“What did you say?”

“Nothin.”

“You called yourself the One. What did you mean by that?”

“Told you: nothing. Now leave it be.”

Anya had talked about the One, but she’d indicated that Sal Roma was the One. Was he involved in what was going down here?

“Do you know a guy named Roma?”

She shook her head. “Ain’t never heard of him.”

“Is he the one who got you started on this sacrifice-to-the-swamp kick?”

Semelee’s eyes widened. She slid off the hood and stepped toward him. “How do you know about that?”

“Not important. Just tell me: Was it Roma?”

“Told you: Don’t know no Roma.”

Jack believed her. “Then who? Who gave you such a crazy idea?”

“Wasn’t no ‘who.’ It came from the lagoon its own self. If you listen, the lagoon’ll talk to you. Leastways, it talks to me. Told me in a dream that it was pissed off and that Gateways had to pay. Said it would exact a price of four Gateways lives a year and—”

“Wait-wait. That’s what it said? ‘Exact’?”

That didn’t sound like it belonged in Semelee’s vocabulary—at least not as a verb.

“Yeah. ‘Exact.’ Pretty weird kind of talk, doncha think?”

Jack wondered if it had been a dream at all. It sounded as if someone or something had been influencing her, and he doubted very much it was her lagoon. Much more likely it was an influence from that nexus point within the cenote.

He said, “You ever hear of something called the Otherness?”

“Don’t reckon I have,” she said, shaking her head. “Should I?”

“Never mind.” Just because she hadn’t heard of the Otherness didn’t mean she wasn’t working for it, knowingly or unknowingly. “But why Gateways people? There must be other folks living even closer to your lagoon.”

“There is, but the lagoon wants Gateways folks. Don’t ask me why, it just does.”

Jack jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s one Gateways folk in there it’s not going to get. We clear on that?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. The lagoon’s already done what it set out to do with the sacrifices. There’s still maybe a score to settle, but the sacrifice thing is over.”

“What score?”

“That’s between me and the lagoon, but don’t you worry. Your daddy ain’t a part of it.”

Jack believed her this time, and found relief in the fact that his father was no longer in the clan’s crosshairs. But that was tempered by the knowledge that he’d been replaced by someone else.

“He’d better not be. And I’d better see Carl pretty soon or I might just lose that shell. Or it might slip out of my pocket as I’m crossing a street downtown. Wouldn’t take long for the traffic to reduce it to powder.”

Semelee went pale beneath her tan. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“What’s so important about that shell?”

Her hand went to the one around her neck. “I’ve had em since I was a kid, is all. I just want it back.”

“And I want Carl back.”

She sighed. “Looks like we’ll have to put together a swap meet. Bring the shell to the lagoon and—”

Jack shook his head. “Uh-uh. Bring Carl here.”

Jack watched Semelee’s hands open wide, then close into tight fists.

“You’re makin this awful hard.” She looked up at the hazy sky, then back to him. “Guess we’ll have to meet somewheres in the middle. You got any ideas?”

Jack reviewed his trip with Carl and remembered the dry stretch where they’d had to carry their canoe. He mentioned it to Semelee and she knew where it was.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll meet there in an hour.”

Jack looked out at the Everglades and the clinging haze. Semelee seemed on the level but he didn’t know about the rest of the clan. And because of that, he wanted maximum visibility.

“What say we make it noonish?” he said.

“Why’re you makin me wait so long?”

“I need the time.”

“All right. See you then. And don’t be late.”

She turned and walked off. Jack watched the sway of her hips as she moved away. He missed Gia.

He was still watching her, wondering how she was going to get out of Gateways, when his father’s voice interrupted him.

“I hope you’re not really thinking of going through with this.”

Jack turned to find Dad standing on the porch, staring at him through the jalousies.

“You heard the whole thing?”

“Just the end. Enough to know that she’s connected to what happened to me, and probably to the others who’ve been killed. But what was that about Carl? Carl the gardener?”

“One and the same.”

Jack gave him a quick overview of what had happened—about the trip to the lagoon, and Semelee and her clan.

Dad was shaking his head. “You’ve only just got here, Jack. How did you manage to get involved in something like this in just a couple of days?”

“Lucky, I guess.”

“I’m serious, Jack. You’ve got to take this to the police and the Park Service.”

“That’s not the way I do things.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? This is the second time you’ve said something like that.”

“It’s plain and simple, Dad: I promised Carl I’d get him back safely. Me. Not the cops, not the park rangers. Me. So that’s how it’s going down.”

“But you didn’t know the odds against you when you made that promise. He can’t hold you to it.”

“He’s not,” Jack said. He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Dad rubbed his jaw. “I understand perfectly. And you know, Jack…the better I know you, the more I like you. Carl’s not holding you to your promise…you are. I can respect that. It’s damn foolish, but I have to respect that.”

“Thanks.”

How about that? Dad did understand.

“But you can’t go out there alone. You’re going to need backup.”

“Tell me about it. Know where I can find any?”

“You’re looking at him.”

Jack laughed. Dad didn’t.

“I’m not kidding, Jack.”

“Dad, you’re not cut out for that.”

“Don’t be so sure.” He pushed open the porch door. “Come inside. I need to tell you some things you don’t know.”

“About what?”

No matter what he was told, Jack wasn’t taking an accountant in his seventies as backup, especially if that accountant in his seventies was his father.

“About me.”

4

Inside, Dad handed him a cup of coffee, then, before Jack could ask him what this was about, disappeared into his bedroom. He returned a minute later carrying the gray metal lockbox Jack had found back on Tuesday. He hadn’t expected to see it again, but he was more surprised by what his father was wearing.

“Dad, are you kidding with that sweater?”

His father pulled the front of the ancient brown mohair cardigan closer about him. “It’s cold! The thermometer outside my window says sixty-nine degrees.”

Jack had to laugh. “The Sasquatch look. It’s you, Dad.”

“Never mind the sweater.” He set the box on the coffee table. “Have a seat.”

Jack sat across from him. “What’ve you got there?” he said, already knowing the answer.

Dad unlocked the box and flipped it open. He pulled out an old photo and passed it to Jack: Dad and six other young guys in fatigues.

Jack pretended to study it, as if seeing it for the first time.

“Hey. From your Army days.”

“Army?” His father made a face. “Those clods? These are Marines, Jack. Semper fi and all that.”

Jack shrugged. “Army, Marines, what’s the diff?”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever been in the Corps.”

“Hey, you were all fighting the same enemy, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, but we fought them better.” He tapped the photo. “These were my wartime buddies.” His expression softened. “And I’m the only one left.”

Jack looked at those young faces. He pointed to the photo. “What are you all smiling about?”

“We’d just graduated Corps-level scout-sniper school.”

Jack looked up from the photo. “You were a sniper?” He’d learned to believe in the unbelievable, but this was asking too much. “My father was a sniper?”