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  said. “So I take it you love your parents very much?”

  “I’d do anything for them.”

  Horatio looked a bit curious at this statement. “Would you give me permission to talk to them about you?”

  “Not my parents, no!”

  “How about one of your brothers?”

  “You can talk to Bill, he’s the oldest, a state trooper in Florida.”

  “Whatever you wish, milady.”

  “I wish I wasn’t here,” Michelle blurted out.

  “You can leave anytime you want. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “You can leave right now, get up and walk out. If that’s what you want. Get the hell on with your independent life. No one’s stopping you. There’s the door.”

  There was a long moment of silence and then she said, “I think I’ll stay, for now.”

  “I think that’s an excellent choice, Michelle.”

  After they finished their discussion Michelle followed Horatio out. As they stood in the doorway Barry walked by, but didn’t look at them.

  Michelle said, “What do you know about that guy?”

  “Not much. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Now why don’t I believe that?”

  “You doubting my word, Horatio?”

  “I was thinking of a more technical phrase, like liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  BEALE PENINSULA IS A WEDGE of land that juts out into the York River on the Gloucester County side midway between Clay Bank and Wicomico in Virginia’s picturesque Tidewater. Like much of Virginia, Beale had been settled early in colonial times. It was filled with the first glories of the new country that over a century later would become the United States. Less than ten miles to the south, at Yorktown in 1781, British General Cornwallis had turned both his sword and thousands of humbled redcoats over to George Washington’s ragtag Continental Army. This effectively ended the American War for Independence on a distinctly high note for the victorious yanks, who, up until that point, had rarely seen a battle they could not somehow manage to lose in the end.

  From the cleared fields of those early days had risen magnificent brick and clapboard plantations that depended on legions of slaves to run them properly. Less than a hundred years later, depleted soil and the Civil War ended these sleepy days of southern aristocracy forever.

  A second wave of prosperity hit when the newly minted wealth of the Industrial Age found its way to this tranquil spot on the York, enticed by its clean water, good fishing, temperate climate and pastoral setting. It was also deemed a restorative place for those with consumption, due to its low elevation and water breezes and abundance of longleaf yellow pine that was thought to be good for tubercular lungs. And once one or two of these exalted families began putting down expensive roots, others had quickly followed.

  For this reason, at its peak, six private railway lines stretched down from the north and three more from the west terminating at this doughy fist of Virginia red clay with its steady river breezes.

  Now, years later, a few of these palaces had been turned into bed-and-breakfasts or small hotels. The majority though, like the southern plantations before them, had fallen into ruins, which at least provided adventure-filled places for the children to roam during the long, humid days of a Tidewater summer.

  Directly across the river on the York County side the United States government’s imprint was heavy with Camp Peary, next to a naval supply center and a weapons station. Together this triumvirate took up the entire waterfront from Yorktown to on past Lightfoot, Virginia. It was said that the folks at Camp Peary, an ultra-secretive training center for CIA agents and nicknamed the “Farm,” had technology that could discern a person’s eye color from across the wide river in the dead of night. And it was also accepted as fact by the locals that every person who had ever come within a four-mile radius of the place had been spied on from outer space. No one had proven that this was so, but it was very much true that no visitor ever left the area without hearing that story at least three times.

  Beale had endured the ups and downs of the economy and the whims of the rich, while its more moderately well-off citizens went about their ordinary lives in ways that occurred throughout much of the country. That was so except for one recent development in the area.

  And that was a place called Babbage Town.

  Sean King’s small plane landed smoothly on the asphalt of the lone runway and came to a stop, its twin props winding down. A slate blue Hummer pulled up to the aircraft and a young, lanky black man in a private security uniform got out and helped Sean with his bags.

  As the Hummer rolled along, Sean sat back and thought about his visit with Michelle before he’d headed to Babbage Town. He’d called Horatio to make sure it was okay to see her before he left. And, in turn, the psychologist had asked to see Michelle’s personal things at the apartment Sean had leased for them both. Horatio had also wanted to see Michelle’s truck.

  “Just wear a mask and gloves,” Sean had warned him, “and make sure your tetanus shot is up to date.”

