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  Susan moved her chair nearer Vanessa’s. “Is that all right? What he said? Do you mind if he does it?”

  “I don’t.” Vanessa took a deep breath, and let it out in an audible sigh. “I don’t have to see it. He showed it to me, and I know what it is. I’ll shut my eyes.”

  Meanwhile, Johnson had put out his hand; Skip put the brown object into it.

  “Sharp!” Johnson had opened the blade.

  “It is,” Skip said.

  Johnson closed it and passed it to Tooley, who offered it to Susan. When she shook her head, he returned it to Skip.

  “I’d known Virginia before her daughter and I boarded this ship. She’d worn long sleeves then, but so what? It was cold, so everybody wore long sleeves. It’s warm here, and nobody wore them except Virginia.”

  Johnson said, “Her gun. She had to hide it.”

  “I was with her when she got it, and she wore long sleeves before that. That may have been why the woman who sold it to her suggested it. Perhaps I should have seen those scars then, but the room was dark—just a couple of candles. Later I saw them in one of our meetings, when she put her gun away: long scars on her left forearm.”

  Skip waited for questions, but there were none. “Earlier I had showed her the brown object, the knife or shaver or whatever you call it, that I just showed Rick. She screamed when she saw it, but she couldn’t explain why it frightened her so much.”

  Johnson said, “It had made the scars?”

  “No. It couldn’t have. They’re recent but not as recent as that. I know when and where she got it, and it wasn’t long before she came aboard. I think those scars were made by something similar, a folding knife with a brown handle or another old shaver. When she saw this one in a shop, it woke some memory. She wanted to buy it, but she had been a good customer and the shopkeeper gave it to her. She left it behind when she fled the apartment I had given her. Seeing it unexpectedly in my hand, she was terrified.”

  Skip paused, looking from face to face. “The way she got her scars is pretty obvious, I’d say. Not more than a year ago she tried to kill herself, holding the knife in her right hand—she’s clearly right-handed—and cutting her left wrist and forearm.”

  Tooley said, “She failed.”

  “Correct. She didn’t cut deeply enough or she cut in the wrong places. Or she was saved by someone who came in before she’d lost too much blood. Her suicide attempt was edited out, as Rick would say, but traces clearly remained. It was a traumatic event, and her memories of it must have run deep.”

  Susan asked, “What are you getting at, sir?”

  “A suicide ring. We were defending a case involving one before Chelle and I left the city.”

  “You’re right, sir. David D. Boon.”

  Vanessa rose. “You—you’re going to say I belonged to one. I don’t know a thing about them. I— There was something on the news.…”

  Skip nodded. “Those memories have been taken from you, and it’s good that they were. Quickly, then. They’re very much against the law because they make a fine cover for murder. If someone—”

  Johnson interrupted. “I don’t know a lot about them either, but I know the members don’t kill themselves. They kill each other.”

  “Correct. The people who join them have tried to kill themselves in almost every case. They haven’t been able to do it. They lose their nerve or realize at the last moment that their life insurance will be voided by suicide. When they join, they pledge themselves to kill the member who’s been in the ring longer than anyone else. That member may insist he’s changed his mind, or run, or do whatever he chooses to try to cheat death. It doesn’t matter. The other members have sworn to track him down.”

  “Him or her.”

  “Exactly. I think Virginia joined a ring. The people who edited her memories took that one as well as the memory of her suicide attempt. When Virginia went into a certain restaurant, one of the diners—a female member of the ring—recognized her. This woman told the man she had been eating with, another member. He followed her with a steak knife and stabbed her in the street. I don’t know all that, but it accounts for the facts I have, and it’s the only scenario I’ve been able to put together that does.”

  Susan said, “This is horrible, just horrible! Why are we talking about it?”

  Johnson turned to look at her. “The bomb, of course.”

  Tooley said, “You’re saying we brought the person who planted the bomb, Soriano and me. Only it would almost have to be one of mine.”

  “You’re right,” Skip told him. “I’d like you to list the names of the people you got from the mercenary website. Will you do that and give it to me?”

  Tooley nodded. “I haven’t got my notebook here, but I’ll make the list and get it to you as quickly as I can. Full names and service numbers.”

  “Two of us are here right now,” Johnson told Skip. “Susan and I came with Mick.”

  “I know.” Skip went the table and glanced at the guns. “It seems obvious to me that members of the ring traced Virginia’s movements after she left her apartment. They found out she was on this ship, but the ship had already sailed. Mick posted his announcement on a mercenary website—”

  “It was a help-wanted ad.” Tooley grinned. “And I put it on all the sites I could find, sir. There were seven of them.”

  “It gave the name of the ship? I’ve been assuming that.”

  “The ship’s name and your name, sir. Not Virginia’s. I didn’t know she was on board when I entered it.”

  “In that case they must have traced her movements. Either that, or they were confident enough that she was associated with me that my name sufficed. They signed with you. I’ve been saying ‘they,’ but it’s probably a single individual. He signed with you, and once he was on board he quickly learned that Virginia was the ship’s social director. He had brought a bomb. I have no idea how he managed to plant it in her office, and the women who might have told us are presumably dead.”

