still in their cave. I finally found him lying under one of the banyans, semiconscious. I dragged him back. He died two hours later."

"But not before Joseph Cristobal saw him," I said.

He nodded. "The next day, Gladys came to my office and told me about Joe. One of the other workers at the estate had told her Joe had a fit, claimed to have seen some kind of forest devil."

"A Tutalo."

"No." He smiled. "I made that up, too. Tootali is the old word for "grub,' but there's no myth."

"Planting the seed," I said. "So Joe's story wasn't taken seriously?"

"Joe had always been odd. Withdrawn, talked to himself, especially when he drank. What concerned me were his chest pains. They sounded suspiciously like angina, but with anxiety, it was hard to know. As it turned out, his arteries were in terrible shape. There was nothing I could have done."

"You're saying the sighting had nothing to do with his death?"

"Perhaps," he said, "his condition was complicated by fright."

"Did you let him go on believing there were monsters?"

He blinked. "When I tried to discuss it with him, he covered his ears. Very stubborn man. Very rigid ideation- not schizophrenic, but perhaps schizoid?"

I didn't answer.

"What should I have done, son? Told him he'd really seen something and endanger the babies? They were my priority. Every spare moment was spent with them. Checking on them, bringing blankets, food, medicine. Holding them in my arms… Despite everything I did, two of them got progressively worse. But every night that passed without one of them dying was a victory. Barbara kept asking me what was wrong. Each night I left her… a light dose of sleeping medicine in her bedside water helped… shuttling back and forth, never knowing what I'd find when I got there. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said, "but all these years, they haven't come aboveground?"

"Not unsupervised they haven't. They need to stay out of the sunlight- extreme photosensitivity. Similar to what you see in some porphyric patients, but they have no porphyria and I've never been able to diagnose, never been able to find out what they were gi- where was I?"

Looking baffled.

"Shuttling back and forth," said Robin.

"Ah, yes- after a week or so it finally got to me. I fell asleep at my desk, only to be shaken awake by a loud roar. I knew the sound well: a large plane taking off. Seconds later, there was a tremendous explosion. A Navy transport had gone down over the ocean. Something about the fuel tanks."

The 1963 crash. Hoffman ordering Gladys to prepare coquilles St. Jacques that night. Celebrating…

"With the quarantined patients on board," I said. "Eliminating any witnesses."

"The doctors from Washington, as well," said Moreland. "Plus three sailors who'd guarded the infirmary assigned as flight attendants, and two medics."

"My God," said Robin.

"The patients would have died anyway," said Moreland. "Most probably were dead when they loaded them on- an airborne hearse. But the doctors and the medics and the flight crew were sacrifices- all in the name of God and country, eh?"

"Why weren't you eliminated?" said Robin.

He put his hands together and studied the table.

"I've thought about that many times. I suppose it was because I bought myself some insurance. The day of the crash, I invited Hoffman over for drinks in my quarters. No wives, just us fellas in our snappy dress whites, veddy dry martinis- back then I was still indulging. As he picked pimiento out of his olive, I told him I knew exactly what he'd done and had made a detailed written record that I'd filed somewhere very safe with instructions to make it public if anything happened to me or any member of my family. That I was willing to forget the whole thing and move on if he was."

"He bought that?"

"It was a theatrical little stunt, I got the idea from one of those stupid detective shows Barbara used to watch. But apparently, it did the trick. He smiled and said, "Bill, your imagination's been working overtime. Pour me another one.' Then he drank up and left. For months I slept with a gun under my pillow- dreadful thing, I still hate them. But he never moved against me. The way I see it, he decided to deal because he believed me and felt it was the easy way out. Evil people have little trouble believing everyone else lacks integrity. The next day, a sailor delivered a sealed envelope to my quarters: discharge papers, three months early, and the deed to the estate. Excellent price, including all the furniture. The Navy moved us in, and we were provided with a year of free electricity and water. The pretense continued. Even our bridge games continued."

"Along with his cheating," I said.

"His cheating and my pretending not to know. That's as apt a metaphor for civilization as any, isn't it?"

He gave an unsettling laugh.

