Kate continued, “I then went online and researched ELF.” She informed me, “There’s not much more than what John Nasseff told us, except that the Russians use their ELF system differently than we do.”

“Right. They have more letters in their alphabet.” I yawned and listened to my stomach growl.

“There’s another difference.” She looked at her notes again. “Listen to this-the U.S., as we discovered, sends ELF messages to the nuclear sub fleet as a bell ringer, but the Russians, during times of heightened tensions, send a continuous message to their nuclear submarines that, in effect, says, ‘All is well.’ When the positive message stops, that means there’s a new, urgent message on the way, and if that message doesn’t arrive within the time it would take for an ELF signal to reach the submarines, then the silence is taken to mean the ELF station has been destroyed, and the subs are then authorized to launch against their predesignated targets in the U.S., or China, or wherever.”

“Jeez, I hope they’re paying their electric bills on time.”

“Me, too.” Kate continued, “This is why our ELF receiver in Greenland was able to home in on the Russian ELF signal on the Kola Peninsula-because they were using this continuous ‘All is well’ signal during a period of heightened tensions, which, according to this article, we precipitated in order to get the Russians to switch to their continuous-message system, which, in turn, enabled us to find their ELF transmitter on the Kola Peninsula.”

“Wow. Aren’t we clever? And talk about nuclear brinkmanship. Aren’t we glad the Cold War is over?”

“Yes. But this got me thinking that Madox, who had once obtained American ELF codes, may have obtained the Russian ELF codes.” She informed me, “According to this article-written by a Swede, incidentally-Russian encryption software is not as sophisticated or impenetrable as ours, so it could be that Madox has changed his ELF frequency to the frequency used by the Russians, and he’s going to try to send false signals to the Russian sub fleet to nuke… China, or the Mideast, or whoever he doesn’t like these days.”

I thought about that. “I guess if the Russian codes are easier to penetrate than ours, that’s a possibility.” I added, “Same Custer Hill ELF transmitter, different nuclear submarines. Any more interesting ELF stuff?”

“Just that the Indians are looking to build an ELF station.”

I sat up on the couch and asked, “What the hell do they need that for? Launching tomahawks? They have the casinos, for God’s sake.”

“John, the India Indians.”

“Oh…”

“They’re developing a nuclear submarine fleet. So are the Chinese and the Pakistanis.”

“That sucks. Next, it’ll be the postal workers. Then we can kiss our asses good-bye.”

Kate informed me, “Actually, the world is becoming a far more dangerous place than it was during the Cold War when it was just us and them.”

“Right. What’s the median price of a house in Potsdam?”

She didn’t seem to recall and sat at the desk, lost in thought. Then she said, “I also discovered some… not good news.”

“Like, bad news?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I’m still trying to sort it out. Let’s finish the rest of what we need to discuss first so we have a context.”

“Is your mother coming to visit?”

“This is not a joke.”

“All right. What’s next?”

“Mikhail Putyov.”

Mikhail Putyov,” I said. “No sign of him at Custer Hill. How about his home or office?”

“I called his office first, and his secretary, Ms. Crabtree, said he wasn’t in, so I said I was a doctor and this concerned a serious health matter.”

“That’s a good one. I never used that.”

“It works every time. Anyway, Ms. Crabtree loosened up a bit and told me that Dr. Putyov hadn’t shown up at work, hadn’t called, and that her calls to his cell phone went right into voice mail. She had also called Putyov’s wife, but Mrs. Putyov did not know where her husband was.” Kate added, “Obviously, Putyov never told anyone where he was going.”

“Did you get Putyov’s cell-phone number?”

“No. Ms. Crabtree wouldn’t give it to me, but she gave me hers for after hours, and I gave her my beeper number.” Kate added, “Ms. Crabtree sounded concerned.”

“Okay, so Mikhail is AWOL from MIT. How about home?”

“Same. Mrs. Putyov was on the verge of tears. She said that even when Mikhail is with his mistress, he calls and makes an excuse for not coming home.”

“He’s a good husband.”

“John, don’t be an asshole.”

“Just kidding. So, Mikhail is not just AWOL, he’s missing in action.”

“Well, he is as far as his wife and secretary are concerned. But he’s probably still at the Custer Hill Club.”

I shook my head. “If he was, he’d have called. A man in his situation, with FBI chaperones, doesn’t disappear and put his wife, family, or office in a position to think about calling the FBI. That’s the last thing Putyov wants.”

Kate nodded, then asked, “So…?”

“Well,” I said, “apparently, not everyone who walks into the Custer Hill Club leaves in the same condition as when they arrived.”

“Apparently not.” She pointed out, “You’ve been there twice. Want to try again?”

“Third time’s a charm.”

She ignored that and continued, “So, I Googled ‘Putyov, Mikhail,’ and pulled up some published articles and unpublished pieces that other physicists had written about him.”

“Do they like him?”

“They respect him. He’s a star in the world of nuclear physics.”

“That’s nice. Then why is he hanging around Bain Madox?”

“There could be a professional relationship. Although, for all we know, it could be some sort of personal relationship. Maybe they’re just friends.”

“Then why didn’t he tell his wife where he was going?”

“That’s the question. Anyway, all we know for sure is that a nuclear physicist named Mikhail Putyov was a guest at the Custer Hill Club and is now missing. Anything beyond that is speculation.”

“Right. Hey, did you call The Point?”

“Yes. There were two new messages from Liam Griffith saying it was urgent that we contact him.”

“Urgent for who? Not us. Did you say we were shopping for moose heads in Lake Placid?”

“I told Jim at the front desk to tell anyone who calls that we are expected back at The Point for dinner.”

“Good. That might keep Griffith cooled off until he shows up at The Point and discovers he got snookered.” I asked, “Did Walsh call?”

“No.”

“See? Our boss cut us loose. Nice guy.”

“I think we cut him loose, John, and now he’s returning the favor.”

“Whatever. Screw him. Who else called?”

“Major Schaeffer called The Point, as per your suggestion. His message to you was, ‘Your car has been returned to The Point. Keys with front desk.’”

“That’s nice. He forgot to leave the stakeout team in place, but he didn’t forget to cover his butt with the FBI.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you were cynical?”

“Sweetheart, I was an NYPD cop for twenty years. I’m a realist.” I reminded her, “I think we’ve been through this before. Okay, what else?”

She dropped her favorite subject and continued, “A man named Carl-sounds familiar-called and left a message that said, ‘Dinner is on.’ Jim asked for the details, but Carl said that Mr. Corey already had the details and please bring Ms. Mayfield, as discussed.” She added, “So, Madox wasn’t leaving his name, or anything that could connect our disappearance to him or his lodge.”

“What disappearance?”

“Our disappearance.”

“Why are you so suspicious of people?”

“John, fuck off.” She continued, “We also had three voice-mail messages in our room.”

“Griffith and who else?”

Kate referred to her notes. “Liam Griffith, at three forty-nine, said, cheerily, ‘Hi, guys. Thought I’d see you earlier. Give me a call when you get this. Hope all is well.’”