  When Sean had seen Michelle in the visitor’s room his spirits had been lifted by her healthy appearance. She even gave him a hug, listened to what he was saying and answered directly the questions he put to her.

  “How long will you be gone to this Babbage Town place?” she’d asked after he’d told her about his new assignment.

  “I’m not sure. I’m taking a private plane down that Joan arranged.”

  “And how is your paranoid schizophrenic slut of an ex-friend Joan?”

  He took the comment as a sign of her returning spirit and said, “Well, she won’t be coming with me. There’s a guy down there named Len Rivest who’s head of security for Babbage Town. He was with the FBI, knows Joan and recommended her firm. He’ll be my main contact there.”

  “You said a man was murdered?”

  “We don’t know for sure. His name was Monk Turing. He worked at Babbage Town.”

  “What exactly is Babbage Town?”

  “It’s only been described to me as a secret think tank working on some important stuff.”

  “Who runs the place?”

  “According to the file a guy named Champ Pollion.”

  “Monk? Champ?”

  “I know; it’s weird right from the get-go. But there’ll be a nice payday if I can find out what happened to the guy.”

  “Is that how you can afford this place? I know my insurance doesn’t cover it.”

  “All you need to do is get better. Let me worry about the rest of it.”

  “I am getting better. I feel good.” Her voice sank lower. “And there’s something weird going on here.”

  “Weird? What do you mean?”

  “Sounds in the night. People moving around in places they shouldn’t be.”

  Sean took a deep breath and said in a mildly scolding tone, “Will you promise me you won’t get mixed up in it, whatever it is? I won’t be around to help if you do.”

  “You’re flying into the middle of nowhere to investigate a murder without me backing you up. I should be the one putting the screws to you.”

  “I promise I’ll be careful.”

  “As soon as I’m out of here I’ll come down and help you.”

  “I hear you and Horatio have really hit it off.”

  “I can’t stand the son of a bitch.”

  “Good, then you are getting along.”

  A few minutes later he’d started to leave when she clutched his arm. “If things start getting really wild, call me. I can be down to help in a flash.”

  “I’ll watch my backside.”

  “I don’t think you can watch your front and back at the same time.”

  He pointed a finger at her. “The most important thing is for you to get yourself right. Then we can start being our perfect opposites-attract all-star detective team again.”

  “I’m l
ooking forward to that.”

  “Me too.”

  Now he was heading to Babbage Town, alone, and regretting more than ever that Michelle wasn’t with him. Yet his partner had a long road to travel back to good health and his mind was constantly preoccupied with the possibility that she might not succeed.

  As they drove along beside the York River a scattering of birds rose into the air at the same time a half-dozen deer flew across the road. The driver barely tapped his brakes. The flank of the last whitetail deer came within a couple inches of meeting the fender of the pumped-up SUV. All Sean could envision were antlers coming through the windshield and impaling him on the deep, rich Hummer leather.

  “Get that a lot this time of year,” the driver said in a bored tone.

  “What’s that, instant death?” Sean snapped.

  He looked to his right where he could see the river through the patches of cleared fields. Beyond that he made out, just barely, the shiny chain link fencing topped by razor wire surrounding the land just across the York River.

  “Camp Peary?” he asked, pointing.

  “CIA spook land. Call it the Farm.”

  “I’d forgotten it was down here.” Sean knew perfectly well it was there, but he was pretending ignorance in the hopes of getting some local intelligence.

  “People who live around here never have trouble remembering.”

  “Small animals and children disappearing in the night?” Sean asked with a smile.

  “No, but that plane you came in on? You can bet that a surface-to-air missile from the Farm was trained on your ass until you touched down. If the plane had wandered into restricted airspace, you would’ve come down out of the skies a lot faster than you would’ve wanted to.”

  “I’m sure. But I guess they bring a lot of jobs to the area.”

  “Yeah, but they also took stuff.”

  “What do you mean?” Sean asked.

  “The Navy ran it first. When they came here they kicked everybody out.”

  “Everybody out?” Sean looked confused.

  “Yeah, there were two towns over there: Magruder and Bigler’s Mill. My grandparents lived in Magruder. During the war they got moved to James City County. Then the Navy vacated the place after the war but came back in the early Fifties. It’s been off-limits ever since.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Yeah, wasn’t so interesting for my grandparents. But the military does whatever the hell it wants.”