"Meanwhile, my real life continued at night, and any other time I could get away without attracting too much notice. I hadn't discovered the tunnel yet, and I hid a ladder so I could climb the wall. The two babies who'd deteriorated passed away, as did another. The first was a little girl named Emma- hers was the only name I actually knew, because I'd treated her as a newborn for herniated umbilicus. Her father had made jokes about how she'd look in a bikini and I told him that should be his biggest problem…"

He looked ready to cry again, managed to blink it away.

"She died of malnutrition. I buried her and conducted a funeral service as best I could. A month later, a second little girl left me. Bone marrow disease. Then a little boy, from pneumonia that wouldn't respond to antibiotics. The other six survived. You've just met them."

"What's their health status?" I said. "Physically and mentally."

"None of them have normal intelligence, and they have no speech. I taught myself the rudiments of IQ testing, administered the nonverbal components of the Wechsler tests and the Leiter. They seem to fall in the fifty-to-sixty range, though Jimmy and Eddie are a bit brighter. Their nervous systems are grossly abnormal: seizures, motor imbalance, sensory deficits, altered reflexes. Poor muscle tone, even when I can get them to exercise. Then there's the photosensitivity- the slightest bit of UV exposure eats up their skin. Even living down here hasn't managed to protect them completely. You saw their eyes, ears, fingers. Extensive fibrosing, probably something autoimmune- the actual process isn't unlike leprosy. They're not in danger of imminent wasting, but the erosion continues steadily. They're sterile- a blessing, I suppose. Not much libido, either. That's made my life easier."

"I still don't see how you've managed to keep them down here all these years."

"At first it was difficult, son. I had to… confine them. Now it's not a serious problem. They may not be normal, but they've learned what the sun does to them. Half an hour outside and they're in pain for days. I've made every effort to provide them with as rich a life as possible. Here, let me show you."

He took us to an adjoining room, slightly smaller than the dining area. Beanbag chairs and homemade cases full of toys and picture books. A phonograph connected to a battery pack. Next to it, a stack of old 45s. The top one: Burl Ives singing children's songs. "Jimmy crack corn…" A model train set in disarray on the shag carpet. Some of the soft people sat on the floor fooling with the tracks. Others reclined on the chairs, fingering dolls.

They greeted him with smiles and raspy cries. He went to each of them, whispered in their ears, hugged and patted and tickled.

When he turned to leave, one of them- the larger woman- took hold of his hand and tugged.

He pulled back. She resisted.

Giggles all around. A familiar game.

Finally, Moreland tickled her under the arm and she gave a silent, wide-mouthed laugh and let go, tumbling backward. Moreland caught her, kissed the top of her head, pulled a Barbie doll out of the case and gave it to her.

"Look, Suzy: Movie Star Barbie. Look at this beautiful, fancy dress."

The woman turned the figurine, suddenly engrossed. Her features were saurian but her eyes were warm.

"Be right back, kids," said Moreland.

We left the room and walked down a narrow stone passage.

"How often do you come down here?" I asked.

"Optimally, two to five times a day. Less frequent than that and things get out of hand." His thin shoulders sagged.

"It sounds impossible," said Robin.

"It's… a challenge. But I keep my other obligations to a minimum."

Virtually no sleep.

No wife.

Sending his own daughter away as a toddler.

Allowing the island to decay… his one recreation the insects. A small world he could control.

Studying predators in order to forget about victims.

We came to a third room: six portable chemical toilets and two sinks attached to large water tanks outfitted with sterilization kits. A cloth partition halved the space. Three latrines and one basin on each side. Cutouts of men pasted on the stalls to the left, women to the right.

A strong wave of disinfectant.

Moreland said, "I've toilet trained each of them. It took some time, but they're quite dependable now."

Next were the sleeping quarters- three smaller caves, each with two beds. More books and toys. Piles of dirty clothes on the floor.

"We still have a ways to go on neatness."

"Who does their laundry?" said Robin.

"We handwash, everything's cotton. They enjoy laundry time, I've turned it into a game. The clothes are old but good. Brooks Brothers and similar quality, brought in years ago in several boatloads. I couldn't order too much at a time, didn't want to attract attention… Come, come, there's more."