  Johnson raised his hand. “I’ve been thinking about the people behind me—what they said and how they said it. I think they were women, both of them. I think I told you the first one said, ‘Who’s that?’ and the second one said, ‘She’s the social director.’ ”

  “You did. Do you want to correct that or enlarge on it?”

  “Yes, sir. I do. I believe the first one said, ‘Who is that who raised her hand?’ and the second said, ‘She’s the social director.’ ”

  “Both were women? That’s the important point.”

  Johnson shrugged. “I can’t swear to it, but that’s my impression.”

  “I see.” For a moment, Skip fingered his lower lip. “It may not be significant, of course. Others may have asked the same question or the women behind you may have been overheard.”

  “They were,” Johnson said. “By me.”

  Susan rose. “I’d like my gun back, Mr. Grison.”

  “Certainly.” Skip picked her revolver up and handed it to her. “Do you have to leave?”

  “No.” Still holding it, she remained at the front of the room. “This is going to be a lynching—or … or that’s what I think. That man’s trying to put the rope around my neck.”

  “I’m not,” Johnson declared.

  “Look me in the eye and say that! When we were on the boat I thought we were in it together, and now you want to k-kill m-m-me.”

  Skip put his arm about her shoulders. “Nobody’s going to hurt you, Susie. Nobody!”

  Johnson said, “I wasn’t trying to. I didn’t know it was you.”

  “I was sitting right behind you! Mr. Grison, will you listen to me for just a minute, please?”

  He nodded. “Of course I will.”

  “You were asking for women. You said you needed women who’d pretend to be prisoners to back up Soriano’s claim that there were good-looking women who’d be at the mercy of the hijackers if they’d throw in with him.”

  “Correct.”

  “And
afterward the women might have to fight. That—I’m not your Chelle Blue.”

  Skip smiled. “I was surprised when you volunteered. Surprised and very pleased.”

  “I was going to wait until you asked me. I thought that when nobody would, you’d call on me. You know, what about you, Susan? And then I’d stand up and say something brave, only Virginia put her hand up. There was this big muscular woman sitting with me, and she hadn’t volunteered but Virginia had. Is her name really Virginia?”

  “On this ship, as I said.”

  Susan hesitated, fingered her revolver, and returned it to its holster. “She said Virginia was the social director. Then I put my hand up and she did too—the woman beside me. When you came in here you asked me whether I knew this lady was the social director, and I lied. I lied to you! I lied because I didn’t want you to think I’d done it.”

  “I understand, and nobody’s going to lynch you. You may leave if you like.”

  Susan shook her head and sat down.

  Skip walked the length of the room, turned, and spoke. “A moment ago Rick said that two of the people who had come with Mick were here now. In a sense, three were—the third being Mick himself.” He paused.

  “I don’t suspect any of you, and I need to make that clear. Mick and Susan are people I’ve worked with for years, three years plus in Mick’s case and even longer for Susan. Rick himself looked a little more suspicious. For one thing, he’s tall. Some of the witnesses to Virginia’s stabbing said her attacker was tall.”

  Tooley added, “Two out of three, actually.”

  “For another, he was eager to get in to see Chelle. By that time he could easily have learned that Virginia was Chelle’s mother. If his bomb failed, something he learned from Chelle might be quite useful.”

  Johnson grinned. “I’d never realized that I was such a Machiavellian character.”

  “It didn’t take long for me to see how unlikely he was. He not only had a gun—all of us have guns now—but he had a license for it. The steak knife strongly suggests that Virginia’s attacker was unarmed when he sat eating in the restaurant. Rick’s gun suggested another reason.”

  Returning to the front of the room, Skip held it up. “Look carefully. Chelle’s, which is probably a later model, has ambidextrous safeties. This one doesn’t. The safety is on the right side, where it would be operated by the thumb of the left hand. Here, compare it to mine.”

  “They’re reversible,” Johnson told him. “I had the battalion armorer change mine.”

  Tooley said, “I take it that Virginia’s wound is on the right side. I should have checked that.”

  “I’ve seen it, and it is. On the right side, high up. She wears heels, as you may have noticed. The man who stabbed her need not have been freakishly tall, but he was certainly above average height.”

  “You’ve got a gun in your hand,” Tooley remarked, “and nobody else has one except Susan. I take it you’re about to name the bomber.”

  Skip returned his gun to the table. “I’m not. I wish I were. I got you together—Chelle would be here too if she weren’t so badly hurt—so I could tell you what I know and ask your help. You brought eleven people south with you, Mick?”

  Tooley cleared his throat. “That’s right. Eleven including Susan and Rick.”

  “Leaving nine. One of those nine almost certainly planted the bomb. Susan, you and Rick were with them before Soriano sailed, and afterward on the boat. Who do you think is most likely? I realize that—”

  “Skip!” Vanessa interrupted him. “I must talk to you, darling.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  REFLECTION 11: The Ring

  Thought and speech come easily to me. Action is hard. That’s a new realization; for so many years I thought myself a man of action. Yes, I filed appeals and sent others—always others—scurrying around in search of witnesses. I did those things and thought that I acted. More than once, I simply asked Susan or Mrs. Rosso to do them.

