ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
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ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
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Martin Cooper (born December 26, 1928, Chicago, Illinois, U.S.) is an American engineer who led the team that in 1972–73 built the first mobile cell phone and made the first cell phone call. He is widely regarded as the father of the cellular phone.
Cooper graduated from the Illinois Institute of Technology (IIT) in Chicago with a bachelor’s degree in electrical engineering (1950). He joined the U.S. Navy and served during the Korean War. After the war, he joined the Teletype Corporation, and in 1954 he began working at Motorola. He earned a master’s in electrical engineering from IIT (1957). At Motorola, Cooper worked on many projects involving wireless communications, such as the first radio-controlled traffic-light system, which he patented in 1960, and the first handheld police radios, which were introduced in 1967. He later served as a vice president and director of research and development (1978–83) for the company.
In 1986 Cooper co-founded Cellular Payphone Inc. (CPPI), the parent company of Great Call, Inc., Innovator of the Jitterbug cell phone (in partnership with Samsung). Great Call is the first complete end-to-end value-added service provider in the cellular industry to focus on simplicity with its primary emphasis on senior citizens.
Cooper worked at Motorola for 29 years; building and managing both its paging and cellular businesses. He also led the creation of trunked mobile radio, quartz crystal oscillators, liquid crystal displays, piezo-electric components, Motorola A.M. stereo technology and various mobile and portable two-way radio product lines.
Reference
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Cooper_(inventor)
https://www.britannica.com/biography/Martin-Cooper
Allegedly, in the fall of 1943 a U.S. Navy destroyer was made invisible and teleported from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, to Norfolk, Virginia, in an incident known as the Philadelphia Experiment. Records in the Archives Branch of the Naval History and Heritage Command have been repeatedly searched, but no documents have been located which confirm the event or any interest by the Navy in attempting such an achievement.
The ship involved in the experiment was supposedly the USS Eldridge. The Archives has reviewed the deck log and war diary from Eldridge's commissioning on 27 August 1943 at the New York Navy Yard through December 1943. The following description of Eldridge's activities are summarized from the ship's war diary. After commissioning, Eldridge remained in New York and in the Long Island Sound until 16 September when it sailed to Bermuda. From 18 September, the ship was in the vicinity of Bermuda undergoing training and sea trials until 15 October when Eldridge left in a convoy for New York where the convoy entered on 18 October. Eldridge remained in New York harbor until 1 November when it was part of the escort for Convoy UGS-23 (New York Section). On 2 November the convoy entered Naval Operating Base, Norfolk. On 3 November, Eldridge and Convoy UGS-23 left for Casablanca where it arrived on 22 November. On 29 November, Eldridge left as one of escorts for Convoy GUS-22 and arrived with the convoy on 17 December at New York harbor. Eldridge remained in New York on availability training and in Block Island Sound until 31 December when it steamed to Norfolk with four other ships. During this time frame, Eldridge was never in Philadelphia.
A copy of Eldridge's complete World War II action report and war diary coverage, including the remarks section of the 1943 deck log, is held by the Archives on microfilm, NRS-1978-26. The original file is held by the National Archives.
Supposedly, the crew of the civilian merchant ship SS Andrew Furuseth observed the arrival via teleportation of the Eldridge into the Norfolk area. Andrew Furuseth's movement report cards are in the Tenth Fleet records in the custody of the Modern Military Branch, National Archives and Records Administration, (8601 Adelphi Road, College Park, MD 20740-6001), which also has custody of the action reports, war diaries and deck logs of all World War II Navy ships, including Eldridge. The movement report cards list the merchant ship's ports of call, the dates of the visit, and convoy designation, if any. The movement report card shows that Andrew Furuseth left Norfolk with Convoy UGS-15 on 16 August 1943 and arrived at Casablanca on 2 September. The ship left Casablanca on 19 September and arrived off Cape Henry on 4 October. Andrew Furuseth left Norfolk with Convoy UGS-22 on 25 October and arrived at Oran on 12 November. The ship remained in the Mediterranean until it returned with Convoy GUS-25 to Hampton Roads on 17 January 1944. The Archives has a letter from Lieutenant Junior Grade William S. Dodge, USNR, (Ret.), the Master of Andrew Furuseth in 1943, categorically denying that he or his crew observed any unusual event while in Norfolk. Eldridge and Andrew Furuseth were not even in Norfolk at the same time.
The Office of Naval Research (ONR) has stated that the use of force fields to make a ship and her crew invisible does not conform to known physical laws. ONR also claims that Dr. Albert Einstein's Unified Field Theory was never completed. During 1943-1944, Einstein was a part-time consultant with the Navy's Bureau of Ordnance, undertaking theoretical research on explosives and explosions. There is no indication that Einstein was involved in research relevant to invisibility or to teleportation. View ONR's information sheet on the Philadelphia Experiment.
The Philadelphia Experiment has also been called "Project Rainbow." A comprehensive search of the Archives has failed to identify records of a Project Rainbow relating to teleportation or making a ship disappear. In the 1940s, the code name RAINBOW was used to refer to the Rome-Berlin-Tokyo Axis. The RAINBOW plans were the war plans to defeat Italy, Germany and Japan. RAINBOW V, the plan in effect on 7 December 1941 when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, was the plan the U.S. used to fight the Axis powers.
Some researchers have erroneously concluded that degaussing has a connection with making an object invisible. Degaussing is a process in which a system of electrical cables are installed around the circumference of ship's hull, running from bow to stern on both sides. A measured electrical current is passed through these cables to cancel out the ship's magnetic field. Degaussing equipment was installed in the hull of Navy ships and could be turned on whenever the ship was in waters that might contain magnetic mines, usually shallow waters in combat areas. It could be said that degaussing, correctly done, makes a ship "invisible" to the sensors of magnetic mines, but the ship remains visible to the human eye, radar, and underwater listening devices.
Reference
https://www.history.navy.mil/research/library/online-reading-room/title-list-alphabetically/p/philadelphia-experiment.html
👁 :
CHAPTOR ONE : I GO CRUISING WITH THE EXPLOSIVES
The end of the world started when a pegasus landed on the hood of my car.
Up until then, I was having a great afternoon. Technically I wasn't suppose to be driving because I wouldn't be sixteen for another week, but my mom and my stepdad,Paul, took my friend Rachel and me to this private stretch of beach on the South Shore, and Paul let us borrow his Prius for a short spin.
Now, I know you're thinking, Wow, that was really irresponsible of him,blah,blah,blah, but Paul knows me pretty well. He's seen me slice up demons and leap out of exploding school buildings, so he probably figured taking a car a few hundred yards wasn't exactly the most dangerous thing I'd ever done.
Anyway, Rachael and I were driving along. It was hot August day. Rachel's red hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore a white blouse over her swimsuit. I'd never seen before, and she looked like a million golden drachmas.
“Oh, pull up right there!” she told me
We parked on a ridge overlooking the Atlantic. The sea is always one of my favorite places, but today it was especially nice- glittery green smooth as glass, as though my dad was keeping it calm just for us.
My dad,by the way, is Poseidon. He can do stuff like that. “So.” Rachel smiled at me. “ About that invitation.”
“Oh . . . right.” I tried to sound excited. I mean, she'd asked me to her family's vacation house on St. Thomas for three days. I didn't get a lot of offers like that. My family's idea of a fancy vacation was a weekend in a rundown cabin on Long Island with some movie rental and a couple of frozen pizzas, and here Rachel's folks were willing to let me tag along to the Caribbean.
Besides, I seriously needed a vacation. This summer had been the hardest of my life. The idea of taking a break even for a few days was really tempting.
Still, something big was suppose to go down any day now. I was “on call” for a mission. Even worse, next week was my birthday. There was this prophecy that said when I turned sixteen, bad things would happen.
“Percy,” she said, “I know the timing is bad. But it's always bad for you, right?”
She had a point.
“I really want to go,” I promised. “It's just-” “The war.”
I nodded. I didn't like talking about it, but Rachel knew.
Unlike most mortals, she could see through the Mist- the magic veil that distorts human vision. She'd seen monsters. She'd met some of the other demigods who were fighting the Titans and their allies.
She'd even been there last summer when the chopped-up Lord Kronos rose out of his coffin in a terrible new form, and she'd earn my permanent respect by nailing him in the eye with a blue plastic hairbrush.
She put her hand on my arm. “Just think about it, okay? We don't leave for a couple of days. My dad . . .” Her voice faltered.
“Is he giving you a hard time?” I asked.
Rachel shook her head in disgust. “He's trying to be nice to me, which is almost worse. He wants me to go to Clarion Ladies Academy in the fall.”
“The school where your mom went?”
“It's a stupid finishing school for society girls, all the way in New Hampshire. Can you see me in finishing school?”
I admitted the idea sounded pretty dumb. Rachel was into urban art projects and feeding the homeless and going to protest ralllies to “Save the Endangered Yellow-bellied Sapsucker” and stuff like that. I'd never even seen her wear a dress. It was hard to imagine her learning to be a socialite.
She sighed. “He thinks if he does a bunch of nice stuff for me, I'll feel guilty and give in.”
“Which is why he agreed to let me come with you guys on vacation?”
“Yes . . . but Percy, you'd be doing me a huge favor. It would be so much better if you were with us. Besides, there's something I want to talk-” She stopped abruptly.
“Something you want to talk about?” I asked. “You mean . . . so serious we'd have to go to St. Thomas to talk about it?”
She pursed her lips. “Look just forget it for now. Let's pretend we're a couple for normal people. We're out for a drive, and we're watching the ocean, and it's nice to be together.”
I could tell something was bothering her, but she put on a brave smile. The sunlight made her hair look like fire.
We'd spent a lot of time together this summer. I hadn't exactly planned it that way, but the more serious things got at camp, the more I found myself needing to call up Rachel and get away, just for some breathing room. I needed to remind myself that the mortal world was still out there, away from all the monsters using me as their personal punching bags.
“Okay,” I said. “Just normal afternoon and two normal people.”
She nodded. “And so . . . hypothetically, if these two people liked each other, what would it take to get the stupid guy to kiss the girl, huh?”
“Oh . . .” I felt like one of Apollo's sacred cows- slow, dumb, and bright red. “ Um . . .”
I can't pretend I hadn't thought about Rachel. She was so much easier to be around than . . . well, than some other girls I knew. I didn't have to work hard, or watch what I said, or rack my brain trying to figure out what she was thinking. Rachel didn't hide much. She let you know how she felt.
I'm not sure that I would have done next- but I was so distracted, I didn't notice the huge black form swooping down from the sky until four hooves landed on the hood of the Priuis with a WUMP-WUMP-CRUNCH!
Hey,boss, a voice in my head said. Nice car!
Blackjack the pegasus was an old friend of mine, so I tried not to get too annoyed by the craters he'd just put on the hood; but I didn't think my stepdad would be a real stoked.
“Blackjack,” I sighed. “What are you-”
Then I saw who was riding on his back, and I knew my day was about to get more complicated.
“'Sup, Percy.”
Charles Beckendorf, senior counselor for the Hephaestus cabin, would make most monsters cry for their mommies. He was huge, with ripped muscles from working on the forges every summer, two years older than me, and one of the camp's best armorsmiths. He made some seriously ingenious mechanical stuff. A month before, he'd rigged a Greek firebomb in the bathroom of a tour bus that was carrying a bunch of monsters across country. The explosion took out a whole legion of Krono's evil meanies as soon as the first harpy
went flush.
Beckendorf was dressed for combat. He wore bronze breastplate and war helm with black camo pants and a sword strapped to his side. His explosives bag was slung over his shoulder.
“Time?” I asked He nodded grimly.
A clump formed in my throat. I'd known this was coming. We'd been planning it for weeks, but I'd half hoped it would never happen.
Rachel looked up at Beckendorf. “Hi.”
“Oh, hey. You must be Rachel. Percy's told me . . . uh, I mean he mentioned you.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Really? Good.” She glanced at Blackjack, who was clopping his hooves against the hood of the Prius. “So, I guess you guys have to go save the world now.”
“Pretty much,” Beckendorf agreed.
I looked at Rachel helplessly. “Would you tell my mom-” “I'll tell her. I'm sure she's used to it. And I'll explain to Paul
about the hood.”
I nodded my thanks. I figured this might be the last time Paul loaned me his car.
“Good luck.” Rachel kissed me before I could even react. “Now, get going, half-blood. Go kill some monsters for me.”
My last view of her was sitting in the shotgun seat of the Prius, her arms crossed, watching as Blackjack circled higher and higher, carrying Beckendorf and me into the sky. I wondered what Rachel wanted to talk to me about, and whether I'd live long enough to find out.
“So,” Beckendorf said, “I'm guessing you don't want me to mention that little scene to Annabeth.”
“Oh, gods,” I muttered. “Don't even think about it.” Beckendorf chuckled, and together we soared out over the
Atlantic.
It was almost dark by the time we spotted our target. The Princess Andromeda glowed on the horizon- a huge cruise ship lit up yellow and white. From a distance, you'd think it was just a party ship, not the headquarters for the Titan lord. Then as you got closer, you might notice the giant figurehead- a dark-haired maiden in a Greek chiton, wrapped in chains with a look of horror on her face, as if she could smell the stench of all the monsters she was being forced to carry.
Seeing the ship again twisted my gut into knots. I'd almost died twice on the Princess Andromeda. Now it was heading straight for New York.
“You know what to do?” Beckendorf yelled over the wind.
I nodded. We'd done dry runs at the dockyards in New Jersey, using abandoned ships as our targets. I knew how little time we would have. But I also knew this was our best chance to end Krono's invasion before it ever started.
“Blackjack,” I said, “set us down on the lowest stern deck.”
Gotcha,boss, he said. Man, I hate seeing that boat.
Three years ago, Blackjack had been enslaved on the Princess Andromeda until he finally escaped with a little help from my friends and me. I figured he'd rather have his mane braided like My Little Pony than be back here again.
“Don't wait for us,” I told him.
But, boss-
“Trust me,” I said. “We'll get out ourselves.”
Blackjack folded his wings and plummeted toward the boat like
a black comet. The wind whistled in my ears. I saw monsters patrolling the upper decks of the ship- dracaenae snake-woman, hellhounds, giants, and the humanoid seal-demons known as telkhines- but we zipped by so fast, none of them raised the alarm. We shot down the stern of the boat, and Blackjack spread his wings, lightly coming to a landing on the lowest deck. I climbed off, feeling queasy.
Good luck,boss, Blackjack said. Don't let 'em turn you into horse meat!
With that, my old friend flew off into the night. I took my pen out of my pocket and uncapped it, and Riptide sprang to full size- three feet of deadly celestial bronze glowing in the dusk.
Beckendorf pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. I thought it was a map or something. Then I realized it was a photograph. He stared at it in the dim light- the smiling face of Silena Beauregard, daughter of Aphrodite. They'd started going out last summer, after years of the rest of us saying “Duh, you guys like each other!” Even with all the dangerous missions, Beckendorf had been happier this summer than I'd ever seen him.
“We'd make it back to camp,” I promised.
For a second I saw sorry in his eyes. Then he put on his old confident smile.
“You bet,” he said. “Let's go blow Kronos back into a million of pieces.”
Beckendorf led the way. We followed a narrow corridor to the service stairwell, just like we'd practiced, but we froze when we heard noises above us.
“I don't care what your noses says!” snarled a half-human, half- dog voice- a telkhine. “The last time you smelled half-blood, it
turned out to be a meat loaf sandwich!”
“Meat loaf sandwiches are good!” a second voice snarled. “But this is half-blood scent, I swear. They are on board!”
“Bah, your brain isn't on board!”
They continued to argue, and Beckendorf pointed downstairs. We descended as quietly as we could. Two floors down, the voices of the telkhines started to fade.
Finally, we came to a metal hatch. Beckendorf mouthed the words “engine room.”
It was locked, but Beckendorf pulled some chain cutters out of his bag and split the bolt like it was made of butter.