He led us back into the passageway. It narrowed and we had to turn sideways. At the end was another webbed door. He saw me looking at it.

"Japanese ironwork. Beautiful, isn't it?"

On the other side was an exit ramp, descending steeply, its terminus out of view. The door was fastened with an enormous lock.

The soft people confined forever.

Moreland produced a key, rammed it into the lock, pushed the door open, and the three of us walked to the bottom of the ramp.

"Sometimes, when it's very dark and I can be sure they'll behave themselves, I take them up to the forest for nighttime picnics. Moonlight is kind to them. They love their picnic time. Mentally they're children, but their bodies are aging prematurely. Arthritis, bursitis, scoliosis, osteoporosis, cataracts. One of the boys has developed significant atherosclerosis. I treat him with anticoagulants, but it's a bit tricky because he bruises so easily."

He stopped. Stared at us.

"I've learned more about medicine than I ever believed possible."

"Do you have any idea of their life expectancy?" said Robin.

Moreland shrugged. "It's difficult to say. They're deteriorating, but they've survived so many crises, who knows? With good care, all or most of them will probably outlive me."

He leaned against the wall. "And that is the issue. That's why I must arrange something for them."

"Why haven't you gone public and gotten them care?" she said.

"What would that accomplish, dear? Subjecting them to the scrutiny of scientists and doctors? Scientists condemned them to this life. How long would they last out in the monstrosity we call the real world? No, I couldn't allow that to happen."

"But surely they-"

"They'd wither and die, dear," said Moreland, straining for patience.

He reached for the open door and took hold of one of the bars. "What they need is continuity. A transfer of care."

His eyes moved from Robin to me. Studying. Waiting.

I could hear music from the game room. A scratchy record. Lou, Lou, skip to my Lou.

He said: "I want you to be their guardians once I'm gone."

"I'm not a physician," I said. As if that was the only reason.

"I can teach you what you need to know. It's not that difficult, believe me. I've been composing a manual…"

"You just pointed out how tricky it-"

"You can learn, son. You're a smart man."

Raising his voice. When I didn't answer, he turned to Robin.

"Bill," she said.

"Hear me out," he said. "Don't close your minds. Please."

"But why me?" I said. "Give me the real answer, this time."

"I already have- your dedication to-"

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough. I've studied you! And now that I've met Robin, I'm even more convinced. With two people, sharing the challenge, it would be-"

"How did you really find me, Bill?"

"Coincidence. Or fate. Choose your nomenclature. I was in Hawaii taking care of some legal matters with Al Landau. My hotel delivered the daily paper. Despite my aversion to what passes for news, I skimmed it. The usual corruption and distortions, then I came across an article about a case in California. A little girl in a hospital, poisoned to simulate illness. You helped bring the matter to resolution. References were made to other cases you'd been involved in- abused children, murders, various outrages. You sounded like an interesting fellow. I researched you and learned you were a serious scholar."

"Bill-"

"Please, son, listen: intellectual vigor and humanity don't always go together. One can be an A student but a D person. And you have drive. I need someone with drive. And you, dear. You're his soulmate in every way."

I tried to find words. The look on his face said no language existed that would work.

"Mind you, I'm not proposing a one-way deal. Care for my kids properly, and the entire estate and all my other property holdings on Aruk will be yours, in addition to excellent real estate in Hawaii and California, securities, a bit of cash. What I told you about my family fortune dwindling was true, but it's still substantial. Of course, I'll have to give a generous inheritance to Pam as well as some stipends to trusted individuals, but the rest would be yours. Once the kids are all gone. You can see why I need someone with integrity. Someone who wouldn't kill them to get to the money. I now trust you- both of you. When your duties are through, you'll be wealthy and free to enjoy your wealth in any way that pleases you."

Robin said, "Pam's a doctor. Why don't you want her to take over?"

He shook his head so vigorously his glasses fell off his nose.

