Dead Water Zone - Kenneth Oppel [17]
Monica’s gaze settled hard on Paul. “Your brother’s not really a runaway, is he?”
It was pointless to try to hide it now. Armed men—looking for Sam.
“He was doing research for the university, studying samples from the dead water zone. He told me he’d found something strange, something he didn’t understand. No one knew he was coming down, and he asked me not to tell anyone either.”
He saw Monica’s eyes flicker over to Decks.
“Why didn’t you tell us that right away?” she demanded.
“I didn’t think it was important.”
“You lied to me, Paul.”
He thought he caught a look of genuine hurt in her face, but it was quickly blocked out by anger.
“What about all that other stuff you told me yesterday, huh? About you and your brother. Was all that bullshit, too?”
“No.”
“Just thought you could use us, right?”
“I promised him,” he blurted.
“I should make you swim back to shore. You had no idea your brother was being hunted?”
Hunted. The loft at the old boathouse. A pile of clothes, glasses in the dust, shattered glassware, a dropped diskette. Maybe they’d surprised him; maybe he was asleep when they came. Paul played it out in his mind: they had crept noiselessly up the stairs, Sam not even waking until they’d seized him, his shouts muffled by a hand clamped across his mouth. He hadn’t even had time to grab for his glasses.
“Maybe they’re ahead of me,” he said, sick. “Maybe they found him at the boathouse.”
“I don’t think so,” said Monica. “Why would that helicopter tail us afterward? They must have thought one of us was Sam.”
Decks nodded in agreement. “I saw a helicopter making passes late yesterday afternoon. If they’d found your brother, they’d be long gone by now.”
“He might have known they were looking for him and left on his own,” said Paul, hopeful.
Another reassuring thought came to mind—the shadowy figure on the pier last night. There was no logical proof it had been Sam, but it somehow gave him hope.
“Must have been pretty heavy-duty research,” said Monica. “And he didn’t say anything else about it?”
“Nothing.”
“Why’d you come down here, then? Unless you knew he was in trouble?”
“It was just a feeling.”
She wouldn’t believe him, even though this part was true. Last night, on the rooftop, he had felt almost close to her, but now…“When we last talked on the phone, he sounded funny. He was really worked up. I think he was scared, too. I was worried.”
“Very helpful,” she said witheringly. She turned to Decks. “There’s a computer diskette, too. I found it in the boathouse. Armitage is trying to get a machine so we can read it.”
Paul’s hand involuntarily touched the diskette in his shirt pocket. “It might be a jumble to anyone but Sam. But there could be a clue to where he is.”
“And what he’s been doing,” Monica added. “I think you’re holding out on us, Paul.”
“I’ve told you everything.” There was more, but it was strictly personal. Sometimes he barely understood it himself.
“This is getting very messy,” said Monica. “If they trace us back to our pier—”
Paul felt an urge to reach across and brush away the purple smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes.
“Look,” he said apologetically, “I wasn’t trying to make trouble. I came down here to meet my brother. He told me to come to Jailer’s Pier. He didn’t show up.”
“That’s where I found him,” Monica told Decks. “Now he’s got it into his head that his brother might be hiding out in Rat Castle. What do you think?”
Decks snorted. “The canal runs all the way around, like a moat. Anyway, the whole place was boarded up years ago. All the piers were rotting away.”
“See?” she said, but Paul thought there was vague disappointment on her face, too.
“You should stay away from there,” Decks told Monica. “It’s not safe. It won’t be long before it collapses to the bottom of the lake.”
“Thanks, Decks,” said Monica. “You’ve been a help.”
At the hatchway, Decks placed a hand on Paul’s arm. “There’s one other thing I should tell