Inside, a row of yellow turbines the size of grain silos churned and hummed. Pressure gauges and computer terminals lined the opposite wall. A telkhine was hunched over a console, but he was so involved with his work, he didn't notice us. He was about five feet tall, with slick black seal fur and stubby little feet. He had the head of a Doberman, but his clawed hands were almost human. He growled and muttered as he tapped on his keyboard. Maybe he was messaging his friends on uglyface.com.
I stepped forward, and he tensed, probably smelling something wrong. He leaped sideways toward a big red alarm button, but I blocked his path. He hissed and lunged at me, but one slice of Riptide, and he exploded into dust.
“One down,” Beckendorf said. “ About five thousand to go.” He tossed me a jar of thick green liquid- Greek fire, one of the most dangerous magical substances in the world.
The he threw me another essential tool of the demigod heros- duct tape.
“Slap that one on the console,” he said. “I'll get the turnbines.”
We went to work. The room was hot and humid, and in no time we were drenched in sweat.
The boat kept chugging along. Being the son of Poseidon and all, I have perfect bearings at sea. Don't ask me how, but I could tell er were at 40.l9° North, 7I.90° West, making eighteen knots, which meant the ship would arrive in New York Harbor by dawn. This would be our only chance to stop it.
I had just attached a second jar of Greek fire to the control panels when I heard the pounding of feet on metal steps- so many creatures coming down the stairwell I could hear them over the engines. Not a good sign.
I locked eyes with Beckendorf. “How much longer?”
“Too long.” He tapped his watch, which was our remote control detonator. “I still have to wire the receiver and prime the charges.
Ten more minutes at least.”
Judging from the sound of the footsteps, we had about ten seconds.
“I'll distract them,” I said. “Meet you at the rendezvous point.” “Percy-”
“Wish me luck.”
He looked like he wanted to argue. The whole idea had been to get in and out without being spotted. But we were going to have to improvise.
“Good luck,” he said. I charged out the door.
A half dozen telkhines were tromping down the stairs. I cut through them with Riptide faster than they could yelp. I kept climbing- past another telkhine, who was so started he dropped his Lil' Demons lunch box. I left him alive- partly because his lunch box was cool, partly so he could raise the alarm and hopefully get his friends to follow me rather than head towards the engine room
I burst through a door onto deck six and kept running. I'm sure the carpeted hall had once been very plush, but over the last three years of monster occupation the wallpaper, carpet, and stateroom had been clawed up and slimed so it looked like the inside of a dragon's throat (and yes, unfortunately, I speak from experience.)
Back on my first visit to the Princess Andromeda,my old enemy Luke had kept some dazed tourist on board for show, shrouded in Mist so they didn't realize they were on a monster-infested ship.
Now that I didn't see any sign of tourists. I hated to think what had happened to them, but I kind of doubted they'd been allowed to go home with their bingo winnings.
I reached the promenade, a big shopping mall that took up the whole middle of the ship, and I stopped cold. In the middle of the courtyard stood a fountain. And in the fountain squatted a giant crab.
I'm not talking “giant” like $7.99 all-you-can-eat Alaskan king crab. I'm talking giant like bigger than the fountain. The monster rose ten feet out of the water. It's shell was mottled blue and green, its pincers longer than my body.
If you've ever seen a crab's mouth, all foamy and gross with whiskers and snapping bits, you can imagine this one didn't look any better blown up to billboard size. Its beady black eyes glared at me,and I could see intelligence in them- and hate. The fact that I was the son of the sea god was not going to win me any points with Mr.
Crabby.
“FFFFfffffff,” it hissed, sea foam dripping from its mouth.
The smell coming off it was like garbage can full of fish sticks that had been sitting in the sun all week.
Alarms blared. Soon I was going to have lots of company and I had to keep moving.
“Hey, crabby.” I inched around the edge of the courtyard. “I'm just gonna scoot around you so-”
The crab moved with amazing speed. It scuttled out of the fountain and came straight at me, pincers snapping. I dove into a gift shop, plowing through a rack if T-shirts. A crab pincer smashed the glass walls to pieces and raked across the room. I dashed back outside, breathing heavily, but Mr. Crabby turned and followed.
“There!” a voice said from a balcony about me. “Intruder!”
If I'd wanted to create a distraction, I'd succeeded, but this was not where I wanted to fight. If I got pinned down in the center of the ship, I was crab chow.
The demonic crustacean lunged at me. I sliced with Riptide, taking off the tip of its claw. It hissed and foamed, but didn't seem very hurt.
I tried to remember anything from the old stories that might help with this thing. Annabeth had told me about a monster crab- something about Hercules crushing it under his big food? That wasn't going to work here. This crab was slightly bigger than my Reeboks.
Then a weird thought occurred to me. Last Christmas, my mom and I had brought Paule Blofis to our old cabin at Montauk, where we'd been going forever. Paul had taken me crabbing, and when he'd brought up a net full of the things, he'd shown me how crabs have a chink in their armor, right in the middle of their ugly bellies.
The only problem was getting to the ugly belly.
I glanced at the fountain, then at the marble floor, already slick from scuttling crab tracks. I held out my hand, concentrating on the water, and the fountain exploded. Water sprayed everywhere, three stories high,dousing the balconies and the elevators and the windows of the shops. The crab didn't care. It loved water. It came at me sideways, snapping and hissing, and I ran straight at it, screaming, “AHHHHHHH!”
Just before we collided, I hit the ground baseball-style and slid on the wet marble floor straight under the creature. It was like sliding under a seven-ton armored vehicle. All the crab had to do was sit and squash me, but before it realized what I was going on, I jabbed Riptide into the chink in its armor, let go of the hilt, and pushed myself out the backside.
The monster shuddered and hissed. Its eyes dissolved. Its shell turned bright red as its insides evaporated. The empty shell clattered to the floor in a massive heap.
I didn't have time to admire my handiwork. I ran for the nearest stairs while all around me monsters and demigods shouted orders and strapped on their weapons. I was empty-handed. Riptide, being magic, would appear in my pocket sooner or later, but for now it was stuck somewhere under the wreckage of the crab,and I had no time to retrieve it.
In the elevator foyer on deck eight, a couple of dracaenae slithered across my path. From the waist up, they were woman with green scaly skin,yellow eyes, and forked tongues. From the waist down, they had double snake trunks instead of legs. They held spears and weighted nets, and I knew from experience they could use them.
“What is thisss?” one said. “A prize for Kronoss!”
I wasn't in the mood to play break-the-snake, but in front of me was a stand with a model of the ship, like a YOU ARE HERE display. I ripped the model off the pedestal and hurled it at the first dracaena. The boat smacked her in the face and she went down with the ship. I jumped over her, grabbed her friend's spear, and swung her around. She slammed into the elevator, and I kept running toward the front of the ship.
“Get him!” she screamed.
Hellhounds bayed. An arrow from somewhere whizzed past my face and impaled itself in the mahogany-paneled wall of the
stairwell.
I didn't care- as long as I got the monsters away from the engine room and gave Beckendorf more time.
As I was running up the stairwell, a kid charged down.
He looked like he'd just woken up from a nap. His armor was half on. He drew his sword and yelled, “Kronos!” but he sounded more scared than angry. He couldn't have been more than twelve- about the same age I was when I'd first arrived at Camp Half-Blood.
That thought depressed me. This kid was getting brain-washed- trained to hate the gods and lash out because he'd been born half Olympian. Kronos was using him, and yet the kid thought I was his enemy.
No way was I going to hurt him. I didn't need a weapon for this. I stepped inside his strike and grabbed his wrist, slamming it against the wall. His sword clattered out of his hand.
Then I did something I hadn't planned on. It was probably stupid. It definitely jeopardized our mission, but I couldn't help it.
“If you want to live,” I told him, “get off this ship now. Tell the other demigods.” Then I shoved him down the stairs and sent him tumbling to the next door.
I kept climbing.
Bad memories: a hallway ran past the cafeteria. Annabeth, my half brother Tyson, and I had sneaked through here three years ago on my first visit.
I burst outside onto the main deck. Off the port bow, the sky was darkening from purple to black. A swimming pool glowed between two glass towers with more balconies and restaurant decks. The whole upper ship seemed eerily deserted.
All I had to do was cross to the other side. Then I could take the staircase down to the helipad- our emergency rendezvous point. With any luck, Beckendorf would meet me there. We'd jump into the
sea. My water powers would protect us both, and we'd detonate the charges from a quarter mile away.
I was halfway across the deck when the sound of a voice made me freeze. “You're late, Percy.”
Luke stood on the balcony above me, a smile on his scarred face. He wore jeans, a white T-shirt, and flip-flops, like he was just a normal college guy, but his eyes told the truth. They were solid gold.
“We've been expecting you for days.” At first he sounded normal, like Luke. But then his face twitched. A shudder passed through his body as though he'd just drunk something really nasty. His voice became heavier, ancient,and powerful- the voice of the Titan lord Kronos. The words scraped down my spine like a knife blade. “Come, bow before me.”
“Yeah, that'll happen,” I muttered.
Laistrygonian giants filed in on either side of the swimming pool as if they'd been waiting for a cue. Each was eight feet tall with tattooed arms, leather armor, and spiked clubs. Demigod archers appeared on the roof above Luke. Two hellhounds leaped down from the opposite balcony and snarled at me. Within seconds I was surrounded. A trap: there's no way they could've gotten into position so face unless they'd known I was coming.
I looked up at Luke, and anger boiled inside me. I didn't know if Luke's consciousness was even still alive inside that body. Maybe, the way his voice had changed . . . or maybe it was just Kronos adapting to his new form. I told myself it didn't matter. Luke had been twisted and evil long before Kronos possessed him.
A voice in my head said: I have to fight him eventually. Why not now?
According to that big prophecy, I was suppose to make a choice that saved or destroyed the world when I was sixteen. That was only seven days away. Why not now? If I really had the power, what
difference would a week make? I could end this threat right here by taking down Kronos. Hey, I'd fought monsters and gods before.
As if reading my thoughts, Luke smiled. No, he was Kronos. I had to remember that.
“Come forward,” he said. “If you dare.”
The crowd of monsters parted. I moved up the stairs, my heart pounding. I was sure somebody would stab me in the back, but they let me pass. I felt my pocket and found my pen waiting. I uncapped it, and Riptide grew into a sword.
Krono's weapon appeared in his hands- a six-foot-long scythe, a half Celestial bronze, half mortal steel. Just looking at it made my knees turn to Jell-O. But before I could change my mind, I charged.
Time slowed down. I mean literally slowed down, because Kronos had that power. I felt like I was moving through syrup. My arms were so heavy, I could barely raise my sword. Kronos smiled, swirling his scythe at normal speed and waiting for me to creep toward my death.
I tried to fight his magic. I concentrated on the sea around me- the source of my power. I'd gotten better at channeling it over the year, but now nothing seemed to happen.
I took another slow step forward. Giants jeered Dracaenae
hissed with laughter.
Hey, ocean, I pleaded. Any day would be good.
Suddenly there was a wrenching pain in my gut. The entire boat lurched sideways, throwing monsters off their feet. Four thousand gallons of salt water surged out of the swimming pool, dousing me and Kronos and everyone on the deck. The water revitalized me, breaking the time spell, and I lunged forward.
I struck at Kronos, but I was still too slow. I made the mistake of looking at his face-Luke's face-a guy who was once my friend. As much as I hated him, it was hard to kill him.
Kronos had no such hesitation. He sliced downward with his scythe. I leaped back, and the evil blade missed by an inch, cutting a gash in the deck right between my feet.
I kicked Kronos in the chest. He stumbled backward, but he was heavier than Luke should've been. It was like kicking a refrigerator.
Kronos swung his scythe again. I intercepted with Riptide, but his strike was so powerful, my blade could only deflect it. The edge of the scythe shaved off my shirtsleeve and grazed my arm. It shouldn't have been a serious cut, but the entire side of my body exploded with pain. I remembered what a sea demon had once said about Kronos's scythe: Careful, fool. One touch, and the blade will sever your soul from your body. Now I understood what he meant. I wasn't just losing blood. I could feel my strength, my will, my identity draining away.
I stumbled backward, switched my sword to my left hand, and lunged desperately. My blade should've run him through, but it deflected off his stomach like I was hitting solid marble. There was no way he should've survived that.
Kronos laughed. "A poor performance, Percy Jackson. Luke tells me you were never his match at swordplay."
My vision started to blur. I knew I didn't have much time. "Luke had a big head," I said. "But at least it was his head."
"A shame to kill you now," Kronos mused, "before the final plan unfolds. I would love to see the terror in your eyes when you realize how I will destroy Olympus."
"You'll never get this boat to Manhattan." My arm was throbbing. Black spots danced in my vision.
"And why would that be?" Kronos's golden eyes glittered. His
face-Luke's face-seemed like a mask, unnatural and lit from behind by some evil power. "Perhaps you are counting on your friend with the explosives?"
He looked down at the pool and called, "Nakamura!"
A teenage guy in full Greek armor pushed through the crowd. His left eye was covered with a black patch. I knew him, of course: Ethan Nakamura, the son of Nemesis. I'd saved his life in the Labyrinth last summer, and in return, the little punk had helped Kronos come back to life.
"Success, my lord," Ethan called. "We found him just as we were told."
He clapped his hands, and two giants lumbered forward, dragging Charles Beckendorf between them. My heart almost stopped. Beckendorf had a swollen eye and cuts all over his face and arms. His armor was gone and his shirt was nearly torn off.
"No!" I yelled.
Beckendorf met my eyes. He glanced at his hand like he was trying to tell me something. His watch. They hadn't taken it yet, and that was the detonator. Was it possible the explosives were armed?
Surely the monsters would've dismantled them right away.
"We found him amidships," one of the giants said, "trying to sneak to the engine room. Can we eat him now?"
"Soon." Kronos scowled at Ethan. "Are you sure he didn't set the explosives?"
"He was going toward the engine room, my lord." "How do you know that?"
"Er . . ." Ethan shifted uncomfortably. "He was heading in that direction. And he told us. His bag is still full of explosives."
Slowly, I began to understand. Beckendorf had fooled them.
When he'd realized he was going to be captured, he turned to make it look like he was going the other way. He'd convinced them he hadn't made it to the engine room yet. The Greek fire might still be primed! But that didn't do us any good unless we could get off the ship and detonate it.
Kronos hesitated.
Buy the story, I prayed. The pain in my arm was so bad now I could barely stand.
"Open his bag," Kronos ordered.
One of the giants ripped the explosives satchel from Beckendorf's shoulders. He peered inside, grunted, and turned it upside down. Panicked monsters surged backward. If the bag really had been full of Greek fire jars, we would've all blown up. But what fell out were a dozen cans of peaches.
I could hear Kronos breathing, trying to control his anger. "Did you, perhaps," he said, "capture this demigod near the
galley?"
Ethan turned pale. "Um-"
"And did you, perhaps, send someone to actually CHECK THE ENGINE ROOM?"
Ethan scrambled back in terror, then turned on his heels and
ran.
I cursed silently. Now we had only minutes before the bombs
were disarmed. I caught Beckendorf's eyes again and asked a silent question, hoping he would understand: How long?
He cupped his fingers and thumb, making a circle. Zero. There was no delay on the timer at all. If he managed to press the detonator
button, the ship would blow at once. We'd never be able to get far enough away before using it. The monsters would kill us first, or disarm the explosives, or both.
Kronos turned toward me with a crooked smile. "You'll have to excuse my incompetent help, Percy Jackson. But it doesn't matter.
We have you now. We've known you were coming for weeks."
He held out his hand and dangled a little silver bracelet with a scythe charm-the Titan lord's symbol.
The wound in my arm was sapping my ability to think, but I muttered, "Communication device . . . spy at camp."
Kronos chuckled. "You can't count on friends. They will always let you down. Luke learned that lesson the hard way. Now drop your sword and surrender to me, or your friend dies."
I swallowed. One of the giants had his hand around Beckendorf's neck. I was in no shape to rescue him, and even if I tried, he would die before I got there. We both would.
