"It seems that way."

"That's what we can't figure," Duffy said, scratching the stubble

on his chin. "Why would they try to kill a couple of innocent tourists?"

"You'll have to ask them," Paul said.

Duffy's ruddy face went an even deeper red. He opened his mouth to respond.

MacFarlane raised his hand to shush his partner. "Those folks are in no condition to answer questions," he said with a wan smile. "But you see, this presents another problem. The young lady here stopped at a general store and asked about a fish plant in town. The four gentlemen who were killed were all employees of the same plant."

"I'm a marine biologist," Gamay said. "My interest in fish is noth- ing odd. I don't mean to tell you how to do your job," she said, in a tone that indicated that was exactly what she was doing, "but maybe you should talk to someone at the plant."

"That's another funny thing," Duffy said. "The plant's closed."

Gamay hid her surprise with a shrug and girded herself for more questions, but just then, MacFarlane's cell phone rang, saving them from another round of the third degree. He excused himself, got up and moved into the hall, out of earshot. A few minutes later, he came back in and said, "Thanks for your time, folks. You can go."

"I won't argue with you, Officer, but could you tell us what's going on?" Paul said. "A minute ago, we were public enemies one and two."

The worried expression that had been on MacFarlane's face ear- lier was replaced by a friendly smile. "That was the station. We made some inquiries when we saw the ID cards in your wallets. Just got a call from Washington. Seems like you two are pretty important peo- ple at NUMA. We'll prepare a couple of statements and get them to you for additions and signatures. Anywhere we can take you?" He seemed relieved at the resolution of a difficult situation.

"A rental-car agency might be a good start," Gamay said.

"And a pub would be a good finish," Paul said.

On the drive to the car rental office, Duffy dropped his bad-cop act and told them how to get to a pub where the beer and food were good and cheap. The policemen, who were going off-duty, invited themselves along, too. By the time they got into their second pint, the detectives were very talkative. They had retraced the Trouts' foot- steps, talking to the B-and-B owners and a few regulars around the waterfront. Mike Neal was still missing, and the man named Gro- gan had also disappeared. There was no telephone number for the Oceanus plant. They were still trying to contact the corporation's in- ternational office, but were having little luck.

Gamay ordered another beer after the police officers left. She blew off the foamy head and, in an accusatory tone, said, "That's the last time I take a drive in the country with you."

"At least you didn't break any bones. I have to drink my beer with my left hand. And how am I going to tie my bow ties?"

"Heaven forbid you use snap-ons, you poor boy. Have you seen the dark circle under my eye? I believe it's what we called a mouse when I was a kid."

Paul leaned over and lightly kissed his wife on the cheek. "On you, it looks exotic."

"I suppose that's better than nothing," Gamay said, with an in- dulgent smile. "What do we do now? We can't go back to Wash- ington with nothing to show but a few lumps and repair bills for a nonexistent boat."

He sipped his beer. "What was the name of that scientist Mike Neal tried to contact?"

"Throckmorton. Neal said he was at McGill University." "Montreal! Why not drop by and see him, as long as we're in the neighborhood?"

"Brilliant idea!" Gamay said. "Enjoy your beer, Lefty. I'll update Kurt on our plans."

Gamay took her cell phone to a relatively quiet corner of the pub and called NUMA. Austin was out, so she left a message saying they were following the Oceanus trail to Quebec and would be in contact. She asked Austin's secretary to track down a telephone number for Throckmorton and to see if she could put together a flight to Mon- treal. Several minutes later, the secretary called back with the phone number and two reservations on a flight leaving later that day.

Gamay called Throckmorton. She said she was a NUMA marine biologist and wondered if he had any time to talk about his work. He was delighted and flattered, he said, and would be free after his last class. Their Air Canada flight landed at Dorval Airport around midafternoon. They dropped their baggage off at the Queen Eliza- beth Hotel and caught a cab to the McGill University campus, a clus- ter of gray granite older buildings along with more modern structures on the side of Mont Royal.

Professor Throckmorton was wrapping up his lecture as the Trouts arrived, and emerged from his classroom surrounded by a flock of chattering students. Throckmorton's eye caught Gamay's stunning red hair and took in Paul's tall figure. He shooed away the students and came over to greet the newcomers.

"The Doctors Trout, I presume," he said, pumping their hands. "Thank you for seeing us on such short notice," Gamay said. "Not at all," he said warmly. "It's an honor to meet scientists from NUMA. I'm flattered that you're interested in my work."

Paul said, "We were traveling in Canada, and when Gamay learned about your research, she insisted that we make a detour."

"Hope I'm not the source of marital discord," he said, bushy eye- brows jumping like startled caterpillars.

"Not at all," Gamay said. "Montreal is one of our favorite cities."

"Well, then, now that we've got that settled, why don't you come up to the lab and see what's on the slab, as they say."

Tags: Clive Cussler NUMA Files Thriller
Source: readsnovelonline.net