  Our seamen are men of action. So are Soriano and his mercenaries. What of the men from Boswash whom Mick will list for me?

  I think of them as men because Mick says they’re all men. Susan was the only woman. Can they all be men of action? The man we seek is a man of action surely. He learned very quickly that Vanessa was the social director and planted his bomb as soon as he could get away from the rest.

  Although he may have learned it when he learned that Vanessa was on this ship. Why not? NB: Call Zygmunt. Who asked questions at the offices of the cruise line? Name and description.

  I was a man of action while I carried my submachine gun. When I think back on what I did then I know it’s the truth. This pistol doesn’t have the same effect, perhaps because I’ve never shot anyone with it. Will I shoot the bomber when I find him?

  Only if I must. I will shoot him and he will die, which was what he wanted when he joined the ring. They won’t try me for machine-gunning hijackers; they’d be laughed out of court. But if I shoot him? Say that it’s Rick.…

  And it may well be Rick; a left-handed man could have stabbed her from one side; we’d have to know the direction of the wound.

  Rick’s a veteran, and honorably discharged. He would have to have an honorable discharge to get that license. They’ll certainly want to try me for that, nor can I fault them for it.

  * * *

  The submachine gun is under my bed. I would never have believed that I would sleep with a submachine gun under the bed.

  What else?

  The suicide ring, of course, although it will be difficult. We lack the name of a single member.

  We lack that, but Reanimation has it, Reanimation has one name at least, though Reanimation will not surrender it easily. Find the name of the employee they’re looking for—surely they’re looking for her by now—and trace her associates. One or more are on this ship. Two would seem more likely, and there could easily be three. Ask Mick. Did two or three enlist together? Did any of the men he enlisted appear to know each other? We must learn those things.

  There’s more. The police will suspect certain persons of belonging to suicide rings. With luck, Zygmunt may be able to learn their names, or some of them. Mick said he could give me the service numbers of his men as well as their names. That suggests that none used aliases, though it doesn’t prove it. Have the numbers checked; the Public Service Administration will provide names.

  When I shut my eyes I see the ruin blocking the corridor. I smell the smoke. There were no screams save Vanessa’s. She was on her way to her office, she said, when she stopped at the infirmary to talk to Chelle.

  I see the dead hand, the nail polish and the ring with the big watery stone. Did the young woman I spoke to there have a ring like that?

  I wish I could remember.

  How pretty she was!

  12. JANE SIMS

  “Sit down, Don.” Skip indicated a chair. “Would you like something to eat? Or a drink? The first-class kitchen’s supposed to be a bit better than second class. It may not be true, but that’s what they say. I’d think the bars are probably about the same.”

  “Dos Equis, sir, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Of course not. I’ll have one, too.” Skip picked up the telephone and ordered.

  Miles waited expectantly.

  “You’re wondering why I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I need your help, or think I do. You’ve probably guessed that already.”

  “I’ll be happy to help you any way I can, sir.”

  “I know. I feel sure of that, but I’m going to have to ask you some personal questions. It wouldn’t be fair for me to do that without briefing you, without giving you some idea of why I’m prying into your private life. You went down into the hold with Sergeant Kent-Jermyn to fight the hijackers.”

  “Yes, sir. It was a damned fool thing to do. I know that now.”

  “It was a very brave thing to do. I admire you for it. Everybody admire
s you.” Skip paused, collecting his thoughts. “Some of you were killed. Others were captured. When you were, Mastergunner Chelle Blue led a party down there to rescue you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mastergunner Blue and I are contracted. Did you know that?”

  “Yes, sir. Lieutenant Brice told me. He’s one of the ship’s officers, sir.”

  “He is, Captain Kain has mentioned him. There’s a Captain Johnson on board, too. A captain in the Army, I mean. Do you know him?”

  “No, sir.”

  “He was in that meeting room when you came in. I should have introduced you to everyone, but I was so anxious to talk to you that it was all I could think of. Do you know Virginia Healy?”

  “No, sir. Wait a minute—wasn’t that the woman who volunteered to go down as a prisoner? The first woman who raised her hand?”

  “Correct. She’s Mastergunner Blue’s mother.” Skip sighed. “She’s Chelle’s mother, and someone’s trying to kill her. That’s one reason I’m poking and prying—a peripheral reason, or I think it is. Sometime peripheral reasons turn out to be not so peripheral later.”

  Miles nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  There was a diffident knock.

  Skip opened the door, and signed the bill when the waiter had deposited his tray on a small table. “Did you fight?” Skip asked the waiter.

  “No, sir. Not really. They put the older people in the second-class dining room, sir, and assigned four of us to guard them. I was one of those.”

  “Did you have a gun?”

  “Not at first, sir. A kitchen knife. We got guns after, sir.”

  “Can you shoot?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Neither can I.” Skip added a tip to the check, and the waiter went out.

  As the door closed, Miles said, “I heard you killed quite a few of them, sir.” He had not opened his beer.