She didn't reply for a few seconds, then she nodded. She smiled and said, "Then I say, 'Freeze, police!' "

"Right. You're learning."

She drew her 9mm Clock and held it out to me. She said, "I only need one shot if he comes back here. Take this. It has four rounds left. Give me yours."

I smiled and said, "The metric system confuses me. I'll stick with my real American.38 caliber six-shooter."

"Five-shooter."

"Right. I have to remember that."

"Can I talk you out of this?"

"No."

Well, a quick kiss might have been appropriate, but neither of us was in the mood, I guess. I did squeeze her hand and she squeezed back, and I stood, turned, and walked through the trees, away from the windy bluff and away from Beth.

Within five minutes, I came to the gravel road again. Okay, I am Fredric Tobin now. I might have a compass, but whether or not I do, I'm smart enough to know I should put a blaze mark of some kind on one of these trees to show me where I am on this road relative to my landing spot on the beach.

I looked around and sure enough, I found a white length of cord tied between two trees about ten feet apart. I took this to be Tobin's compass heading, and though I had no compass, and no Empire State Building to guide me, it appeared that Tobin had gone almost due south. I struck out through the trees, trying to maintain that heading.

In truth, if I hadn't gotten lucky and hadn't found anything to indicate where Tobin had gone, I might have turned back and rejoined Beth. But I had this feeling-amounting to almost an assurance-that something was pulling and pushing me toward Fredric Tobin and Captain Kidd's treasure. I had a clear vision of me, Tobin, and the treasure all together, and in the shadows around us were the dead-Tom and Judy, the Murphys, Emma, and Kidd himself.

The land rose and I soon found myself at the edge of a clearing. On the other side of the clearing, I could make out two small buildings silhouetted against the dark horizon. I realized I was at the edge of the abandoned Fort Terry.

I searched around for a marker and found a length of rope hanging from a tree. This was Tobin's exit point from the woods, and it would be his entry point when he returned. Apparently, the inertial navigation system in my head was working fairly well. If I was a migrating bird heading south, I'd be right on track to Florida.

It was no surprise that Tobin was heading to Fort Terry. Virtually all the roads and paths on Plum Island converged there, and there were hundreds of good hiding places among the abandoned buildings and nearby artillery bunkers.

I knew if I waited right there, I'd be able to ambush him when he returned. But I was in more of a hunter-stalker mood than a patient ambusher mood.

I waited a few minutes, trying to determine if anyone with a rifle was waiting for me on the far side of the clearing. From a hundred war movies, I knew I wasn't supposed to cross a clearing-I was supposed to go around. If I did that, though, I'd either miss Tobin, or get myself lost. I had to go the route he'd gone. The rain was getting heavier and the wind was picking up. I was miserable. I put my head back, opened my mouth, and got some fresh water on my face and down my throat. I felt better.

I entered the clearing and continued in a southerly direction across the open land. The cloth around my feet was in tatters and my feet were sore and bleeding. I kept reminding myself that I was tougher than twinkle-toes Tobin, and that all I needed was one bullet and a knife.

I approached the end of the field and saw that a thin treeline separated the field from the large expanse of Fort Terry. I had no way of knowing where he'd headed, and there'd be no further markings because the buildings were now his landmarks. All I could do was press on.

I zigzagged from one building to another, looking for some sign of Tobin. After about ten minutes, I found myself near the old headquarters building. I realized that I'd lost him, that he could have gone anywhere from here-south to the seal beach, or west toward the main building, or east out onto the pork chop bone. Or, he could be waiting somewhere for me to get closer. Or, I could have somehow missed him, as I'd done on the water, and he was behind me. Not good.

I decided to check out the rest of the buildings in the fort, and I began moving in a running crouch toward the chapel. All of a sudden, I heard a gunshot ring out, and I dived to the ground. I stayed motionless as another shot rang out. They were oddly muffled shots, not followed by a sharp crack, or by anything whistling over my head. I realized the shots weren't meant for me.

I sprinted to the side of the clapboard chapel and looked toward the direction where I thought the shots had come from. I could see the fire station about fifty yards away, and it occurred to me that the shots were fired inside, which was why they were muffled.

I started to move toward the firehouse, but hit the ground again as one of the big overhead doors began to open. It seemed as if it was going up in short lurches, as if someone were opening it with a pulley rope, and I figured the electric power was out here. In fact, in the upstairs windows, I saw a flickering light-candle or kerosene.

Anyway, before I had to decide what to do next, a big ambulance without any lights showing came out of the garage bay and turned onto the road, heading east toward the narrow bone of land where the ruined artillery batteries were.

The ambulance had a high chassis and ran easily over the deadfall on the road. Soon, it disappeared in the dark.

I ran as quickly as I could barefoot toward the firehouse, drew my revolver, and dashed in through the open garage door. I could make out three fire trucks in the garage.

I had been in the rain so long that the lack of ram felt sort of strange for about ten seconds, but I got used to it real fast.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw a fire pole toward the rear of the garage, and the flickering light from the bunkroom upstairs filtered down through the hole in the ceiling. To the left of the pole, I saw a wide staircase. I went to the staircase and climbed the creaky steps, my pistol out front. I knew there was no danger to me, and I knew what I was going to find.

At the top of the stairs was the bunkroom, lit by kerosene lamps. By the light of the lamps, I saw two men in their bunks, and I didn't have to get closer to see they were dead. That brought the known number of people murdered by Tobin to seven. We definitely didn't need a silly old trial to settle these scores.

Boots and socks sat at the side of each bed. I sat on a bench and pulled on a pair of heavy socks and a pair of galvanized rubber boots that fit well enough. There were lockers against the wall, and on another wall, there were raincoats and sweatshirts hanging on hooks. But I had on about as much of a dead man's clothing as I wanted. Not that I'm superstitious.

There was a small, galley-type kitchen at the rear of the firehouse bunkroom and on the counter was a box of chocolate donuts. I took one and ate it.

I went down the stairs and out to the road that ran east-west in front of the firehouse. I headed east, up the rising paved road in the trail of the ambulance. Broken limbs and branches lay in the road where the ambulance had run over them.

I walked for about a half mile, and even in the dark, I recalled this road from Stevens' tour. The rain was driving hard now, and the wind was starting to rip branches from the trees again. Every now and then, I'd hear a crack that sounded like a rifle shot and it made my heart skip a beat, but the sound came from limbs snapping off and falling through the trees.

The paved road was running with a torrent of water that was coming from the higher ground on both sides of the road. The drainage ditches along the road were full and overflowing as I tried to fight my way uphill against the current and through the mudslides and fallen limbs. This was definitely worse than slush in front of my condo. Nature is awesome. Sometimes, nature sucks.