Beckendorf mouthed one word: Go.
I shook my head. I couldn't just leave him.
The second giant was still rummaging through the peach cans, which meant Beckendorf's left arm was free. He raised it slowly- toward the watch on his right wrist.
I wanted to scream, NO!
Then down by the swimming pool, one of the dracaenae hissed, "What isss he doing? What isss that on hisss wrissst?"
Beckendorf closed eyes tight and brought his hand up to his watch.
I had no choice. I threw my sword like a javelin at Kronos. It
bounced harmlessly off his chest, but it did startle him. I pushed through a crowd of monsters and jumped off the side of the ship- toward the water a hundred feet below.
I heard rumbling deep in the ship. Monsters yelled at me from above. A spear sailed past my ear. An arrow pierced my thigh, but I barely had time to register the pain. I plunged into the sea and willed the currents to take me far, far away-a hundred yards, two hundred yards.
Even from that distance, the explosion shook the world. Heat seared the back of my head. The Princess Andromeda blew up from both sides, a massive fireball of green flame roiling into the dark sky, consuming everything.
Beckendorf, I thought.
Then I blacked out and sank like an anchor toward the bottom of the sea.
CHAPTER TWO
I MEET SOME FISHY RELATIVES
Demigod dreams suck.
The thing is, they're never just dreams. They've got to be visions, omens, and all that other mystical stuff that makes my brain hurt.
I dreamed I was in a dark palace at the top of a mountain. Unfortunately, I recognized it: the palace of the Titans on top of Mount Othrys, otherwise known as Mount Tamalpais, in California. The main pavilion was open to the night, ringed with black Greek columns and statues of the Titans. Torchlight glowed against the black marble floor. In the center of the room, an armored giant struggled under the weight of a swirling funnel cloud-Atlas, holding up the sky.
Two other giant men stood nearby over a bronze brazier, studying images in the flames.
"Quite an explosion," one said. He wore black armor studded with silver dots like a starry night. His face was covered in a war helm with a ram's horn curling on either side.
"It doesn't matter," the other said. This Titan was dressed in gold robes, with golden eyes like Kronos. His entire body glowed. He reminded me of Apollo, God of the Sun, except the Titan's light was harsher, and his expression crueler. "The gods have answered the challenge. Soon they will be destroyed."
The images in the fire were hard to make out: storms, buildings crumbling, mortals screaming in terror.
"I will go east to marshal our forces," the golden Titan said. "Krios, you shall remain and guard Mount Othrys."
The ram horn dude grunted. "I always get the stupid jobs. Lord of the South. Lord of Constellations. Now I get to babysit Atlas while you have all the fun."
Under the whirlwind of clouds, Atlas bellowed in agony, "Let me out, curse you! I am your greatest warrior. Take my burden so I may fight!"
"Quiet!" the golden Titan roared. "You had your chance, Atlas. You failed. Kronos likes you just where you are. As for you, Krios, do your duty."
"And if you need more warriors?" Krios asked. "Our treacherous nephew in the tuxedo will not do you much good in a fight."
The golden Titan laughed. "Don't worry about him. Besides, the gods can barely handle our first little challenge. They have no idea how many others we have in store. Mark my words, in a few days' time, Olympus will be in ruins, and we will meet here again to celebrate the dawn of the Sixth Age!"
The golden Titan erupted into flames and disappeared.
"Oh, sure," Krios grumbled. "He gets to erupt into flames. I get to wear these stupid ram's horns."
The scene shifted. Now I was outside the pavilion, hiding in the shadows of a Greek column. A boy stood next to me, eavesdropping on the Titans. He had dark silky hair, pale skin, and dark clothes-my friend Nico di Angelo, the son of Hades.
He looked straight at me, his expression grim. "You see, Percy?" he whispered. "You're running out of time. Do you really
think you can beat them without my plan?"
His words washed over me as cold as the ocean floor, and my dreams went black.
"Percy?" a deep voice said.
My head felt like it had been microwaved in aluminum foil. I opened my eyes and saw a large shadowy figure looming over me.
"Beckendorf?" I asked hopefully. "No, brother."
My eyes refocused. I was looking at a Cyclops-a misshapen face, ratty brown hair, one big brown eye full of concern. "Tyson?"
My brother broke into a toothy grin. "Yay! Your brain works!"
I wasn't so sure. My body felt weightless and cold. My voice sounded wrong. I could hear Tyson, but it was more like I was hearing vibrations inside my skull, not the regular sounds.
I sat up, and a gossamer sheet floated away. I was on a bed made of silky woven kelp, in a room paneled with abalone shell. Glowing pearls the size of basketballs floated around the ceiling, providing light. I was under water.
Now, being the son of Poseidon and all, I was okay with this. I can breathe underwater just fine, and my clothes don't even get wet unless I want them to. But it was still a bit of a shock when a hammerhead shark drifted through the bedroom window, regarded me, and then swam calmly out the opposite side of the room.
"Where-"
"Daddy's palace," Tyson said.
Under different circumstances, I would've been excited. I'd never visited Poseidon's realm, and I'd been dreaming about it for years. But my head hurt. My shirt was still speckled with burn marks from the explosion. My arm and leg wounds had healed-just being in the ocean can do that for me, given enough time-but I still felt like I'd been trampled by a Laistrygonian soccer team in cleats.
"How long-"
"We found you last night," Tyson said, "sinking through the water."
"The Princess Andromeda?"
"Went ka-boom," Tyson confirmed. "Beckendorf was on board. Did you find . . ."
Tyson's face darkened. "No sign of him. I am sorry, brother."
I stared out the window into deep blue water. Beckendorf was supposed to go to college in the fall. He had a girlfriend, lots of friends, his whole life ahead of him. He couldn't be gone. Maybe he'd made it off the ship like I had. Maybe he'd jumped over the
side . . . and what? He couldn't have survived a hundred-foot fall into the water like I could. He couldn't have put enough distance between himself and the explosion.
I knew in my gut he was dead. He'd sacrificed himself to take out the Princess Andromeda, and I had abandoned him.
I thought about my dream: the Titans discussing the explosion as if it didn't matter, Nico di Angelo warning me that I would never beat Kronos without following his plan-a dangerous idea I'd been avoiding for more than a year.
A distant blast shook the room. Green light blazed outside, turning the whole sea as bright as noon.
"What was that?" I asked.
T yson looked worried. "Daddy will explain. Come, he is blowing up monsters."
The palace might have been the most amazing place I'd ever seen if it hadn't been in the process of getting destroyed. We swam to the end of a long hallway and shot upward on a geyser. As we rose over the rooftops I caught my breath-well, if you can catch your breath underwater.
The palace was as big as the city on Mount Olympus, with wide courtyards, gardens, and columned pavilions. The gardens were sculpted with coral colonies and glowing sea plants. Twenty or thirty buildings were made of abalone, white but gleaming with rainbow colors. Fish and octopi darted in and out of the windows. The paths were lined with glowing pearls like Christmas lights.
The main courtyard was filled with warriors-mermen with fish tails from the waist down and human bodies from the waist up, except their skin was blue, which I'd never known before. Some were tending the wounded. Some were sharpening spears and swords. One passed us, swimming in a hurry. His eyes were bright green, like that stuff they put in glo-sticks, and his teeth were shark teeth. They don't show you stuff like that in The Little Mermaid.
Outside the main courtyard stood large fortifications-towers, walls, and antisiege weapons-but most of these had been smashed to ruins. Others were blazing with a strange green light that I knew well-Greek fire, which can burn even underwater.
Beyond this, the sea floor stretched into gloom. I could see battles raging-flashes of energy, explosions, the glint of armies
clashing. A regular human would've found it too dark to see. Heck, a regular human would've been crushed by the pressure and frozen by the cold. Even my heat-sensitive eyes couldn't make out exactly what was going on.
At the edge of the palace complex, a temple with a red coral roof exploded, sending fire and debris streaming in slow motion across the farthest gardens. Out of the darkness above, an enormous form appeared-a squid larger than any skyscraper. It was surrounded by a glittering cloud of dust-at least I thought it was dust, until I realized it was a swarm of mermen trying to attack the monster. The squid descended on the palace and swatted its tentacles, smashing a whole column of warriors. Then a brilliant arc of blue light shot from the rooftop of one of the tallest buildings. The light hit the giant squid, and the monster dissolved like food coloring in water.
"Daddy," Tyson said, pointing to where the light had come from.
"He did that?" I suddenly felt more hopeful. My dad had unbelievable powers. He was the god of the sea. He could deal with this attack, right? Maybe he'd let me help.
"Have you been in the fight?" I asked Tyson in awe. "Like bashing heads with your awesome Cyclops strength and stuff?"
Tyson pouted, and immediately I knew I'd asked a bad question, "I have been . . . fixing weapons," he mumbled. "Come. Let's go find Daddy."
I know this might sound weird to people with, like, regular parents, but I'd only seen my dad four or five times in my life, and never for more than a few minutes. The Greek gods don't exactly show up for
their kids' basketball games. Still, I thought I would recognize Poseidon on sight.
I was wrong.
The roof of the temple was a big open deck that had been set up as a command center. A mosaic on the floor showed an exact map of the palace grounds and the surrounding ocean, but the mosaic moved. Colored stone tiles representing different armies and sea monsters shifted around as the forces changed position. Buildings that collapsed in real life also collapsed in the picture.
Standing around the mosaic, grimly studying the battle, was a strange assortment of warriors, but none of them looked like my dad. I was searching for a big guy with a good tan and a black beard, wearing Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt.
There was nobody like that. One guy was a merman with two fish tails instead of one. His skin was green, his armor studded with pearls. His black hair was tied in a ponytail, and he looked young- though it's hard to tell with non-humans. They could be a thousand years old or three. Standing next to him was an old man with a bushy white beard and gray hair. His battle armor seemed to weigh him down. He had green eyes and smile wrinkles around his eyes, but he wasn't smiling now. He was studying the map and leaning on a large metal staff. To his right stood a beautiful woman in green armor with flowing black hair and strange little horns like crab claws. And there was a dolphin-just a regular dolphin, but it was staring at the map intently.
"Delphin," the old man said. "Send Palaemon and his legion of sharks to the western front. We have to neutralize those leviathans."
The dolphin spoke in a chattering voice, but I could understand it in my mind: Yes, lord! It sped away.
I looked in dismay at Tyson, then back at the old man. It didn't seem possible, but . . . "Dad?" I asked.
The old man looked up. I recognized the twinkle in his eyes, but his face . . . he looked like he'd aged forty years.
"Hello, Percy."
"What-what happened to you?"
Tyson nudged me. He was shaking his head so hard Iwas afraid it would fall off, but Poseidon didn't look offended.
"It's all right, Tyson," he said. "Percy, excuse my appearance.
The war has been hard on me."
"But you're immortal," I said quietly. "You can look . . . any way you want."
"I reflect the state of my realm," he said. "And right now that state is quite grim. Percy, I should introduce you-I'm afraid you just missed my lieutenant Delphin, God of the Dolphins. This is my, er, wife, Amphitrite. My dear-"
The lady in green armor stared at me coldly, then crossed her arms and said, "Excuse me, my lord. I am needed in the battle."
She swam away.
I felt pretty awkward, but I guess I couldn't blame her. I'd never thought about it much, but my dad had an immortal wife. All his romances with mortals, including with my mom . . . well, Amphitrite probably didn't like that much.
Poseidon cleared his throat. "Yes, well . . . and this is my son Triton. Er, my other son."
"Your son and heir," the green dude corrected. His double fish tails swished back and forth. He smiled at me, but there was no
friendliness in his eyes. "Hello, Perseus Jackson. Come to help at last?"
He acted like I was late or lazy. If you can blush underwater, I probably did.
"Tell me what to do," I said.
Triton smiled like that was a cute suggestion-like I was a slightly amusing dog that had barked for him or something. He turned to Poseidon. "I will see to the front line, Father. Don't worry. I will not fail."
He nodded politely to Tyson. How come I didn't get that much respect? Then he shot off into the water.
Poseidon sighed. He raised his staff, and it changed into his regular weapon-a huge three-pointed trident. The tip glowed with blue light, and the water around it boiled with energy.
"I'm sorry about that," he told me.
A huge sea serpent appeared from above us and spiraled down toward the roof. It was bright orange with a fanged mouth big enough to swallow a gymnasium.
Hardly looking up, Poseidon pointed his trident at the beast and zapped it with blue energy. Ka-boom! The monster burst into a million goldfish, which all swam off in terror.
"My family is anxious," Poseidon continued as if nothing had happened. "The battle against Oceanus is going poorly."
He pointed to the edge of the mosaic. With the butt of his trident he tapped the image of a merman larger than the rest, with the horns of a bull. He appeared to be riding a chariot pulled by crawfish, and instead of a sword he wielded a live serpent.
"Oceanus," I said, trying to remember. "The Titan of the sea?"
Poseidon nodded. "He was neutral in the first war of gods and Titans. But Kronos has convinced him to fight. This is . . . well, it's not a good sign. Oceanus would not commit unless he was sure he could pick the winning side."
"He looks stupid," I said, trying to sound upbeat. "I mean, who fights with a snake?"
"Daddy will tie it in knots," Tyson said firmly.
Poseidon smiled, but he looked weary. "I appreciate your faith. We have been at war almost a year now. My powers are taxed. And still he finds new forces to throw at me-sea monsters so ancient I had forgotten about them."
I heard an explosion in the distance. About half a mile away, a mountain of coral disintegrated under the weight of two giant creatures. I could dimly make out their shapes. One was a lobster.
The other was a giant humanoid like a Cyclops, but he was surrounded by a flurry of limbs. At first I thought he wearing a bunch of giant octopi. Then I realized they were his own arms-a hundred flailing, fighting arms.
"Briares!" I said.
I was happy to see him, but he looked like he was fighting for his life. He was the last of his kind-a Hundred-Handed One, cousin of the Cyclopes. We'd saved him from Kronos's prison last summer, and I knew he'd come to help Poseidon, but I hadn't heard of him since.
"He fights well," Poseidon said. "I wish we had a whole army like him, but he is the only one."
I watched as Briares bellowed in rage and picked up the lobster, which thrashed and snapped its pincers. He threw it off the coral mountain, and the lobster disappeared into the darkness. Briares
swam after it, his hundred arms spinning like the blades of a motorboat.
"Percy, we may not have much time," my dad said. "Tell me of your mission. Did you see Kronos?"
I told him everything, though my voice choked up when I explained about Beckendorf. I looked down at the courtyards below and saw hundreds of wounded mermen lying on makeshift cots. I saw rows of coral mounds that must've been hastily made graves. I realized Beckendorf wasn't the first death. He was only one of hundreds, maybe thousands. I'd never felt so angry and helpless.
Poseidon stroked his beard. "Percy, Beckendorf chose a heroic death. You bear no blame for that. Kronos's army will be m disarray. Many were destroyed."
"But we didn't kill him, did we?"
As I said it, I knew it was a naive hope. We might blow up his ship and disintegrate his monsters, but a Titan lord wouldn't be so easy to kill.
"No," Poseidon admitted. "But you've bought our side some time."
"There were demigods on that ship," I said, thinking of the kid I'd seen in the stairwell. Somehow I'd allowed myself to concentrate on the monsters and Kronos. I'd convinced myself that destroying their ship was all right because they were evil, they were sailing to attack my city, and besides, they couldn't really be permanently killed. Monsters just vaporized and re-formed eventually. But demigods . . .
Poseidon put his hand on my shoulder. "Percy, there were only a few demigod warriors aboard that ship, and they all chose to battle for Kronos. Perhaps some heeded your warning and escaped. If they
did not . . . they chose their path."
"They were brainwashed!" I said. "Now they're dead and Kronos is still alive. That's supposed to make me feel better?"
I glared at the mosaic-little tile explosions destroying tile monsters. It seemed so easy when it was just a picture.
