Polar Shift (NUMA Files 6)

At the foot of the bluff, the guard clicked a remote and a door disguised as rock facing opened. On the other side was an elevator that whisked them up to the lighthouse.

As they stepped from the lighthouse they saw Tristan Margrave, who had been chopping wood and stacking it into a neat pile. He put his ax down, waved the armed man away and walked over to greet the newcomers with a handshake.

"So much for my peace and quiet," he said, a mock frown on his thin, satanic face.

He was taller than the other two men by a foot. Although his hands were callused from cutting wood, he was neither a laborer nor a New York Times reporter named Barnes, as he had introduced himself to the detective Frank Malloy. He had met Barrett at MIT, where he had graduated with a degree in advanced computer science. Working together, they had developed innovative software that had made them millionaires many times over.

Barrett watched the departing guard disappear into the trees. "You didn't have the guard dog the last time I was here."

"Guy from the security company I hired," Margrave said dismissively. "There's a contingent of them camped farther down the island. Gant and I thought it might be good to hire them."

"And what Gant wants, Gant gets."

"I know you don't like the guy, but Jordan is vital to our efforts. We need his foundation to negotiate the political agreements we're going to get after our work is done."

"Lucifer's Legion not good enough for you anymore?"

Margrave chuckled. "My so-called legion began to fall apart as soon as there was any hint of discipline. You know how anarchists hate authority. I needed professionals. They call themselves 'consultants' these days, and charge an arm and a leg for their services. He was just doing his job."

"What is his job?"

"To make sure no unauthorized visitors come onto the island."

"Were you expecting visitors?"

"Our enterprise is too important to fail." Margrave grinned. "Hell, what if someone saw a guy with a spider tattoo on his head and began asking questions?"

Barrett shrugged and glanced at the woodpile. "Glad to see you're living your retro philosophy, but cutting all those logs would be a lot easier with a chain saw. I know you can afford one."

"I'm a neo-anarchist, not a neo-Luddite. I believe in technology when it's for the good of mankind. Besides, the chain saw is broken." He turned to the pilot. "How was the flight from Portland, Mickey?"

"Smooth. I flew over Camden, hoping the pretty sailboats would cheer your partner up."

"Why should he need cheering up?" Margrave said. "He's about to enter the pantheon of science. What's going on, Spider?"

"We've got problems."

"That's what you said on the phone. I thought you were kidding."

Barrett gave him a bleak smile. "Not this time."

"In that case, I think we all need a drink." Margrave led the way up a flagstone walkway that led to the big, two-story, white clapboard building attached to the lighthouse.

When Margrave bought the island three years earlier, he had decided to preserve the keeper's house as it had been in the days when it quartered the taciturn men who manned the lonely station. The pine-board walls had bead-board wainscoting, and the worn linoleum flooring was original, as were the slate sink and hand pump in the kitchen.

Margrave gave Doyle's shoulder a squeeze. "Hey, Mickey, Spider and I have some stuff to discuss. There's a bottle of Bombay Sapphire in the pantry. Rustle up a couple of drinks, like a good fellow. There's beer in the fridge for you."

"Aye-aye, Captain," the pilot said with a grin and a brisk salute.

The other two men ascended a painted wrought-iron spiral staircase to the second floor. The upper level, which once housed bedrooms for the keeper and his family, had been gutted to create one large room.

The clinical minimalist decor stood in stark contrast to the preservation on the ground floor. A laptop computer sat on a black teak table on one side of the room. A chrome-and-leather sofa and a couple of armchairs were the only furniture on the other side. Windows on three walls offered views of the island, with its tall pine trees, and the sparkling waters of the bay. Flowing through the open windows was the salty scent of the sea.

Margrave motioned Barrett into the sofa and settled into a chair. Doyle arrived a few minutes later and served the drinks. He popped a can of Budweiser for himself and took a seat at the table.

Margrave raised his glass in a toast. "Here's to you, Spider. The bright lights of New York City will never be the same. Too bad your genius must go unrecognized."

"Genius had nothing to do with it. Electromagnetism runs almost every part of our lives. Fiddle around with the magnetic fields and it's easy to mess stuff up."