Lurching toward a chair, he sat.

"I was wrong. He lasted five days, fluctuating between stupor and agitation. He'd actually get up and lurch around the cave, injuring himself horribly but remaining on his feet. His premorbid strength must have been superhuman. It was on the fifth day that he managed to escape. I'd been at the base, got back that night and he wasn't there. At first I panicked, thinking someone had discovered everything, but the babies were still in their cave. I finally found him lying under one of the banyans, semiconscious. I dragged him back. He died two hours later."

"But not before Joseph Cristobal saw him," I said.

He nodded. "The next day, Gladys came to my office and told me about Joe. One of the other workers at the estate had told her Joe had a fit, claimed to have seen some kind of forest devil."

"A Tutalo."

"No." He smiled. "I made that up, too. Tootali is the old word for "grub,' but there's no myth."

"Planting the seed," I said. "So Joe's story wasn't taken seriously?"

"Joe had always been odd. Withdrawn, talked to himself, especially when he drank. What concerned me were his chest pains. They sounded suspiciously like angina, but with anxiety, it was hard to know. As it turned out, his arteries were in terrible shape. There was nothing I could have done."

"You're saying the sighting had nothing to do with his death?"

"Perhaps," he said, "his condition was complicated by fright."

"Did you let him go on believing there were monsters?"

He blinked. "When I tried to discuss it with him, he covered his ears. Very stubborn man. Very rigid ideation- not schizophrenic, but perhaps schizoid?"

I didn't answer.

"What should I have done, son? Told him he'd really seen something and endanger the babies? They were my priority. Every spare moment was spent with them. Checking on them, bringing blankets, food, medicine. Holding them in my arms… Despite everything I did, two of them got progressively worse. But every night that passed without one of them dying was a victory. Barbara kept asking me what was wrong. Each night I left her… a light dose of sleeping medicine in her bedside water helped… shuttling back and forth, never knowing what I'd find when I got there. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said, "but all these years, they haven't come aboveground?"

"Not unsupervised they haven't. They need to stay out of the sunlight- extreme photosensitivity. Similar to what you see in some porphyric patients, but they have no porphyria and I've never been able to diagnose, never been able to find out what they were gi- where was I?"

Looking baffled.

"Shuttling back and forth," said Robin.

"Ah, yes- after a week or so it finally got to me. I fell asleep at my desk, only to be shaken awake by a loud roar. I knew the sound well: a large plane taking off. Seconds later, there was a tremendous explosion. A Navy transport had gone down over the ocean. Something about the fuel tanks."

The 1963 crash. Hoffman ordering Gladys to prepare coquilles St. Jacques that night. Celebrating…

"With the quarantined patients on board," I said. "Eliminating any witnesses."

"The doctors from Washington, as well," said Moreland. "Plus three sailors who'd guarded the infirmary assigned as flight attendants, and two medics."

"My God," said Robin.

"The patients would have died anyway," said Moreland. "Most probably were dead when they loaded them on- an airborne hearse. But the doctors and the medics and the flight crew were sacrifices- all in the name of God and country, eh?"

"Why weren't you eliminated?" said Robin.

He put his hands together and studied the table.

"I've thought about that many times. I suppose it was because I bought myself some insurance. The day of the crash, I invited Hoffman over for drinks in my quarters. No wives, just us fellas in our snappy dress whites, veddy dry martinis- back then I was still indulging. As he picked pimiento out of his olive, I told him I knew exactly what he'd done and had made a detailed written record that I'd filed somewhere very safe with instructions to make it public if anything happened to me or any member of my family. That I was willing to forget the whole thing and move on if he was."

"He bought that?"

"It was a theatrical little stunt, I got the idea from one of those stupid detective shows Barbara used to watch. But apparently, it did the trick. He smiled and said, "Bill, your imagination's been working overtime. Pour me another one.' Then he drank up and left. For months I slept with a gun under my pillow- dreadful thing, I still hate them. But he never moved against me. The way I see it, he decided to deal because he believed me and felt it was the easy way out. Evil people have little trouble believing everyone else lacks integrity. The next day, a sailor delivered a sealed envelope to my quarters: discharge papers, three months early, and the deed to the estate. Excellent price, including all the furniture. The Navy moved us in, and we were provided with a year of free electricity and water. The pretense continued. Even our bridge games continued."

"Along with his cheating," I said.

"His cheating and my pretending not to know. That's as apt a metaphor for civilization as any, isn't it?"

He gave an unsettling laugh.

"Meanwhile, my real life continued at night, and any other time I could get away without attracting too much notice. I hadn't discovered the tunnel yet, and I hid a ladder so I could climb the wall. The two babies who'd deteriorated passed away, as did another. The first was a little girl named Emma- hers was the only name I actually knew, because I'd treated her as a newborn for herniated umbilicus. Her father had made jokes about how she'd look in a bikini and I told him that should be his biggest problem…"

He looked ready to cry again, managed to blink it away.

"She died of malnutrition. I buried her and conducted a funeral service as best I could. A month later, a second little girl left me. Bone marrow disease. Then a little boy, from pneumonia that wouldn't respond to antibiotics. The other six survived. You've just met them."

"What's their health status?" I said. "Physically and mentally."

"None of them have normal intelligence, and they have no speech. I taught myself the rudiments of IQ testing, administered the nonverbal components of the Wechsler tests and the Leiter. They seem to fall in the fifty-to-sixty range, though Jimmy and Eddie are a bit brighter. Their nervous systems are grossly abnormal: seizures, motor imbalance, sensory deficits, altered reflexes. Poor muscle tone, even when I can get them to exercise. Then there's the photosensitivity- the slightest bit of UV exposure eats up their skin. Even living down here hasn't managed to protect them completely. You saw their eyes, ears, fingers. Extensive fibrosing, probably something autoimmune- the actual process isn't unlike leprosy. They're not in danger of imminent wasting, but the erosion continues steadily. They're sterile- a blessing, I suppose. Not much libido, either. That's made my life easier."

"I still don't see how you've managed to keep them down here all these years."

"At first it was difficult, son. I had to… confine them. Now it's not a serious problem. They may not be normal, but they've learned what the sun does to them. Half an hour outside and they're in pain for days. I've made every effort to provide them with as rich a life as possible. Here, let me show you."

He took us to an adjoining room, slightly smaller than the dining area. Beanbag chairs and homemade cases full of toys and picture books. A phonograph connected to a battery pack. Next to it, a stack of old 45s. The top one: Burl Ives singing children's songs. "Jimmy crack corn…" A model train set in disarray on the shag carpet. Some of the soft people sat on the floor fooling with the tracks. Others reclined on the chairs, fingering dolls.