Tyson put his arm around me. If anybody else had tried that, I would've pushed him away, but Tyson was too big and stubborn. He hugged me whether I wanted it or not. "Not your fault, brother.
Kronos does not explode good. Next time we will use a big stick."
"Percy," my father said. "Beckendorf's sacrifice wasn't in vain. You have scattered the invasion force. New York will be safe for a time, which frees the other Olympians to deal with the bigger threat."
"The bigger threat?" I thought about what the golden Titan had said in my dream: The gods have answered the challenge. Soon they will be destroyed.
A shadow passed over my father's face. "You've had enough sorrow for one day. Ask Chiron when you return to camp."
"Return to camp? But you're in trouble here. I want to help!" "You can't, Percy. Your job is elsewhere."
I couldn't believe I was hearing this. I looked at Tyson for backup.
My brother chewed his lip. "Daddy . . . Percy can fight with a sword. He is good."
"I know that," Poseidon said gently.
"Dad, I can help," I said. "I know I can. You're not going to hold out here much longer."
A fireball launched into the sky from behind the enemy lines. I thought Poseidon would deflect it or something, but it landed on the outer corner of the yard and exploded, sending mermen tumbling through the water. Poseidon winced as if he'd just been stabbed.
"Return to camp," he insisted. "And tell Chiron it is time." "For what?"
"You must hear the prophecy. The entire prophecy."
I didn't need to ask him which prophecy. I'd been hearing about the "Great Prophecy" for years, but nobody would ever tell me the whole thing. All I knew was that I was supposed to make a decision that would decide the fate of the world-but no pressure.
"What if this is the decision?" I said. "Staying here to light, or leaving? What if I leave and you . . ."
I couldn't say die. Gods weren't supposed to die, but I'd seen it happen. Even if they didn't die, they could be reduced to nearly nothing, exiled, imprisoned in the depths of Tartarus like Kronos had been.
"Percy, you must go," Poseidon insisted. "I don't know what your final decision will be, but your fight lies in the world above. If nothing else, you must warn your friends at camp. Kronos knew your plans. You have a spy. We will hold here. We have no choice."
Tyson gripped my hand desperately. "I will miss you, brother!" Watching us, our father seemed to age another ten years.
"Tyson, you have work to do as well, my son. They need you in the armory."
Tyson pouted some more.
"I will go," he sniffled. He hugged me so hard he almost cracked my ribs. "Percy, be careful! Do not let monsters kill you
dead!"
I tried to nod confidently, but it was too much for the big guy.
He sobbed and swam away toward the armory, where his cousins were fixing spears and swords.
"You should let him fight," I told my father. "He hates being stuck in the armory. Can't you tell?"
Poseidon shook his head. "It is bad enough I must send you into danger. Tyson is too young. I must protect him."
"You should trust him," I said. "Not try to protect him."
Poseidon's eyes flared. I thought I'd gone too far, but then he looked down at the mosaic and his shoulders sagged. On the tiles, the mermaid guy in the crawfish chariot was coming closer to the palace.
"Oceanus approaches," my father said. "I must meet him in battle."
I'd never been scared for a god before, but I didn't see how my dad could face this Titan and win.
"I will hold," Poseidon promised. "I will not give up my domain. Just tell me, Percy, do you still have the birthday gift I gave you last summer?"
I nodded and pulled out my camp necklace. It had a bead for every summer I'd been at Camp Half-Blood, but since last year I'd also kept a sand dollar on the cord. My father had given it to me for my fifteenth birthday. He'd told me I would know when to "spend it," but so far I hadn't figured out what he meant. All I knew was that it didn't fit the vending machines in the school cafeteria.
"The time is coming," he promised. "With luck, I will see you for your birthday next week, and we will have a proper celebration."
He smiled, and for a moment I saw the old light in his eyes.
Then the entire sea grew dark in front of us, like an inky storm was rolling in. Thunder crackled, which should've been impossible underwater. A huge icy presence was approaching. I sensed a wave of fear roll through the armies below us.
"I must assume my true godly form," Poseidon said. "Go-and good luck, my son."
I wanted to encourage him, to hug him or something, but knew better than to stick around. When a god assumes his true form, the power is so great that any mortal looking on him will disintegrate.
"Good-bye, Father," I managed.
Then I turned away. I willed the ocean currents to aid me. Water swirled around me, and I shot toward the surface at speeds that would've caused any normal human to pop like a balloon.
When I looked back, all I could see were flashes of green and blue as my father fought the Titan, and the sea itself was torn apart by the two armies.
CHAPTER THREE
I GET A SNEAK PEEK AT MY DEATH
If you want to be popular at Camp Half-Blood, don't come back from a mission with bad news.
Word of my arrival spread as soon as I walked out of the ocean.
Our beach is on the North Shore of Long Island, and it's enchanted so most people can't even see it. People don't just appear on the beach unless they're demigods or gods or really, really lost pizza delivery guys. (It's happened-but that's another story.)
Anyway, that afternoon the lookout on duty was Connor Stoll from the Hermes cabin. When he spotted me, he got so excited he fell out of his tree. Then he blew the conch horn to signal the camp and ran to greet me.
Connor had a crooked smile that matched his crooked sense of humor. He's a pretty nice guy, but you should always keep one hand on your wallet when he's around, and do not, under any circumstances, give him access to shaving cream unless you want to find your sleeping bag full of it. He's got curly brown hair and is a little shorter than his brother, Travis, which is the only way I can tell them apart. They are both so unlike my old enemy Luke it's hard to believe they're all sons of Hermes.
"Percy!" he yelled. "What happened? Where's Beckendorf?"
Then he saw my expression, and his smile melted. "Oh, no. Poor Silena. Holy Zeus, when she finds out . . ."
Together we climbed the sand dunes. A few hundred yards away, people were already streaming toward us, smiling and excited.
Percy's back, they were probably thinking. He's saved the day! Maybe he brought souvenirs!
I stopped at the dining pavilion and waited for them. No sense rushing down there to tell them what a loser I was.
I gazed across the valley and tried to remember how Camp Half- Blood looked the first time I ever saw it. That seemed like a bajillion years ago.
From the dining pavilion, you could see pretty much everything. Hills ringed the valley. On the tallest, Half-Blood Hill, Thalia's pine tree stood with the Golden Fleece hanging from its branches, magically protecting the camp from its enemies. The guard dragon Peleus was so big now I could see him from here-curled around the tree trunk, lending up smoke signals as he snored.
To my right spread the woods. To my left, the canoe lake glittered and the climbing wall glowed from the lava pouring down its side. Twelve cabins-one for each Olympian god-made a horseshoe pattern around the commons area. Farther south were the strawberry fields, the armory, and the four-story Big House with its sky blue paint job and its bronze eagle weathervane.
In some ways, the camp hadn't changed. But you couldn't see the war by looking at the buildings or the fields. You could see it in the faces of the demigods and satyrs and naiads coming up the hill.
There weren't as many at camp as four summers ago. Some had left and never come back. Some had died fighting. Others-we tried not to talk about them-had gone over to the enemy.
The ones who were still here were battle-hardened and weary. There was little laughter at camp these days. Even the Hermes cabin didn't play so many pranks. It's hard to enjoy practical jokes when your whole life feels like one.
Chiron galloped into the pavilion first, which was easy for him since he's a white stallion from the waist down. His beard had grown wilder over the summer. He wore a green T-shirt that said MY OTHER CAR IS A CENTAUR and a bow slung over his back.
"Percy!" he said. "Thank the gods. But where . . ."
Annabeth ran in right behind him, and I'll admit my heart did a little relay race in my chest when I saw her. It's not that she tried to look good. We'd been doing so many combat missions lately, she hardly brushed her curly blond hair anymore, and she didn't care what clothes she was wearing-usually the same old orange camp T-shirt and jeans, and once in a while her bronze armor. Her eyes were stormy gray. Most of the time we couldn't get through a conversation without trying to strangle each other. Still, just seeing her made me feel fuzzy in the head. Last summer, before Luke had turned into Kronos and everything went sour, there had been a few times when I thought maybe . . . well, that we might get past the strangle-each- other phase.
"What happened?" She grabbed my arm. "Is Luke-"
"The ship blew up," I said. "He wasn't destroyed. I don't know where-"
Silena Beauregard pushed through the crowd. Her hair wasn't combed and she wasn't even wearing makeup, which wasn't like her.
"Where's Charlie?" she demanded, looking around like he might be hiding.
I glanced at Chiron helplessly.
The old centaur cleared his throat. "Silena, my dear, let's talk about this at the Big House-"
"No," she muttered. "No. No."
She started to cry, and the rest of us stood around, too stunned to speak. We'd already lost so many people over the summer, but this was the worst. With Beckendorf gone, it felt like someone had stolen the anchor for the entire camp.
Finally Clarisse from the Ares cabin came forward. She put her arm around Silena. They had one of the strangest friendships ever-a daughter of the war god and a daughter of the love goddess-but ever since Silena had given Clarisse advice last summer about her first boyfriend, Clarisse had decided she was Silena's personal bodyguard.
Clarisse was dressed in her bloodred combat armor, her brown hair tucked into a bandana. She was as big and beefy as a rugby player, with a permanent scowl on her face, but she spoke gently to Silena.
"Come on, girl," she said. "Let's get to the Big House. I'll make you some hot chocolate."
Everyone turned and wandered off in twos and threes, heading back to the cabins. Nobody was excited to see me now. Nobody wanted to hear about the blown-up ship.
Only Annabeth and Chiron stayed behind.
Annabeth wiped a tear from her cheek. "I'm glad you're not dead, Seaweed Brain."
"Thanks," I said. "Me too."
Chiron put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sure you did everything you could, Percy. Will you tell us what happened?"
I didn't want to go through it again, but I told them the story,
including my dream about the Titans. I left out the detail about Nico. Nico had made me promise not to tell anybody about his plan until I made up my mind, and the plan was so scary I didn't mind keeping it a secret.
Chiron gazed down at the valley. "We must call a war council immediately, to discuss this spy, and other matters."
"Poseidon mentioned another threat," I said. "Something even bigger than the Princess Andromeda. I thought it might be that challenge the Titan had mentioned in my dream."
Chiron and Annabeth exchanged looks, like they knew something I didn't. I hated when they did that.
"We will discuss that also," Chiron promised.
"One more thing." I took a deep breath. "When I talked to my father, he said to tell you it's time. I need to know the full prophecy."
Chiron's shoulders sagged, but he didn't look surprised. "I've dreaded this day. Very well. Annabeth, we will show Percy the truth-all of it. Let's go to the attic."
* * *
I'd been to the Big House attic three times before, which was three times more than I wanted to.
A ladder ledup from the top of the staircase. I wondered how Chiron was going to get up there, being half horse and all, but he didn't try.
"You know where it is," he told Annabeth. "Bring it down, please." Annabeth nodded. "Come on, Percy."
The sun was setting outside, so the attic was even darker and creepier than usual. Old hero trophies were slacked everywhere- dented shields, pickled heads in jars from various monsters, a pair of
fuzzy dice on a bronze plaque that read: STOLEN FROM CHRYSAOR'S HONDA CIVIC, BY GUS, SON OF HERMES, 1988.
I picked up a curved bronze sword so badly bent it looked like the letter M. I could still see green stains on the metal from the magical poison that used to cover it. The tag was dated last summer. It read: Scimitar of Kampê, destroyed in the Battle of the Labyrinth.
"You remember Briares throwing those boulders?" I asked. Annabeth gave me a grudging smile. "And Grover causing a Panic?"
We locked eyes. I thought of a different time last summer, under Mount St. Helens, when Annabeth thought I was going to die and she kissed me.
She cleared her throat and looked away. "Prophecy." "Right." I put down the scimitar. "Prophecy."
We walked over to the window. On a three-legged stool sat the Oracle-a shriveled female mummy m a tie-dyed dress. Tufts of black hair clung to her skull. Glassy eyes stared out of her leathery face.
Just looking at her made my skin crawl.
If you wanted to leave camp during the summer, it used to be you had to come up here to get a quest. This summer, that rule had been tossed. Campers left all the time on combat missions. We had no choice if we wanted to stop Kronos.
Still, I remembered too well the strange green mist-the spirit of the Oracle-that lived inside the mummy. She looked lifeless now, but whenever she spoke a prophecy, she moved. Sometimes fog gushed out of her mouth and created strange shapes. Once, she'd even left the attic and taken a little zombie stroll into the woods to deliver a message. I wasn't sure what she'd do for the "Great Prophecy." I half
expected her to start tap dancing or something.
But she just sat there like she was dead-which she was. "I never understood this," I whispered.
"What?" Annabeth asked. "Why it's a mummy."
"Percy, she didn't used to be a mummy. For thousands of years the spirit of the Oracle lived inside a beautiful maiden. The spirit would be passed on from generation to generation. Chiron told me she was like that fifty years ago." Annabeth pointed at the mummy. "But she was the last."
"What happened?"
Annabeth started to say something, then apparently changed her mind. "Let's just do our job and get out of here."
I looked nervously at the Oracle's withered face. "So what now?"
Annabeth approached the mummy and held out her palms. "O Oracle, the time is at hand. I ask for the Great Prophecy."
I braced myself, but the mummy didn't move. Instead, Annabeth approached and unclasped one of its necklaces. I'd never paid too much attention to its jewelry before. I figured it was just hippie love beads and stuff. But when Annabeth turned toward me, she was holding a leather pouch-like a Native American medicine pouch on a cord braided with feathers. She opened the bag and took out a roll of parchment no bigger than her pinky.
"No way," I said. "You mean all these years, I've been asking about this stupid prophecy, and it's been right there around her neck?"
"The time wasn't right," Annabeth said. "Believe me, Percy, I read this when I was ten years old, and I still have nightmares about it."
"Great," I said. "Can I read it now?"
"Downstairs at the war council," Annabeth said. "Not in front of
. . . you know."
I looked at the glassy eyes of the Oracle, and I decided not to argue. We headed downstairs to join the others. I didn't know it then, but it would be the last time I ever visited the attic.
* * *
The senior counselors had gathered around the Ping-Pong table. Don't ask me why, but the rec room had become the camp's informal headquarters for war councils. When Annabeth, Chiron, and I came in, though, it looked more like a shouting match.
Clarisse was still in full battle gear. Her electric spear was strapped to her back. (Actually, her second electric spear, since I'd broken the first one. She called the spear "Maimer." Behind her back, everybody else called it "Lamer.") She had her boar-shaped helmet under one arm and a knife at her belt.
She was in the midst of yelling at Michael Yew, the new head counselor for Apollo, which looked kind of funny since Clarisse was a foot taller. Michael had taken over the Apollo cabin after Lee Fletcher died in battle last summer. Michael stood four feet six, with another two feet of attitude. He reminded me of a ferret, with a pointy nose and scrunched-up features-either because he scowled so much or because he spent too much time looking down the shaft of an arrow.
"It's our loot!" he yelled, standing on his tiptoes so he could get in Clarisse's face. "If you don't like it, you can kiss my quiver!"
Around the table, people were trying not to laugh-the Stoll brothers, Pollux from the Dionysus cabin, Katie Gardner from Demeter. Even Jake Mason, the hastily appointed new counselor from Hephaestus,
managed a faint smile. Only Silena Beauregard didn't pay any attention. She sat beside Clarisse and stared vacantly at the Ping- Pong net. Her eyes were red and puffy. A cup of hot chocolate sat untouched in front of her. It seemed unfair that she had to be here. I couldn't believe Clarisse and Michael standing over her, arguing about something as stupid as loot, when she'd just lost Beckendorf.
"STOP IT!" I yelled. "What are you guys doing?"
Clarisse glowered at me. "Tell Michael not to be a selfish jerk." "Oh, that's perfect, coming from you," Michael said.
"The only reason I'm here is to support Silena!" Clarisse shouted. "Otherwise I'd be back in my cabin."
"What are you talking about?" I demanded.
Pollux cleared his throat. "Clarisse has refused to speak to any of us, until her, um, issue is resolved. She hasn't spoken for three days."