Retrieving them, he said, "Pam's a wonderful girl, but not equipped. She has… vulnerabilities. My fault. I don't deserve the title "father.' She needs to get out in the world. To find someone who values her- the kind of relationship you two have. But you will have assistance. From Ben."

"Ben knows?"

"I let him into my confidence five years ago. The kids have come to adore him. He's been a tremendous help, taking shifts as my strength ebbs."

"You don't want him to take over?" said Robin.

"I considered it, but he has his own family. My kids need full-time parents."

Single-minded, isolated parents. As he'd been after Barbara died and Pam was sent away.

What he wanted was philosophical cloning. I felt stunned and sick.

"Ben will continue to pitch in," he said. "Between the three of you the task is doable."

"Ben's in no position to help anyone," I said.

"He will be once we get past this nonsense. Al Landau's brilliant, especially when defending an innocent man. Please. Accept my offer. I've taken you into my confidence. I'm at the mercy of your good graces."

He picked up Robin's hand and held it in both of his.

"A woman's touch," he said. "It would be so good for them."

Smiling. "Now you know everything."

"Do we?" I said.

He let go of her hand. "What's the problem, son?"

"The written report you threatened Hoffman with. Does it exist?"

"Of course."

"Where is it?"

He blinked hard. "In a safe place. If we progress, you'll know the precise location."

"And you want us to believe it's the only reason he let you live all these years."

He thumbed his chest and smiled. "I'm here, am I not?"

"I think there's more, Bill. I think Hoffman's always known you wouldn't expose him because he's got something on you."

The smile evaporated. He took a step up the ramp and ran his hand over the rough stone wall.

"My guess is the two of you are locked together," I went on. "Like rams, with tangled horns. Hoffman can't move in and destroy Aruk overnight because you might expose him. But he's still able to grind the island down gradually because he's younger than you, confident he'll survive you and eventually have his way. And I'll bet controlling Aruk's important to him on two levels: the money from the development project, and he wants to erase what he did thirty years ago from his mind."

"No, no, you're giving him way too much credit. He's got no conscience. He simply wants to exploit for profit." He turned around suddenly. "You have no idea what he has in mind for Aruk."

"A penal colony like Devil's Island?"

His mouth stayed open and he managed to work it into another smile. "Very good. How did you figure it out?"

"He's in with Stasher-Layman, and in addition to instant slums they build prisons. Aruk's location is perfect. The dregs of society shipped and warehoused far, far away, with nowhere to escape."

"Very good," he repeated. "Very, very good. The bastard told me the details that night at dinner. He wants to call it "Paradise Island.' Clever, eh? But there's more: the waters surrounding Aruk will be used to sink other dregs: barrels of radioactive waste. He's confident of receiving environmental clearance because of Aruk's obscurity and because once the economy shuts down completely and the island's depopulated, there'll be no one to protest."

"Nuclear dumpsite," I said. "Perfect complement to the prison: toxic water's another escape deterrent. If Hoffman pulls it off, he manages to fight crime and pollution on the mainland and pocket big cash payoffs from Stasher-Layman. Cute."

"Cute' is not an adjective I'd apply to him."

Different music drifted from the game room. A woman singing, This old man, he plays two…

"When did you first suspect he was involved?"

"When the Navy started treating us differently. Ewing's predecessor was no saint but he was civil. Ewing has the demeanor of an assassin- did you know he was sent here as punishment for lewd behavior? Tied a woman down and took photographs… From the moment I met him, I knew he'd been sent to punish Aruk. And that Hoffman had to be behind it. Who else even knew about the place? I wrote to him, he never answered. Then Ben caught Creedman snooping in my files and I asked Al Landau to do some research. He learned the skunk had worked for Stasher-Layman and what they were all about. But I had no idea it was a dumpsite till Hoffman bragged about it after dinner. Apologizing for not answering, he'd been so busy. Then that same smile."

"Were your letters threatening?" I said.

"Poo! Give me credit, son. I was discreet. Nuances, not threats."

"Nuances that he ignored."

"He said he hadn't wanted to put anything in writing. That's why he'd come personally."

"Why'd he invite all of us to dinner?"

"For cover. But you notice that he got me alone. That's when he boasted and made his offer."

