At around midmorning, Frik awoke again, stiff and groggy and in his own bed. He assumed he’d been carried there by Saaliim. Wouldn’t be the first time, he thought. He didn’t know which was worse, the pain in his hand, the tightness in his chest from the smoke-filled lab, or his pounding hangover headache.

“Saaliim!”

His call instantly brought his assistant into the room.

“Coffee, my man. And something for this pain.”

“Dr. Marryshow, he sent you some medicinals,” Saaliim said. “Right there on your nightstand.”

The younger man left the room and Frik picked up the white paper bag with a note in Arthur’s handwriting stapled to it. Inside the bag there was antibacterial ointment for the burns and a small bottle of painkillers. The note contained cursory instructions about how often to take them and a warning not to drink alcohol while he did so. At the end of the instructions, Arthur had added:

I’m leaving the island. Take it slowly for a few days, Frikkie, and don’t overdo the medication. By then you’ll have come to your senses. Arthur

Or maybe you’ll have changed your mind, Frik thought, and promptly swallowed twice the recommended dose of pills. By the time Saaliim returned with coffee, he was falling back into blackness.

For three days, Frik remembered little except pills, coffee, pain, and Saaliim’s quiet presence floating in and out of the room. By the fourth morning, he was up and trying to dress when Saaliim knocked on the door.

“Telephone, Master Frik.”

“Who is it?”

Arthur, he told himself as the events of the past few days returned to him. He’s changed his mind.

“Missy Selene. Yesterday I told her you can’t talk. Today she don’t sound too good.”

“I’ll talk to her.” Frik sat down on the side of the bed. Saaliim plugged in the extension phone, which he’d apparently kept unplugged for the last few days.

“Hello? Selene?”

“Frik.” Selene’s voice was like an ice cube.

He shivered, despite the heat of the morning. “I’m sorry about your father, Selene. He was a good man.”

“Sorry? I’ll bet you are. You lost a major workhorse, not to mention his discovery. You’ve never given a damn for anyone’s safety but your own, you bastard.”

“Selene—”

“You and your fucking oil drilling,” Selene yelled. “By the time we’re finished with you, Oilstar will be nothing but a memory.”

The phone went dead in Frik’s hand.

He pieced together what he knew about Selene. It wasn’t much. She was bright, attractive, and had a Ph.D. in physics for which he had paid.

The penny dropped.

Green Impacthad to be the “we” to which she had referred.

That was when the second penny dropped.

She knows, Frik thought. Her father must have sent her the pieces of the artifact. But how? There was no way she could have received them yet unless they’d been hand delivered. But by whom? Manny?

No. That was laughable. Manny was too smart to bite the hand that fed him.

How then? Maybe she hadn’t received them yet. Maybe her father had told her he was sending them but—

It doesn’t matter, Frik told himself. All that matters is that she knows. If Paul had told her about the artifact, then even if he hadn’t sent them to her, he might have told her where he’d hidden the missing pieces. In order to find out, he’d have to capture Selene, and for that, he’d need some help.

The Daredevils Club remained his only choice. He’d have to convince them, whether Arthur objected or not. Whatever it took, Frik needed the club. He wasn’t going to go into extinction quietly, damn it. He was no dumb tyrannosaur, he was Frikkie Van Alman, head of Oilstar, man of adventure. Nothing would stand in his way.

Nothing.

8

NEWYORKCITY, DECEMBER31, 1999

Shivering from the cold, Peta pulled open the door to Danny’s Seafood Grotto. She had made eighteen visits to New York, trips punctuated by high school and college graduation, the beginning and end of medical school, and taking over Arthur’s Grenada practice during his long visits to Manhattan and his absences when he sojourned to destinations unknown. By now she should have expected it to be cold, but she was never quite prepared for its reality.

“Peta! Welcome back.” Danny’s maitre d’ took her coat. “Stunning as ever.” He hugged her like an old friend. “Lucky man, Arthur. He’s waiting for you over at the piano. I’ll take care of your coat.”

It didn’t surprise Peta that George greeted her by name, not after this many visits to the West Forty-sixth Street restaurant. On the one hand, she thought, it was boring to be that predictable; on the other, to be welcomed so effusively in a city like this made her feel rather like a celebrity.

Arthur sat at the piano bar, his back to her. To her surprise, he was engaged in earnest discussion with his buddy, Raymond Arno. She felt a spark of annoyance. This was her time, her part of the evening. Bad enough that she was excluded from their damn Daredevils Club meeting that started at midnight every New Year’s Eve.

She felt herself pouting and stopped. With Arthur, there was no use making a fuss. Ever. He did what he did, and generally for what he believed was good reason.

At that moment, the piano player looked up and saw her. Grinning happily, he switched gears into “Happy Birthday to You,” played a few bars of “Hot, Hot, Hot,” then segued into a lively rendition of “Dollar Wine.”

Peta broke into the sensual steps of the Caribbean soca. There was a round of applause. Arthur looked up and waved. Even at a distance, his expression softened. If only he looked that way more often, she thought. She moved to the rhythm for a moment longer before pushing her way through to the piano.

“You two look as if you’re plotting a world takeover,” she said.

“You’re early.” Arthur kissed her. “And beautiful.”

“I’ll second that,” Ray added. “You’re a lucky man, Marryshow.” He pecked her on the cheek.

Ray and Arthur exchanged a quick glance, then Ray gestured in the direction of the men’s room. “Too many beers,” he said, though his tough, firm body belied the statement. “Think I’ll leave you two to conduct your annual birthday meeting and slip out the back way when I’m done. Happy New Year, Peta. Nice to see you again. Quick, take my seat before someone else does. Happy birthday—to both of you. See you later, Arthur.”

Arthur patted the seat. “Don’t be angry with me, Peta. Ray and I had some things we had to discuss. Seemed like as good a time as any to do it.”

Peta watched Ray disappear into the dimly lit passage that led to the rest rooms and the storeroom in the back. She knew the layout well: a right into the alcove with the two rest-room doors; a door straight back to the “family” exit through the storeroom and into the back alley. Turning to Arthur she said, “Get me a drink and you’re forgiven. I was surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think he’d be here at all this year. Isn’t he supposed to be opening a new casino in Vegas about now?” She snuggled up to her mentor and friend. “In case you don’t know it, it’s cold as a witch’s tit out there.”

Though he was more than half again her age and a little craggy, Arthur was a handsome man, very tall and, like her, elegantly dressed. They blended seamlessly into the crowd as Danny’s grew dense with New Year’s Eve partygoers. The bodies around the piano bar were two and three deep and it took influence, bribery, or a very loud voice to so much as order a couple of drinks.

“I see you wore it,” he said, fingering the exotic pendant he’d given her earlier in the day. She wore it around her neck, a smooth and somehow oily-looking irregular blue-green disk, bezel set and hung upon a twenty-four-carat gold chain.

Peta placed her hand over his and pressed it against her. She could feel the pendant against her skin. It was as if it were sucking the heat from her body, and yet it didn’t feel uncomfortable. “What the devil is it, Arthur?”