"It's been wonderful," Travis Stoll said wistfully. "What issue?" I asked.
Clarisse turned to Chiron. "You're in charge, right? Does my cabin get what we want or not?"
Chiron shuffled his hooves. "My dear, as I've already explained, Michael is correct. Apollo's cabin has the best claim. Besides, we have more important matters-"
"Sure," Clarisse snapped. "Always more important matters than what Ares needs. We're just supposed to show up and light when you need us, and not complain!"
"That would be nice," Connor Stoll muttered.
Clarisse gripped her knife. "Maybe I should ask Mr. D-"
"As you know," Chiron interrupted, his tone slightly angry now,
"our director, Dionysus, is busy with the war. He can't be bothered with this."
"I see," Clarisse said. "And the senior counselors? Are any of you going to side with me?"
Nobody was smiling now. None of them met Clarisse's eyes. "Fine." Clarisse turned to Silena. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get
into this when you've just lost . . . Anyway, I apologize. To you.
Nobody else."
Silena didn't seem to register her words.
Clarisse threw her knife on the Ping-Pong table. "All of you can fight this war without Ares. Until I get satisfaction, no one in my cabin is lifting a finger to help. Have fun dying."
The counselors were all too stunned to say anything as Clarisse stormed out of the room.
Finally Michael Yew said, "Good riddance."
"Are you kidding?" Katie Gardner protested. "This is a disaster!"
"She can't be serious," Travis said. "Can she?"
Chiron sighed. "Her pride has been wounded. She'll calm down eventually." But he didn't sound convinced.
I wanted to ask what the heck Clarisse was so mad about, but I looked at Annabeth and she mouthed the words I'll tell you later.
"Now," Chiron continued, "if you please, counselors. Percy has brought something I think you should hear. Percy-the Great Prophecy."
Annabeth handed me the parchment. It felt dry and old, and my fingers fumbled with the string. I uncurled the paper, trying not to rip
it, and began to read:
"A half-blood of the eldest dogs . . ."
"Er, Percy?" Annabeth interrupted. "That's gods. Not dogs." "Oh, right," I said. Being dyslexic is one mark of a demigod,
but sometimes I really hate it. The more nervous I am, the worse my reading gets. "A half~blood of the eldest gods . . . shall reach sixteen against all odds . . ."
I hesitated, staring at the next lines. A cold feeling started m my fingers as if the paper was freezing.
"And see the world in endless sleep,
The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap."
Suddenly Riptide seemed heavier in my pocket. A cursed blade?
Chiron once told me Riptide had brought many people sorrow. Was it possible my own sword could get me killed? And how could the world fall into endless sleep, unless that meant death?
"Percy," Chiron urged. "Read the rest."
My mouth felt like it was full of sand, but I spoke the last two lines.
"A single choice shall. . . shall end his days.
Olympus to per-pursue-"
"Preserve," Annabeth said gently. "It means to save."
"I know what it means," I grumbled. "Olympus to preserve or raze."
The room was silent. Finally Connor Stoll said, "Raise is good, isn't it?"
"Not raise,"Silena said. Her voice was hollow, but I was startled to hear her speak at all. "R-a-z-e means destroy."
"Obliterate," Annabeth said. "Annihilate. Turn to rubble." "Got it." My heart felt like lead. "Thanks."
Everybody was looking at me-with concern, or pity, or maybe a little fear.
Chiron closed his eyes as if he were saying a prayer. In horse form, his head almost brushed the lights in the rec room. "You see now, Percy, why we thought it best not to tell you the whole prophecy. You've had enough on your shoulders-"
"Without realizing I was going to die in the end anyway?" I said. "Yeah, I get it."
Chiron gazed at me sadly. The guy was three thousand years old. He'd seen hundreds of heroes die. He might not like it, but he was used to it. He probably knew better than to try to reassure me.
"Percy," Annabeth said. "You know prophecies always have double meanings. It might not literally mean you die."
"Sure," I said. "A single choice shall end his days. That has tons of meanings, right?"
"Maybe we can stop it," Jake Mason offered. "The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap. Maybe we could find this cursed blade and destroy it. Sounds like Kronos's scythe, right?"
I hadn't thought about that, but it didn't matter if the cursed blade was Riptide or Kronos's scythe. Either way, I doubted we could stop the prophecy. A blade was supposed to reap my soul. As a general rule, I preferred not to have my soul reaped.
"Perhaps we should let Percy think about these lines," Chiron said. "He needs time-"
"No." I folded up the prophecy and shoved it into my pocket. I felt defiant and angry, though I wasn't sure who I was angry with. "I
don't need time. If I die, I die. I can't worry about that, right?"
Annabeth's hands were shaking a little. She wouldn't meet my eyes.
"Let's move on," I said. "We've got other problems. We've got a spy."
Michael Yew scowled. "A spy?"
I told them what had happened on the Princess Andromeda-how Kronos had known we were coming, how he'd shown me the silver scythe pendant he'd used to communicate with someone at camp.
Silena started to cry again, and Annabeth put an arm around her shoulders.
"Well," Connor Stoll said uncomfortably, "we've suspected there might a spy for years, right? Somebody kept passing information to Luke-like the location of the Golden Fleece a couple of years ago. It must be somebody who knew him well."
Maybe subconsciously, he glanced at Annabeth. She'd known Luke better than anyone, of course, but Connor looked away quickly.
"Um, I mean, it could be anybody."
"Yes." Katie Gardner frowned at the Stoll brothers. She'd disliked them ever since they'd decorated the grass roof of the Demeter cabin with chocolate Easter bunnies. "Like one of Luke's siblings."
Travis and Connor both started arguing with her.
"Stop!" Silena banged the table so hard her hot chocolate spilled. "Charlie's dead and . . . and you're all arguing like little kids!" She put her head down and began to sob.
Hot chocolate trickled off the Ping-Pong table. Everybody looked ashamed.
"She's right," Pollux said at last. "Accusing each other doesn't help. We need to keep our eyes open for a silver necklace with a scythe charm. If Kronos had one, the spy probably does too."
Michael Yew grunted. "We need to find this spy before we plan our next operation. Blowing up the Princess Andromeda won't stop Kronos forever."
"No indeed," Chiron said. "In fact his next assault is already on the way."
I scowled. "You mean the 'bigger threat' Poseidon mentioned?"
He and Annabeth looked at each other like, It's time. Did I mention I hate it when they do that?
"Percy," Chiron said, "we didn't want to tell you until you returned to camp. You needed a break with your . . . mortal friends."
Annabeth blushed. It dawned on me that she knew I'd been hanging out with Rachel, and I felt guilty. Then I felt angry that I felt guilty. I was allowed to have friends outside camp, right? It wasn't like . . .
"Tell me what's happened," I said.
Chiron picked up a bronze goblet from the snack table. He tossed water onto the hot plate where we usually melted nacho cheese. Steam billowed up, making a rainbow in the fluorescent lights. Chiron fished a golden drachma out of his pouch, tossed it through the mist, and muttered, "O Iris, Goddess of the Rainbow, show us the threat."
The mist shimmered. I saw the familiar image of a smoldering volcano-Mount St. Helens. As I watched, the side of the mountain exploded. Fire, ash, and lava rolled out. A newscaster's voice was saying "-even larger than last year's eruption, and geologists warn
that the mountain may not be done."
I knew all about last year's eruption. I'd caused it. But this explosion was much worse. The mountain tore itself apart, collapsing inward, and an enormous form rose out of the smoke and lava like it was emerging from a manhole. I hoped the Mist would keep the humans from seeing it clearly, because what I saw would've caused panic and riots across the entire United States.
The giant was bigger than anything I'd ever encountered. Even my demigod eyes couldn't make out its exact form through the ash and fire, but it was vaguely humanoid and so huge it could've used the Chrysler Building as a baseball bat. The mountain shook with a horrible rumbling, as if the monster were laughing.
"It's him," I said. "Typhon."
I was seriously hoping Chiron would say something good, like No, that's our huge friend Leroy! He's going to help us! But no such luck. He simply nodded. "The most horrible monster of all, the biggest single threat the gods ever faced. He has been freed from under the mountain at last. But this scene is from two days ago. Here is what is happening today."
Chiron waved his hand and the image changed. I saw a bank of storm clouds rolling across the Midwest plains. Lightning flickered. Lines of tornadoes destroyed everything in their path-ripping up houses and trailers, tossing cars around like Matchbox toys.
"Monumental floods," an announcer was saying. "Five states declared disaster areas as the freak storm system sweeps east, continuing its path of destruction." The cameras zoomed in on a column of storm bearing down on some Midwest city. I couldn't tell which one. Inside the storm I could see the giant-just small glimpses of his true form: a smoky arm, a dark clawed hand the size of a city
block. His angry roar rolled across the plains like a nuclear blast. Other smaller forms darted through the clouds, circling the monster. I saw flashes of light, and I realized the giant was trying to swat them. I squinted and thought I saw a golden chariot flying into the blackness. Then some kind of huge bird-a monstrous owl-dived in to attack the giant.
"Are those . . . the gods?" I said.
"Yes, Percy," Chiron said. "They have been fighting him for days now, trying to slow him down. But Typhon is marching forward-toward New York. Toward Olympus."
I let that sink in. "How long until he gets here?"
"Unless the gods can stop him? Perhaps five days. Most of the Olympians are there . . . except your father, who has a war of his own to fight."
"But then who's guarding Olympus?"
Connor Stoll shook his head. "If Typhon gets to New York, it won't matter who's guarding Olympus."
I thought about Kronos's words on the ship: I would love to see the terror in your eyes when you realize how I will destroy Olympus.
Was this what he was talking about: an attack by Typhon? It was sure terrifying enough. But Kronos was always fooling us, misdirecting our attention. This seemed too obvious for him. And in my dream, the golden Titan had talked about several more challenges to come, as if Typhon were only the first.
"It's a trick," I said. "We have to warn the gods. Something else is going to happen."
Chiron looked at me gravely. "Something worse than Typhon? I hope not."
"We have to defend Olympus," I insisted. "Kronos has another attack planned."
"He did," Travis Stoll reminded me. "But you sunk his ship."
Everyone was looking at me. They wanted some good news. They wanted to believe that at least I'd given them a little bit of hope.
I glanced at Annabeth. I could tell we were thinking the same thing: What if the Princess Andromeda was a ploy? What if Kronos let us blow up that ship so we'd lower our guard?
But I wasn't going to say that in front of Silena. Her boyfriend had sacrificed himself for that mission.
"Maybe you're right," I said, though I didn't believe it.
I tried to imagine how things could get much worse. The gods were m the Midwest fighting a huge monster that had almost defeated them once before. Poseidon was under siege and losing a war against the sea Titan Oceanus. Kronos was still out there somewhere.
Olympus was virtually undefended. The demigods of Camp Half- Blood were on our own with a spy in our midst.
Oh, and according to the ancient prophecy, I was going to die when I turned sixteen-which happened to be in five days, the exact same time Typhon was supposed to hit New York. Almost forgot that.
"Well," Chiron said, "I think that's enough for one night."
He waved his hand and the steam dissipated. The stormy battle of Typhon and the gods disappeared.
"That's an understatement," I muttered. And the war council adjourned.
CHAPTER FOUR WE BURN A METAL
SHROUD
I dreamed Rachel Elizabeth Dare was throwing darts at my picture.
She was standing in her room . . . Okay, back up. I have to explain that Rachel doesn't have a room. She has the top floor of her family's mansion, which is a renovated brownstone in Brooklyn. Her "room" is a huge loft with industrial lighting and floor-to-ceiling windows.
It's about twice as big as my mom's apartment.
Some alt rock was blaring from her paint-covered Bose docking system. As far as I could tell, Rachel's only rule about music was that no two songs on her iPod couldsound the same, and they all had to be strange.
She wore a kimono, and her hair was frizzy, like she'd been sleeping. Her bed was messed up. Sheets hung over a bunch of artist's easels. Dirty clothes and old energy bar wrappers were strewn around the floor, but when you've got a room that big, the mess doesn't look so bad. Out the windows you could see the entire nighttime skyline of Manhattan.
The picture she was attacking was a painting of me standing over the giant Antaeus. Rachel had painted it a couple of months ago. My expression in the picture was fierce-disturbing, even-so it was hard to tell if I was the good guy or the bad guy, but Rachel said
I'd looked just like that after the battle.
"Demigods," Rachel muttered as she threw another dart at the canvas. "And their stupid quests."
Most of the darts bounced off, but a few stuck. One hung off my chin like a goatee.
Someone pounded on her bedroom door.
"Rachel!" a man shouted. "What in the world are you doing?
Turn off that-"
Rachel scooped up her remote control and shut off the music. "Come in!"
Her dad walked in, scowling and blinking from the light. He had rust-colored hair a little darker than Rachel's. It was smushed on one side like he'd lost a fight with his pillow. His blue silk pajamas had "WD" monogrammed on the pocket. Seriously, who has monogrammed pajamas?
"What is going on?" he demanded. "It's three in the morning." "Couldn't sleep," Rachel said.
On the painting, a dart fell off my face. Rachel hid the rest behind her back, but Mr. Dare noticed.
"So . . . I take it your friend isn't coming to St. Thomas?" That's what Mr. Dare called me. Never Percy. Just your friend. Or young man if he was talking to me, which he rarely did.
Rachel knit her eyebrows. "I don't know."
"We leave in the morning," her dad said. "If he hasn't made up his mind yet-"
"He's probably not coming," Rachel said miserably. "Happy?" Mr. Dare put his hands behind his back. He paced the room
with a stern expression. I imagined he did that in the boardroom of his land development company and made his employees nervous.
"Are you still having bad dreams?" he asked. "Headaches?"
Rachel threw her darts on the floor. "I should never have told you about that."
"I'm your father," he said. "I'm worried about you." "Worried about the family's reputation," Rachel muttered.
Her father didn't react-maybe because he'd heard that comment before, or maybe because it was true.
"We could call Dr. Arkwright," he suggested. "He helped you get through the death of your hamster."
"I was six then," she said. "And no, Dad, I don't need a therapist. I just . . ." She shook her head helplessly.
Her father stopped in front of the windows. He gazed at the New York skyline as if he owned it-which wasn't true. He only owned part of it.
"It will be good for you to get away," he decided. "You've had some unhealthy influences."
"I'm not going to Clarion Ladies Academy," Rachel said. "And my friends are none of your business."
Mr. Dare smiled, but it wasn't a warm smile. It was more like,
Someday you'll realize how silly you sound.
"Try to get some sleep," he urged. "We'll be at the beach by tomorrow night. It will be fun."
"Fun," Rachel repeated. "Lots of fun."
Her father exited the room. He left the door open behind him. Rachel stared at the portrait of me. Then she walked to the easel
next to it, which was covered in a sheet. "I hope they're dreams," she said.
She uncovered the easel. On it was a hastily sketched charcoal, but Rachel was a good artist. The picture was definitely Luke as a young boy. He was about nine years old, with a wide grin and no scar on his face. I had no idea how Rachel could've known what he looked like back then, but the portrait was so good I had a feeling she wasn't guessing. From what I knew about Luke's life (which wasn't much), the picture showed him just before he'd found out he was a half-blood and had run away from home.
Rachel stared at the portrait. Then she uncovered the next easel.
This picture was even more disturbing. It showed the Empire State Building with lightning all around it. In the distance a dark storm was brewing, with a huge hand coming out of the clouds. At the base of the building a crowd had gathered . . . but it wasn't a normal crowd of tourists and pedestrians. I saw spears, javelins, and ban- ners-the trappings of an army.
"Percy," Rachel muttered, as if she knew I was listening, "what is going on?"
The dream faded, and the last thing I remember was wishing I could answer her question.
The next morning, I wanted to call her, but there were no phones at camp. Dionysus and Chiron didn't need a landline. They just called Olympus with an Iris-message whenever they needed something. And when demigods use cell phones, the signals agitate every monster within a hundred miles. It's like sending up a flare: Here I am! Please rearrange my face! Even within the safe borders of camp, that's not the kind of advertising we wanted to do.