"To buy you out?"

"At a laughable price. I refused and reminded him of my little diary."

"What did he say?"

"He simply smiled."

"If he's worried about the diary, why can't you get him to stop the project?"

"I- we negotiated. He pointed out that stopping completely would be impractical. Things have gone too far. To reverse what's already been done would call attention to Aruk."

"And you agreed to consider it because of the kids."

"Exactly! Though the bastard thinks it's my own lifestyle I don't want jeopardized." He grimaced. "You're right, he and I are stalemated: he doesn't want publicity and neither do I. My only goal is to let my kids live out their lives in peace- how long do they really have? Five years, maybe six or seven. Hoffman's project will take years to complete even under the best of circumstances- you know the government. So, hopefully, he and I can achieve some sort of compromise. I'll sell off token bits of land to the government, take my time, delay things without seeming unduly obdurate."

"The Trading Post, and your other waterfront holdings."

He nodded. "And the money will be set aside for you two."

"A compromise," I said. "As you both let Aruk die."

He sighed. "Aruk's been good to me, but I'm an old man and I know my limitations. Priorities must be set. What I've demanded from Hoffman was to slow things down."

"Did he agree?"

"He didn't refuse."

"The man cold-bloodedly murdered six dozen people. Why would he give in to you?"

"Because of my insurance."

"I still don't understand why, if you can ruin him, you don't have more power."

He scratched the tip of his nose. "I've told you everything, son."

He reached out to pat my shoulder and I backed away.

"No, I don't think so," I said. "When you returned from talking to him you looked shell-shocked. Not like someone who'd negotiated a compromise. Hoffman reminded you about something, didn't he?"

No answer.

"What's he holding over you, Bill?"

He stepped further into the ramp.

"First things first," he said. "My offer."

"First answer my question?"

"These things are irrelevant!"

"Honesty's irrelevant? Oh, I forgot, the truth is relative."

"Truth is justice! Getting into irrelevant areas that bring about injustice is deceitful!"

This old man, he plays ten…

"All right," I said. "You're entitled to your privacy."

I looked at Robin. She cocked her head very slightly, toward the cavern.

"Goodbye, Bill."

He held me back. "Please! Everything in due time! Please be patient!"

His crinkled chin shook so hard his teeth knocked. "I'll tell you everything when the time's right, but first I must have your commitment. I believe I've earned it! What I'm offering you would enrich your lives!"

"We can't give you an answer just like that."

He climbed further up the ramp. "Meaning you think I'm mad and your answer is no."

"Let's get back and clear our heads. You, too. Pam needs to know you're safe."

"No, no, this isn't right, son. Leaving an old man in the lurch after I've… flayed my soul open for you!"

"I'm sorry-"

He clutched my arm. "Why not just agree? You're young, robust, so many years ahead of you! Think of what you can do with all that wealth." His eyes brightened. "Perhaps you could figure out a way to save Aruk! Think of the meaning that would bring to your lives! What else is there to life but finding some kind of meaning?"

I removed his fingers from my arm. The record in the game room had caught. The old man playing ten, over and over…

"I was wrong," he said, behind me. "You're not the compassionate boy I thought you were."

"I'm not a boy," I said. "And I'm not your son."

The retort bursting out of me, the same way it had out of Dennis Laurent.

The look on his face… I felt like a bad son.

A maddening man.

Mad or on the brink of it.

"No, you're not," he whispered. "Indeed, you're not."

Robin took my hand and we both left the ramp. Moreland watched us, not budging.

After we'd gone a few steps, he turned his back on us.

Robin stopped, tears in her eyes.

"Bill," she said, just as sound came from the top of the ramp.

Moreland looked and almost lost his balance.

Another noise- hollow, metallic- came from above, just as he straightened.

Then rapid, muffled footsteps.

Two figures in black rain slickers barreled down the ramp. One grabbed Moreland. The other stopped for a fraction of a second, then came toward us.

Glossy wet slickers, galoshes. All that rubber buffed brighter by moisture.

Like giant seals.

Anders Haygood splashed water on us as he waved the automatic.