  “Well, you should take comfort in the fact that now it’s just your neighborly CIA over there watching you through binoculars.”

  The man chuckled and Sean changed the subject. “Did you know Monk Turing?”

  The man nodded. “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “And he was like everybody else at Babbage Town. Too much brains. We didn’t exactly speak the same language.”

  “How long have you worked there?”

  “Two years.”

  “Why does this place need security?”

  “Important stuff they’re working on.”

  “Like what?”

  “Asking the wrong person. Has to do with numbers and computers. They’ll probably tell you, if you ask them.” He smiled. “Oh, yeah, they’ll tell you in a way that you’ll never understand, but there you are.” The driver pointed up ahead. “Welcome to Babbage Town.” He added with a grin, “Hope you enjoy your stay with us.”

  CHAPTER

  12

  WHILE SEAN WAS WORKING on his investigation, Michelle was intent on beginning one of her own. In the cafeteria she took her tray and made her way over to the table where the woman in the wheelchair was having lunch. Michelle sat down beside her and opened her bottle of water. She glanced over at the lady.

  “I’m Michelle.”

  “Sandy,” the woman said. “What are you in for?”

  “I’m apparently suicidal,” Michelle said bluntly.

  The woman brightened. “So was I, for years, but you get over it. I mean I guess you do, unless you actually manage to kill yourself.”

  Michelle ran her gaze over the woman. She was in her late forties, long bottle blond hair meticulously styled, fine cheekbones, a pair of vibrant hazel eyes, and an ample bosom. Her makeup and fingernails were immaculate. Even though she was only wearing plain khaki pants, tennis shoes and a purple V-neck sweater, she carried it off with the confident air of a woman used to far more expensive things in life. Her voice had a Deep South foundation to it.

  “So what are you in for?” Michelle asked.

  “Depression, what else? My shrink says everybody’s depressed. But I don’t believe him. If everybody felt the way I did, well, I just don’t believe him, is all.”

  “You seem okay to me.”

  “I think I have a chemical imbalance. I mean that’s what everybody blames it on these days. But then like a snap, I just run out of energy. You seem okay too. Sure you’re not in here goldbricking?”

  “I’ve heard of goldbricking when you’ve been physically injured.”

  “People in lawsuits claiming emotional distress or mental trauma can help their case if they wind up in a place like this. You get a bed, three squares a day and all the meds you want. For some, that’s nirvana. Then their shrink testifies how they’ll never reach orgasm again or can’t leave their homes without fainting and, bam, they get a big, fat settlement.”

  “Quite a scam.”

  Sandy added, “Oh, I’m not saying lots of people aren’t legitimately screwed up, I happen to be one of them.”

  Michelle glanced at the woman’s legs. “Accident?”

  “I was shot in the spine by a nine-millimeter bullet fired from a Glock,” she said matter-of-factly. “Instant and irreversible paralysis and in a split second outgoing, athletic Sandy became a poor crip.”

  “My God,” Michelle exclaimed. “How’d that happen?”

  “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Is that why you were suicidal? Because you were paralyzed?”

  “The paralysis I could deal with. It was other crap that was hard to take,” she added mysteriously.

  “What other crap?” Michelle asked.

  “Not going there. You think you’re getting better?”

  Michelle shrugged. “I think it’s too early to say. Physically I feel okay.”

  “Well, you’re young and pretty, so once the bruises heal you’ll be fine to take control of your life.”

  “Take control of it how?”

  “Get yourself a man with money, and let him take care of you. Use your looks, honey, that’s why God gave them to you. And just remember this, title everything as joint tenants with right of survivorship. Don’t swallow the line that his money is his money bullshit.”

  “You sound like you speak from experience.”

  Sandy gave a shudder. “God I wish they let you smoke in here, but they say nicotine is an addictive substance. I say give me my cigs and get out of my damn face.”

  “But you want to be here, right?” Michelle asked.

  “Oh, we all want to be here, honey.” She smiled and slid two pieces of asparagus neatly into her mouth.

  Barry passed by, assisting a young man.

  Michelle nodded at him. “You know that attendant, Barry?”