Most demigods (except for Annabeth and a few others) don't
even own cell phones. And I definitely couldn't tell Annabeth, "Hey, let me borrow your phone so I can call Rachel!" To make the call, I would've had to leave camp and walk several miles to the nearest convenience store. Even if Chiron let me go, by the time I got there, Rachel would've been on the plane to St. Thomas.
I ate a depressing breakfast by myself at the Poseidon table. I kept staring at the fissure in the marble floor where two years ago Nico had banished a bunch of bloodthirsty skeletons to the Underworld. The memory didn't exactly improve my appetite.
After breakfast, Annabeth and I walked down to inspect the cabins. Actually, it was Annabeth's turn for inspection. My morning chore was to sort through reports for Chiron. But since we both hated our jobs, we decided to do them together so it wouldn't be so heinous.
We started at the Poseidon cabin, which was basically just me. I'd made my bunk bed that morning (well, sort of) and straightened the Minotaur horn on the wall, so I gave myself a four out of five.
Annabeth made a face. "You're being generous." She used the end of her pencil to pick up an old pair of running shorts.
I snatched them away. "Hey, give me a break. I don't have Tyson cleaning up after me this summer."
"Three out of five," Annabeth said. I knew better than to argue, so we moved along.
I tried to skim through Chiron's stack of reports as we walked. There were messages from demigods, nature spirits, and satyrs all around the country, writing about the latest monster activity. They were pretty depressing, and my ADHD brain did not like concentrating on depressing stuff.
Little battles were raging everywhere. Camp recruitment was
down to zero. Satyrs were having trouble finding new demigods and bringing them to Half-Blood Hill because so many monsters were roaming the country. Our friend Thalia, who led the Hunters of Artemis, hadn't been heard from in months, and if Artemis knew what had happened to them, she wasn't sharing information.
We visited the Aphrodite cabin, which of course got a five out of five. The beds were perfectly made. The clothes in everyone's footlockers were color coordinated. Fresh flowers bloomed on the windowsills. I wanted to dock a point because the whole place reeked of designer perfume, but Annabeth ignored me.
"Great job as usual, Silena," Annabeth said.
Silena nodded listlessly. The wall behind her bed was decorated with pictures of Beckendorf. She sat on her bunk with a box of chocolates on her lap, and I remembered that her dad owned a chocolate store in the Village, which was how he'd caught the attention of Aphrodite.
"You want a bonbon?" Silena asked. "My dad sent them. He thought-he thought they might cheer me up."
"Are they any good?" I asked.
She shook her head. "They taste like cardboard."
I didn't have anything against cardboard, so I tried one.
Annabeth passed. We promised to see Silena later and kept going.
As we crossed the commons area, a fight broke out between the Ares and Apollo cabins. Some Apollo campers armed with firebombs flew over the Ares cabin in a chariot pulled by two pegasi. I'd never seen the chariot before, but it looked like a pretty sweet ride. Soon, the roof of the Ares cabin was burning, and naiads from the canoe lake rushed over to blow water on it.
Then the Ares campers called down a curse, and all the Apollo kids' arrows turned to rubber. The Apollo kids kept shooting at the Ares kids, but the arrows bounced off.
Two archers ran by, chased by an angry Ares kid who was yelling in poetry: "Curse me, eh? I'll make you pay! / I don't want to rhyme all day!"
Annabeth sighed. "Not that again. Last time Apollo cursed a cabin, it took a week for the rhyming couplets to wear off."
I shuddered. Apollo was god of poetry as well as archery, and I'd heard him recite in person. I'd almost rather yet shot by an arrow.
"What are they fighting about anyway?" I asked.
Annabeth ignored me while she scribbled on her inspection scroll, giving both cabins a one out of five.
I found myself staring at her, which was stupid since I'd seen her a billion times. She and I were about the same height this summer, which was a relief. Still, she seemed so much more mature. It was kind of intimidating. I mean, sure, she'd always been cute, but she was starting to be seriously beautiful.
Finally she said, "That flying chariot." "What?"
"You asked what they were fighting about." "Oh. Oh, right."
"They captured it in a raid in Philadelphia last week. Some of Luke's demigods were there with that flying chariot. The Apollo cabin seized it during the battle, but the Ares cabin led the raid. So they've been fighting about who gets it ever since."
We ducked as Michael Yew's chariot dive-bombed an Ares
camper. The Ares camper tried to stab him and cuss him out in rhyming couplets. He was pretty creative about rhyming those cuss words.
"We're fighting for our lives," I said, "and they're bickering about some stupid chariot."
"They'll get over it," Annabeth said. "Clarisse will come to her senses."
I wasn't so sure. That didn't sound like the Clarisse I knew.
I scanned more reports and we inspected a few more cabins.
Demeter got a four. Hephaestus got a three and probably should've gotten lower, but with Beckendorf being gone and all, we cut them some slack. Hermes got a two, which was no surprise. All campers who didn't know their godly parentage were shoved into the Hermes cabin, and since the gods were kind of forgetful, that cabin was always overcrowded.
Finally we got to Athena's cabin, which was orderly and clean as usual. Books were straightened on the shelves. The armor was polished. Battle maps and blueprints decorated the walls. Only Annabeth's bunk was messy. It was covered in papers, and her silver laptop was still running.
"Vlacas," Annabeth muttered, which was basically calling herself an idiot in Greek.
Her second-in-command, Malcolm, suppressed a smile. "Yeah, um . . . we cleaned everything else. Didn't know if it was safe to move your notes."
That was probably smart. Annabeth had a bronze knife that she reserved just for monsters and people who messed with her stuff.
Malcolm grinned at me. "We'll wait outside while you finish
inspection." The Athena campers filed out the door while Annabeth cleaned up her bunk.
I shuffled uneasily and pretended to go through some more reports. Technically, even on inspection, it was against camp rules for two campers to be . . . like, alone in a cabin.
That rule had come up a lot when Silena and Beckendorf started dating. And I know some of you might be thinking, Aren't all demigods related on the godly side, and doesn't that make dating gross? But the thing is, the godly side of your family doesn't count, genetically speaking, since gods don't have DNA. A demigod would never think about dating someone who had the same godly parent.
Like two kids from Athena cabin? No way. But a daughter of Aphrodite and a son of Hephaestus? They're not related. So it's no problem.
Anyway, for some strange reason I was thinking about this as I watched Annabeth straighten up. She closed her laptop, which had been given to her as a gift from the inventor Daedalus last summer.
I cleared my throat. "So . . . get any good info from that thing?" "Too much," she said. "Daedalus had so many ideas, I could
spend fifty years just trying to figure them all out." "Yeah," I muttered. "That would be fun."
She shuffled her papers-mostly drawings of buildings and a bunch of handwritten notes. I knew she wanted to be an architect someday, but I'd learned the hard way not to ask what she was working on.
She'd start talking about angles and load-bearing joints until my eyes glazed over.
"You know . . ." She brushed her hair behind her ear, like she does when she's nervous. "This whole thing with Beckendorf and Silena. It kind of makes you think. About . . . what's important. About losing
people who are important."
I nodded. My brain started seizing on little random details, like the fact that she was still wearing those silver owl earrings from her dad, who was this brainiac military history professor in San Francisco.
"Urn, yeah," I stammered. "Like . . . is everything cool with your family?"
Okay, really stupid question, but hey, I was nervous. Annabeth looked disappointed, but she nodded.
"My dad wanted to take me to Greece this summer," she said wistfully. "I've always wanted to see-"
"The Parthenon," I remembered. She managed a smile. "Yeah."
"That's okay. There'll be other summers, right?"
As soon as I said it, I realized it was a boneheaded comment. I was facing the end of my days. Within a week, Olympus might fall. If the Age of the Gods really did end, the world as we knew it would dissolve into chaos. Demigods would be hunted to extinction. There would be no more summers for us.
Annabeth stared at her inspection scroll. "Three out five," she muttered, "for a sloppy head counselor. Come on. Let's finish your reports and get back to Chiron."
On the way to the Big House, we read the last report, which was handwritten on a maple leaf from a satyr in Canada. If possible, the note made me feel even worse.
" 'Dear Grover,'" I read aloud. " 'Woods outside Toronto attacked by giant evil badger. Tried to do as you suggested and summon power of Pan. No effect. Many naiads' trees destroyed. Retreating to
Ottawa. Please advise. Where are you? -Gleeson Hedge, protector.'"
Annabeth grimaced. "You haven't heard anything from him? Even with your empathy link?"
I shook my head dejectedly.
Ever since last summer when the god Pan had died, our friend Grover had been drifting farther and farther away. The Council of Cloven Elders treated him like an outcast, but Grover still traveled all over the East Coast, trying to spread the word about Pan and convince nature spirits to protect their own little bits of the wild.
He'd only come back to camp a few times to see his girlfriend, Juniper.
Last I'd heard he was in Central Park organizing the dryads, but nobody had seen or heard from him in two months. We'd tried to send Iris-messages. They never got through. I had an empathy link with Grover, so I hoped I would know if anything bad happened to him. Grover had told me one time that if he died, the empathy link might kill me too. But I wasn't sure if that was still true or not.
I wondered if he was still in Manhattan. Then I thought about my dream of Rachel's sketch-dark clouds closing on the city, an army gathered around the Empire State Building.
"Annabeth." I stopped her by the tetherball court. I knew I was asking for trouble, but I didn't know who else to trust. Plus, I'd always depended on Annabeth for advice. "Listen, I had this dream about, um, Rachel . . ."
I told her the whole thing, even the weird picture of Luke as a child.
For a while she didn't say anything. Then she rolled up her inspection scroll so tight she ripped it. "What do you want me to say?"
"I'm not sure. You're the best strategist I know. If you were Kronos planning this war, what would you do next?"
"I'd use Typhon as a distraction. Then I'd hit Olympus directly, while the gods were in the West."
"Just like in Rachel's picture."
"Percy," she said, her voice tight, "Rachel is just a mortal." "But what if her dream is true? Those other Titans-they said
Olympus would be destroyed in a matter of days. They said they had plenty of other challenges. And what's with that picture of Luke as a kid-"
"We'll just have to be ready."
"How?" I said. "Look at our camp. We can't even stop fighting each other. And I'm supposed to get my stupid soul reaped."
She threw down her scroll. "I knew we shouldn't have shown you the prophecy." Her voice was angry and hurt. "All it did was scare you.
You run away from things when you're scared."
I stared at her, completely stunned. "Me? Run away?"
She got right in my face. "Yes, you. You're a coward, Percy Jackson!"
We were nose to nose. Her eyes were red, and I suddenly realized that when she called me a coward, maybe she wasn't talking about the prophecy.
"If you don't like our chances," she said, "maybe you should go on that vacation with Rachel."
"Annabeth-"
"If you don't like our company." "That's not fair!"
She pushed past me and stormed toward the strawberry fields. She hit the tetherball as she passed and sent it spinning angrily around the pole.
I'd like to say my day got better from there. Of course it didn't.
That afternoon we had an assembly at the campfire to burn Beckendorf's burial shroud and say our good-byes. Even the Ares and Apollo cabins called a temporary truce to attend.
Beckendorf's shroud was made out of metal links, like chain mail. I didn't see how it would burn, but the Fates must've been helping out. The metal melted in the fire and turned to golden smoke, which rose into the sky. The campfire flames always reflected the campers' moods, and today they burned black.
I hoped Beckendorf's spirit would end up in Elysium. Maybe he'd even choose to be reborn and try for Elysium in three different lifetimes so he could reach the Isles of the Blest, which was like the Underworld's ultimate party headquarters. If anyone deserved it, Beckendorf did.
Annabeth left without a word to me. Most of the other campers drifted off to their afternoon activities. I just stood there staring at the dying fire. Silena sat nearby crying, while Clarisse and her boyfriend, Chris Rodriguez, tried to comfort her.
Finally I got up the nerve to walk over. "Hey, Silena, I'm really sorry."
She sniffled. Clarisse glared at me, but she always glares at everyone. Chris would barely look at me. He'd been one of Luke's men until Clarisse rescued him from the Labyrinth last summer, and I guess he still felt guilty about it.
I cleared my throat. "Silena, you know Beckendorf carried your picture. He looked at it right before we went into battle. You meant a
lot to him. You made the last year the best of his life." Silena sobbed.
"Good work, Percy," Clarisse muttered.
"No, it's all right," Silena said. "Thank . . . thank you, Percy. I should go."
"You want company?" Clarisse asked. Silena shook her head and ran off.
"She's stronger than she looks," Clarisse muttered, almost to herself. "She'll survive."
"You could help with that," I suggested. "You could honor Beckendorf's memory by fighting with us."
Clarisse went for her knife, but it wasn't there anymore. She'd thrown it on the Ping-Pong table in the Big House.
"Not my problem," she growled. "My cabin doesn't get honor, I don't fight."
I noticed she wasn't speaking in rhymes. Maybe she hadn't been around when her cabinmates got cursed, or maybe she had a way of breaking the spell. With a chill, I wondered if Clarisse could be Kronos's spy at camp. Was that why she was keeping her cabin out of the fight? But as much as I disliked Clarisse, spying for the Titans didn't seem like her style.
"All right," I told her. "I didn't want to bring this up, but you owe me one. You'd be rotting in a Cyclops's cave in the Sea of Monsters if it wasn't for me."
She clenched her jaw. "Any other favor, Percy. Not this. The Ares cabin has been dissed too many times. And don't think I don't know what people say about me behind my back."
I wanted to say, Well, it's true. But I bit my tongue.
"So, what-you're just going to let Kronos crush us?" I asked. "If you want my help so bad, tell Apollo to give us the chariot." "You're such a big baby."
She charged me, but Chris got between us. "Whoa, guys," he said. "Clarisse, you know, maybe he's got a point."
She sneered at him. "Not you too!" She trudged off with Chris at her heels.
"Hey, wait! I just meant-Clarisse, wait!"
I watched the last sparks from Beckendorf's fire curl into the afternoon sky. Then I headed toward the sword-fighting arena. I needed a break, and I wanted to see an old friend.
CHAPTER FIVE
I DRIVE MY DOG INTO A TREE
Mrs. O'Leary saw me before I saw her, which was a pretty good trick considering she's the size of a garbage truck. I walked into the arena, and a wall of darkness slammed into me.
"WOOF!"
The next thing I knew I was flat on the ground with a huge paw on my chest and an oversize Brillo-pad tongue licking my face.
"Ow!" I said. "Hey, girl. Good to see you too. Ow!"
It took a few minutes for Mrs. O'Leary to calm down and get off me. By then I was pretty much drenched in dog drool. She wanted to play fetch, so I picked up a bronze shield and tossed it across the arena.
By the way, Mrs. O'Leary is the world's only friendly hellhound. I kind of inherited her when her previous owner died. She lived at camp, but Beckendorf . . . well, Beckendorf used to take care of her whenever I was gone. He had smelted Mrs. O'Leary's favorite bronze chewing bone. He'd forged her collar with the little smiley face and a crossbones name tag. Next to me, Beckendorf had been her best friend.
Thinking about that made me sad all over again, but I threw the shield a few more times because Mrs. O'Leary insisted.
Soon she started barking-a sound slightly louder than an artillery gun-like she needed to go for a walk. The other campers didn't think it was funny when she went to the bathroom in the arena. It had caused more than one unfortunate slip-and-slide accident. So I opened the gates of the arena, and she bounded straight toward the woods.
I jogged after her, not too concerned that she was getting ahead. Nothing in the woods could threaten Mrs. O'Leary. Even the dragons and giant scorpions ran away when she came close.
When I finally tracked her down, she wasn't using the facilities. She was in a familiar clearing where the Council of Cloven Elders had once put Grover on trial. The place didn't look so good. The grass had turned yellow. The three topiary thrones had lost all their leaves. But that's not what surprised me. In the middle of the glade stood the weirdest trio I'd ever seen: Juniper the tree nymph, Nico di Angelo, and a very old, very fat satyr.
Nico was the only one who didn't seem freaked out by Mrs. O'Leary's appearance. He looked pretty much like I'd seen him in my dream-an aviator's jacket, black jeans, and a T-shirt with dancing skeletons on it, like one of those Day of the Dead pictures. His Stygian iron sword hung at his side. He was only twelve, but he looked much older and sadder.
He nodded when he saw me, then went back to scratching Mrs. O'Leary's ears. She sniffed his legs like he was the most interesting thing since rib-eye steaks. Being the son of Hades, he'd probably been traveling in all sorts of hellhound-friendly places.
The old satyr didn't look nearly so happy. "Will someone-what is this underworld creature doing in my forest!" He waved his arms and trotted on his hooves as if the grass were hot. "You there, Percy
Jackson! Is this your beast?"
"Sorry, Leneus," I said. "That's your name, right?"
The satyr rolled his eyes. His fur was dust-bunny gray, and a spiderweb grew between his horns. His belly would've made him an invincible bumper car. "Well, of course I'm Leneus. Don't tell me you've forgotten a member of the Council so quickly. Now, call off your beast!"
"WOOF!" Mrs. O'Leary said happily.
The old satyr gulped. "Make it go away! Juniper, I will not help you under these circumstances!"
Juniper turned toward me. She was pretty in a dryad-y way, with her purple gossamer dress and her elfish face, but her eyes were green- tinted with chlorophyll from crying.
"Percy," she sniffled. "I was just asking about Grover. I know something's happened. He wouldn't stay gone this long if he wasn't in trouble. I was hoping that Leneus-"
"I told you!" the satyr protested. "You are better off without that traitor."
Juniper stamped her foot. "He is not a traitor! He's the bravest satyr ever, and I want to know where he is!"
"WOOF!"
Leneus's knees started knocking. "I . . . I won't answer questions with this hellhound sniffing my tail!"
Nico looked like he was trying to not crack up. "I'll walk the dog," he volunteered.
He whistled, and Mrs. O'Leary bounded after him to the far end of the grove.
Leneus huffed indignantly and brushed the twigs off his shirt. "Now, as I was trying to explain, young lady, your boyfriend has not sent any reports since we voted him into exile."
"You tried to vote him into exile," I corrected. "Chiron and Dionysus stopped you."
"Bah! They are honorary Council members. It wasn't a proper vote." "I'll tell Dionysus you said that."
Leneus paled. "I only meant . . . Now see here, Jackson. This is none of your business."
"Grover's my friend," I said. "He wasn't lying to you about Pan's death. I saw it myself. You were just too scared to accept the truth."
Leneus's lips quivered. "No! Grover's a liar and good riddance. We're better off without him."
I pointed at the withered thrones. "If things are going so well, where are your friends? Looks like your Council hasn't been meeting lately."
"Maron and Silenus . . . I . . . I'm sure they'll be back," he said, but I could hear the panic in his voice. "They're just taking some time off to think. It's been a very unsettling year.
"It's going to get a lot more unsettling," I promised. "Leneus, we need Grover. There's got to be a way you can find him with your magic."
The old satyr's eye twitched. "I'm telling you, I've heard nothing. Perhaps he's dead."
Juniper choked back a sob.
"He's not dead," I said. "I can feel that much."
"Empathy links," Leneus said disdainfully. "Very unreliable."
"So ask around," I insisted. "Find him. There's a war coming. Grover was preparing the nature spirits."
"Without my permission! And it's not our war."
I grabbed him by the shirt, which seriously wasn't like me, but the stupid old goat was making me mad. "Listen, Leneus. When Kronos attacks, he's going to have packs of hellhounds. He's going to destroy everything in his path-mortals, gods, demigods. Do you think he'll let the satyrs go free? You're supposed to be a leader. So LEAD. Get out there and see what's happening. Find Grover and bring Juniper some news. Now, GO!"
I didn't push him very hard, but he was kind of top-heavy. He fell on his furry rump, then scrambled to his hooves and ran away with his belly jiggling. "Grover will never be accepted! He will die an outcast!"
When he'd disappeared into the bushes, Juniper wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry, Percy. I didn't mean to get you involved. Leneus is still a lord of the Wild. You don't want to make an enemy of him."
"No problem," I said. "I've got worse enemies than overweight satyrs."
Nico walked back to us. "Good job, Percy. Judging from the trail of goat pellets, I'd say you shook him up pretty well."
I was afraid I knew why Nico was here, but I tried for a smile. "Welcome back. Did you come by just to see Juniper?"
He blushed. "Um, no. That was an accident. I kind of . . . dropped into the middle of their conversation."
"He scared us to death!" Juniper said. "Right out of the shadows. But, Nico, you are the son of Hades and all. Are you sure you haven't heard anything about Grover?"
Nico shifted his weight. "Juniper, like I tried to tell you . . . even if Grover died, he would reincarnate into something else in nature. I can't sense things like that, only mortal souls."
"But if you do hear anything?" she pleaded, putting her hand on his arm. "Anything at all?"
Nico's cheeks got even brighter red. "Uh, you bet. I'll keep my ears open."
"We'll find him, Juniper," I promised. "Grover's alive, I'm sure. There must be a simple reason why he hasn't contacted us."
She nodded glumly. "I hate not being able to leave the forest. He could be anywhere, and I'm stuck here waiting. Oh, if that silly goat has gotten himself hurt-"
Mrs. O'Leary bounded back over and took an interest in Juniper's dress.
Juniper yelped. "Oh, no you don't! I know about dogs and trees. I'm gone!"
She went poof into green mist. Mrs. O'Leary looked disappointed, but she lumbered off to find another target, leaving Nico and me alone.
Nico tapped his sword on the ground. A tiny mound of animal bones erupted from the dirt. They knit themselves together into a skeletal field mouse and scampered off. "I was sorry to hear about Beckendorf."
A lump formed in my throat. "How did you-" "I talked to his ghost."
"Oh . . . right." I'd never get used to the fact that this twelve-year-old kid spent more time talking with the dead than the living. "Did he say anything?"
"He doesn't blame you. He figured you'd be beating yourself up, and he said you shouldn't."
"Is he going to try for rebirth?"
Nico shook his head. "He's staying in Elysium. Said he's waiting for someone. Not sure what he meant, but he seems okay with death."
It wasn't much comfort, but it was something.
"I had a vision you were on Mount Tarn," I told Nico. "Was that-"
"Real," he said. "I didn't mean to be spying on the Titans, but I was in the neighborhood."
"Doing what?"
Nico tugged at his sword belt. "Following a lead on . . . you know, my family."
I nodded. I knew his past was a painful subject. Until two years ago, he and his sister Bianca had been frozen in time at a place called the Lotus Hotel and Casino. They'd been there for like seventy years.
Eventually a mysterious lawyer rescued them and checked them into a boarding school, but Nico had no memories of his life before the casino. He didn't know anything about his mother. He didn't know who the lawyer was, or why they'd been frozen in time or allowed to go free. After Bianca died and left Nico alone, he'd been obsessed with finding answers.
"So how did it go?" I asked. "Any luck?"
"No," he murmured. "But I may have a new lead soon." "What's the lead?"
Nico chewed his lip. "That's not important right now. You know why I'm here."
A feeling of dread started to build in my chest. Ever since Nico first
proposed his plan for beating Kronos last summer, I'd had nightmares about it. He would show up occasionally and press me for an answer, but I kept putting him off.
"Nico, I don't know," I said. "It seems pretty extreme."
"You've got Typhon coming in, what . . . a week? Most of the other Titans are unleashed now and on Kronos's side. Maybe it's time to think extreme."
I looked back toward the camp. Even from this distance I could hear the Ares and Apollo campers fighting again, yelling curses and spouting bad poetry.
"They're no match for the Titan army," Nico said. "You know that. This comes down to you and Luke. And there's only one way you can beat Luke."
I remembered the fight on the Princess Andromeda. I'd been hopelessly outmatched. Kronos had almost killed me with a single cut to my arm, and I couldn't even wound him. Riptide had glanced right off his skin.
"We can give you the same power," Nico urged. "You heard the Great Prophecy. Unless you want to have your soul reaped by a cursed blade . . ."
I wondered how Nico had heard the prophecy- probably from some ghost.
"You can't prevent a prophecy," I said.
"But you can fight it." Nico had a strange, hungry light m his eyes. "You can become invincible."
"Maybe we should wait. Try to fight without-" "No!" Nico snarled. "It has to be now!"
I stared at him. I hadn't seen his temper flare like that in a long time. "Urn, you sure you're okay?"
He took a deep breath. "Percy, all I mean . . . when the fighting starts, we won't be able to make the journey. This is our last chance. I'm sorry if I'm being too pushy, but two years ago my sister gave her life to protect you. I want you to honor that. Do whatever it takes to stay alive and defeat Kronos."
I didn't like the idea. Then I thought about Annabeth calling me a coward, and I got angry.
Nico had a point. If Kronos attacked New York, the campers would be no match for his forces. I had to do something. Nico's way was dangerous-maybe even deadly. But it might give me a fighting edge.
"All right," I decided. "What do we do first?"
His cold creepy smile made me sorry I'd agreed. "First we'll need to retrace Luke's steps. We need to know more about his past, his childhood."
I shuddered, thinking about Rachel's picture from my dream-a smiling nine-year-old Luke. "Why do we need to know about that?"
"I'll explain when we get there," Nico said. "I've already tracked down his mother. She lives in Connecticut."
I stared at him. I'd never thought much about Luke's mortal parent. I'd met his dad, Hermes, but his mom . . .
"Luke ran away when he was really young," I said. "I didn't think his mom was alive."
"Oh, she's alive." The way he said it made me wonder what was wrong with her. What kind of horrible person could she be?
"Okay . . ." I said. "So how do we get to Connecticut? I can call
Blackjack-"
"No." Nico scowled. "Pegasi don't like me, and the feeling is mutual. But there's no need for flying." He whistled, and Mrs.
O'Leary came loping out of the woods.
"Your friend here can help." Nico patted her head. "You haven't tried shadow travel yet?"
"Shadow travel?"
Nico whispered in Mrs. O'Leary's ear. She tilted her head, suddenly alert.
"Hop on board," Nico told me.
I'd never considered riding a dog before, bur Mrs. O'Leary was certainly big enough. I climbed onto her back and held her collar.
"This will make her very tired," Nico warned, "so you can't do it often. And it works best at night. But all shadows are part of the same substance. There is only one darkness, and creatures of the Underworld can use it as a road, or a door."
"I don't understand," I said.
"No," Nico said. "It took me a long time to learn. But Mrs.
O'Leary knows. Tell her where to go. Tell her Westport, the home of May Castellan."
"You're not coming?"
"Don't worry," he said. "I'll meet you there."
I was a little nervous, but I leaned down to Mrs. O'Leary's ear. "Okay, girl. Uh, can you take me to Westport, Connecticut? May Castellan's place?"
Mrs. O'Leary sniffed the air. She looked into the gloom of the forest. Then she bounded forward, straight into an oak tree.
Just before we hit, we passed into shadows as cold as the dark side of the moon.
CHAPTER SIX MY COOKIES GET
SCORCHED
I don't recommend shadow travel if you're scared of:
a) The dark
b) Cold shivers up your spine
c) Strange noises
d) Going so fast you feel like your face is peeling off
In other words, I thought it was awesome. One minute I couldn't see anything. I could only feel Mrs. O'Leary's fur and my fingers wrapped around the bronze links of her dog collar.
The next minute the shadows melted into a new scene. We were on a cliff in the woods of Connecticut. At least, it looked like Connecticut from the few times I'd been there: lots of trees, low stone walls, big houses. Down one side of the cliff, a highway cut through a ravine.
Down the other side was someone's backyard. The property was huge-more wilderness than lawn. The house was a two-story white Colonial. Despite the fact that it was right on the other side of the hill from a highway, it felt like it was in the middle of nowhere. I could see a light glowing m the kitchen window. A rusty old swing set stood under an apple tree.
I couldn't imagine living in a house like this, with an actual yard and everything. I'd lived in a tiny apartment or a school dorm my whole
life. If this was Luke's home, I wondered why he'd ever wanted to leave.
Mrs. O'Leary staggered. I remembered what Nico had said about shadow travel draining her, so I slipped off her back. She let out a huge toothy yawn that would've scared a T. rex, then turned in a circle and flopped down so hard the ground shook.
Nico appeared right next to me, as if the shadows had darkened and created him. He stumbled, but I caught his arm.
"I'm okay," he managed, rubbing his eyes. "How did you do that?"
"Practice. A few times running into walls. A few accidental trips to China."
Mrs. O'Leary started snoring. If it hadn't been for the roar of traffic behind us, I'm sure she would've woken up the whole neighborhood.
"Are you going to take a nap too?" I asked Nico.
He shook his head. "The first time I shadow traveled, I passed out for a week. Now it just makes me a little drowsy, but I can't do it more than once or twice a night. Mrs. O'Leary won't be going anywhere for a while."
"So we've got some quality time in Connecticut." I gazed at the white Colonial house. "What now?"
"We ring the doorbell," Nico said.
If I were Luke's mom, I would not have opened my door at night for two strange kids. But I wasn't anything like Luke's mom.
I knew that even before we reached the front door. The sidewalk was lined with those little stuffed beanbag animals you see in gift shops. There were miniature lions, pigs, dragons, hydras, even a teeny
Minotaur in a little Minotaur diaper. Judging from their sad shape, the beanbag creatures had been sitting out here a long time-since the snow melted last spring at least. One of the hydras had a tree sapling sprouting between its necks.
The front porch was infested with wind chimes. Shiny bits of glass and metal clinked in the breeze. Brass ribbons tinkled like water and made me realize I needed to use the bathroom. I didn't know how Ms. Castellan could stand all the noise.
The front door was painted turquoise. The name CASTELLAN was written in English, and below in Greek: Διοικητής φρουρίου.
Nico looked at me. "Ready?"
He'd barely tapped the door when it swung open. "Luke!" the old lady cried happily.
She looked like someone who enjoyed sticking her fingers in electrical sockets. Her white hair stuck out in tufts all over her head. Her pink housedress was covered in scorch marks and smears of ash. When she smiled, her face looked unnaturally stretched, and the high-voltage light in her eves made me wonder if she was blind.
"Oh, my dear boy!" She hugged Nico. I was trying to figure out why she thought Nico was Luke (they looked absolutely nothing alike), when she smiled at me and said, "Luke!"
She forgot all about Nico and gave me a hug. She smelled like burned cookies. She was as thin as a scarecrow, but that didn't stop her from almost crushing me.
"Come in!" she insisted. "I have your lunch ready!"
She ushered us inside. The living room was even weirder than the front lawn. Mirrors and candles filled every available space. I couldn't look anywhere without seeing my own reflection. Above the
mantel, a little bronze Hermes flew around the second hand of a ticking clock. I tried to imagine the god of messengers ever falling in love with this old woman, but the idea was too bizarre.
Then I noticed the framed picture on the mantel, and I froze. It was exactly like Rachel's sketch-Luke around nine years old, with blond hair and a big smile and two missing teeth. The lack of a scar on his face made him look like a different person-carefree and happy. How could Rachel have known about that picture?
"This way, my dear!" Ms. Castellan steered me toward the back of the house. "Oh, I told them you would come back. I knew it!"
She sat us down at the kitchen table. Stacked on the counter were hundreds-I mean hundreds-of Tupperware boxes with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches inside. The ones on the bottom were green and fuzzy, like they'd been there for a long time. The smell reminded me of my sixth grade locker-and that's not a good thing.
On top of the oven was a stack of cookie sheets. Each one had a dozen burned cookies on it. In the sink was a mountain of empty plastic Kool-Aid pitchers. A beanbag Medusa sat by the faucet like she was guarding the mess.
Ms. Castellan started humming as she got out peanut butter and jelly and started making a new sandwich. Something was burning in the oven. I got the feeling more cookies were on the way.
Above the sink, taped all around the window, were dozens of little pictures cut from magazines and newspaper ads-pictures of Hermes from the FTD Flowers logo and Quickie Cleaners, pictures of the caduceus from medical ads.
My heart sank. I wanted to get out of that room, but Ms. Castellan kept smiling at me as she made the sandwich, like she was making sure I didn't bolt.
Nico coughed. "Urn, Ms. Castellan?" "Mm?"
"We need to ask you about your son."
"Oh, yes! They told me he would never come back. But I knew better." She patted my cheek affectionately, giving me peanut butter racing stripes.
"When did you last see him?" Nico asked. Her eyes lost focus.
"He was so young when he left," she said wistfully. "Third grade. That's too young to run away! He said he'd be back for lunch. And I waited. He likes peanut butter sandwiches and cookies and Kool- Aid. He'll be back for lunch very soon. . . ." Then she looked at me and smiled. "Why, Luke, there you are! You look so handsome. You have your father's eyes."
She turned toward the pictures of Hermes above the sink. "Now, there's a good man. Yes, indeed. He comes to visit me, you know."
The clock kept ticking in the other room. I wiped the peanut butter off my face and looked at Nico pleadingly, like Can we get out of here now?
"Ma'am," Nico said. "What, uh . . . what happened to your eyes?"
Her gaze seemed fractured-like she was trying to focus on him through a kaleidoscope. "Why, Luke, you know the story. It was right before you were born, wasn't it? I'd always been special, able to see through the . . . whatever-they-call-it."
"The Mist?" I said.
"Yes, dear." She nodded encouragingly. "And they offered me an important job. That's how special I was!"
I glanced at Nico, but he looked as confused as I was. "What sort of job?" I asked. "What happened?"
Ms. Castellan frowned. Her knife hovered over the sandwich bread. "Dear me, it didn't work out, did it? Your father warned me not to try. He said it was too dangerous. But I had to. It was my destiny!
And now . . . I still can't get the images out of my head. They make everything seem so fuzzy. Would you like some cookies?"
She pulled a tray out of the oven and dumped a dozen lumps of chocolate chip charcoal on the table.
"Luke was so kind," Ms. Castellan murmured. "He left to protect me, you know. He said if he went away, the monsters wouldn't threaten me. But I told him the monsters are no threat! They sit outside on the sidewalk all day, and they never come in." She picked up the little stuffed Medusa from the windowsill. "Do they, Mrs. Medusa? No, no threat at all." She beamed at me. "I'm so glad you came home. I knew you weren't ashamed of me!"
I shifted in my seat. I imagined being Luke sitting at this table, eight or nine years old, and just beginning to realize that my mother wasn't all there.
"Ms. Castellan," I said. "Mom," she corrected.
"Um, yeah. Have you seen Luke since he left home?" "Well, of course!"
I didn't know if she was imagining that or not. For all I knew, every time the mailman came to the door he was Luke. But Nico sat forward expectantly.
"When?" he asked. "When did Luke visit you last?"
"Well, it was . . . Oh goodness . . ." A shadow passed across her face. "The last time, he looked so different. A scar. A terrible scar, and his voice so full of pain . . ."
"His eyes," I said. "Were they gold?"
"Gold?" She blinked. "No. How silly. Luke has blue eyes. Beautiful blue eyes!"
So Luke really had been here, and this had happened before last summer-before he'd turned into Kronos.
"Ms. Castellan?" Nico put his hand on the old woman's arm. "This is very important. Did he ask you for anything?"
She frowned as if trying to remember. "My-my blessing. Isn't that sweet?" She looked at us uncertainly. "He was going to a river, and he said he needed my blessing. I gave it to him. Of course I did."
Nico looked at me triumphantly. "Thank you, ma'am. That's all the information we-"
Ms. Castellan gasped. She doubled over, and her cookie tray clattered to the floor. Nico and I jumped to our feet.
"Ms. Castellan?" I said.
"AHHHH," She straightened. I scrambled away and almost fell over the kitchen table, because her eyes-her eyes were glowing green.
"My child," she rasped in a much deeper voice. "Must protect him! Hermes, help! Not my child! Not his fate-no!"
She grabbed Nico by the shoulders and began to shake him as if to make him understand. "Not his fate!"
Nico made a strangled scream and pushed her away. He gripped the hilt of his sword. "Percy, we need to get out-"
Suddenly Ms. Castellan collapsed. I lurched forward and caught her
before she could hit the edge of the table. I managed to get her into a chair.
"Ms. C?" I asked.
She muttered something incomprehensible and shook her head. "Goodness. I . . . I dropped the cookies. How silly of me."
She blinked, and her eyes were back to normal-or at least, what they had been before. The green glow was gone.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Well, of course, dear. I'm fine. Why do you ask?" I glanced at Nico, who mouthed the word Leave.
"Ms. C, you were telling us something," I said. "Something about your son."
"Was I?" she said dreamily. "Yes, his blue eyes. We were talking about his blue eyes. Such a handsome boy!"
"We have to go," Nico said urgently. "We'll tell Luke . . . uh, we'll tell him you said hello."
"But you can't leave!" Ms. Castellan got shakily to her feet, and I backed away. I felt silly being scared of a frail old woman, but the way her voice had changed, the way she'd grabbed Nico . . .
"Hermes will be here soon," she promised. "He'll want to see his boy!"
"Maybe next time," I said. "Thank you for-" I looked down at the burned cookies scattered on the floor. "Thanks for everything."
She tried to stop us, to offer us Kool-Aid, but I had to get out of that house. On the front porch, she grabbed my wrist and I almost jumped out of my skin. "Luke, at least be safe. Promise me you'll be safe."
"I will . . . Mom."
That made her smile. She released my wrist, and as she closed the front door I could hear her talking to the candles: "You hear that? He will be safe. I told you he would be!"
As the door shut, Nico and I ran. The little beanbag animals on the sidewalk seemed to grin at us as we passed.
Back at the cliff, Mrs. O'Leary had found a friend.
A cozy campfire crackled in a ring of stones. A girl about eight years old was sitting cross-legged next to Mrs. O'Leary, scratching the hellhound's ears.
The girl had mousy brown hair and a simple brown dress. She wore a scarf over her head so she looked like a pioneer kid-like the ghost of Little House on the Prairie or something. She poked the fire with a stick, and it seemed to glow more richly red than a normal fire.
"Hello," she said.
My first thought was: monster. When you're a demigod and you find a sweet little girl alone in the woods-that's typically a good time to draw your sword and attack. Plus, the encounter with Ms. Castellan had rattled me pretty bad.
But Nico bowed to the little girl. "Hello again, Lady."
She studied me with eyes as red as the firelight. I decided it was safest to bow.
"Sit, Percy Jackson," she said. "Would you like some dinner?
After staring at moldy peanut butter sandwiches and burned cookies, I didn't have much of an appetite, but the girl waved her hand and a picnic appeared at the edge of the fire. There were plates of roast beef, baked potatoes, buttered carrots, fresh bread, and a whole bunch of other foods I hadn't had in a long time. My stomach started
to rumble. It was the kind of home-cooked meal people are supposed to have but never do. The girl made a five-foot-long dog biscuit appear for Mrs. O'Leary, who happily began tearing it to shreds.
I sat next to Nico. We picked up our food, and I was about to dig in when I thought better of it.
I scraped part of my meal into the flames, the way we do at camp. "For the gods," I said.
The little girl smiled. "Thank you. As tender of the flame, I get a share of every sacrifice, you know."
"I recognize you now," I said. "The first time I came to camp, you were sitting by the fire, in the middle of the commons area."
"You did not stop to talk," the girl recalled sadly. "Alas, most never do. Nico talked to me. He was the first in many years. Everyone rushes about. No time for visiting family."
"You're Hestia," I said. "Goddess of the Hearth." She nodded.
Okay . . . so she looked eight years old. I didn't ask. I'd learned that gods could look any way they pleased.
"My lady," Nico asked, "why aren't you with the other Olympians, fighting Typhon?"
"I'm not much for fighting." Her red eyes flickered. I realized they weren't just reflecting the flames. They were filled with flames-but not like Ares's eyes. Hestia's eyes were warm and cozy.
"Besides," she said, "someone has to keep the home fires burning while the other gods are away."
"So you're guarding Mount Olympus?" I asked.
"'Guard' may be too strong a word. But if you ever need a warm
place to sit and a home-cooked meal, you are welcome to visit. Now eat."
My plate was empty before I knew it. Nico scarfed his down just as fast.
"That was great," I said. "Thank you, Hestia."
She nodded. "Did you have a good visit with May Castellan?"
For a moment I'd almost forgotten the old lady with her bright eyes and her maniacal smile, the way she'd suddenly seemed possessed.
"What's wrong with her, exactly?" I asked.
"She was born with a gift," Hestia said. "She could see through the Mist."
"Like my mother," I said. And I was also thinking, Like Rachel "But the glowing eyes thing-"
"Some bear the curse of sight better than others," the goddess said sadly. "For a while, May Castellan had many talents. She attracted the attention of Hermes himself. They had a beautiful baby boy. For a brief time, she was happy. And then she went too far."
I remembered what Ms. Castellan had said: They offered me an important job . . . It didn't work out. I wondered what kind of job left you like that.
"One minute she was all happy," I said. "And then she was freaking out about her son's fate, like she knew he'd turned into Kronos. What happened to . . . to divide her like that?"
The goddess's face darkened. "That is a story I do not like to tell. But May Castellan saw too much. If you are to understand your enemy Luke, you must understand his family."
I thought about the sad little pictures of Hermes taped above May
Castellan's sink. I wondered if Ms. Castellan had been so crazy when Luke was little. That green-eyed fit could've seriously scared a nine- year-old kid. And if Hermes never visited, if he'd left Luke alone with his mom all those years . . .
"No wonder Luke ran away," I said. "I mean, it wasn't right to leave his mom like that, but still-he was just a kid. Hermes shouldn't have abandoned them."
Hestia scratched behind Mrs. O'Leary's ears. The hellhound wagged her tail and accidentally knocked over a tree.
"It's easy to judge others," Hestia warned. "But will you follow Luke's path? Seek the same powers?"
Nico set down his plate. "We have no choice, my lady. It's the only way Percy stands a chance."
"Mmm." Hestia opened her hand and the fire roared. Flames shot thirty feet into the air. Heat slapped me in the face. Then the fire died back down to normal.
"Not all powers are spectacular." Hestia looked at me. "Sometimes the hardest power to master is the power of yielding. Do you believe me?"
"Uh-huh," I said. Anything to keep her from messing with her flame powers again.
The goddess smiled. "You are a good hero, Percy Jackson. Not too proud. I like that. But you have much to learn. When Dionysus was made a god, I gave up my throne for him. It was the only way to avoid a civil war among the gods."
"It unbalanced the Council," I remembered. "Suddenly there were seven guys and five girls."
Hestia shrugged. "It was the best solution, not a perfect one. Now I
tend the fire. I fade slowly into the background. No one will ever write epic poems about the deeds of Hestia. Most demigods don't even stop to talk to me. But that is no matter. I keep the peace. I yield when necessary. Can you do this?"
"I don't know what you mean."
She studied me. "Perhaps not yet. But soon. Will you continue your quest?"
"Is that why you're here-to warn me against going?"
Hestia shook her head. "I am here because when all else fails, when all the other mighty gods have gone off to war, I am all that's left.
Home. Hearth. I am the last Olympian. You must remember me when you face your final decision.
I didn't like the way she said final.
I looked at Nico, then back at Hestia's warm glowing eyes. "I have to continue, my lady. I have to stop Luke . . . I mean Kronos."
Hestia nodded. "Very well. I cannot be of much assistance, beyond what I have already told you. But since you sacrificed to me, I can return you to your own hearth. I will see you again, Percy, on Olympus."
Her tone was ominous, as though our next meeting would not be happy.
The goddess waved her hand, and everything faded.
Suddenly I was home. Nico and I were sitting on the couch in my mom's apartment on the Upper East Side. That was the good news. The bad news was that the rest of the living room was occupied by Mrs. O'Leary.
I heard a muffled yell from the bedroom. Paul's voice said, "Who put this wall of fur in the doorway?"
"Percy?" my mom called out. "Are you here? Are you all right?" "I'm here!" I shouted back.
"WOOF!" Mrs. O'Leary tried to turn in a circle to find my mom, knocking all the pictures off the walls. She's only met my mom once before (long story), but she loves her.
It took a few minutes, but we finally got things worked out. After destroying most of the furniture in the living room and probably making our neighbors really mad, we got my parents out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where we sat around the kitchen table. Mrs. O'Leary still took up the entire living room, but she'd settled her head in the kitchen doorway so she could see us, which made her happy. My mom tossed her a ten-pound family-size tube of ground beef, which disappeared down her gullet. Paul poured lemonade for the rest of us while I explained about our visit to Connecticut.
"So it's true." Paul stared at me like he'd never seen me before. He was wearing his white bathrobe, now covered in hellhound fur, and his salt-and-pepper hair was sticking up in every direction. "All the talk about monsters, and being a demigod . . . it's really true."
I nodded. Last fall I'd explained to Paul who I was. My mom had backed me up. But until this moment, I don't think he really believed us.
"Sorry about Mrs. O'Leary," I said, "destroying the living room and all."
Paul laughed like he was delighted. "Are you kidding? This is awesome! I mean, when I saw the hoofprints on the Prius, I thought maybe. But this!"
He patted Mrs. O'Leary's snout. The living room shook-BOOM, BOOM, BOOM-which either meant a SWAT team was breaking down the door or Mrs. O'Leary was wagging her tail.
I couldn't help but smile. Paul was a pretty cool guy, even if he was my English teacher as well as my stepdad.
"Thanks for not freaking out," I said.
"Oh, I'm freaking out," he promised, his eyes wide. "I just think it's awesome!"
"Yeah, well," I said, "you may not be so excited when you hear what's happening."
I told Paul and my mom about Typhon, and the gods, and the battle that was sure to come. Then I told them Nico's plan.
My mom laced her fingers around her lemonade glass. She was wearing her old blue flannel bathrobe, and her hair was tied back. Recently she'd started writing a novel, like she'd wanted to do for years, and I could tell she'd been working on it late into the night, because the circles under her eyes were darker than usual.
Behind her at the kitchen window, silvery moon lace glowed in the flower box. I'd brought the magical plant back from Calypso's island last summer, and it bloomed like crazy under my mother's care. The scent always calmed me down, but it also made me sad because it reminded me of lost friends.
My mom took a deep breath, like she was thinking how to tell me no.
"Percy, it's dangerous," she said. "Even for you."
"Mom, I know. I could die. Nico explained that. But if we don't try-" "We'll all die," Nico said. He hadn't touched his lemonade. "Ms.
Jackson, we don't stand a chance against an invasion. And there will
be an invasion."
"An invasion of New York?" Paul said. "Is that even possible? How could we not see the . . . the monsters?"
He said the word like he still couldn't believe this was real.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I don't see how Kronos could just march into Manhattan, but the Mist is strong. Typhon is trampling across the country right now, and mortals think he's a storm system."
"Ms. Jackson," Nico said, "Percy needs your blessing. The process has to start that way. I wasn't sure until we met Luke's mom, but now I'm positive. This has only been done successfully twice before.
Both times, the mother had to give her blessing. She had to be willing to let her son take the risk."
"You want me to bless this?" She shook her head. "It's crazy. Percy, please-"
"Mom, I can't do it without you."
"And if you survive this . . . this process?"
"Then I go to war," I said. "Me against Kronos. And only one of us will survive."
I didn't tell her the whole prophecy-about the soul reaping and the end of my days. She didn't need to know that I was probably doomed. I could only hope I'd stop Kronos and save the rest of the world before I died.
"You're my son," she said miserably. "I can't just . . ."
I could tell I'd have to push her harder if I wanted her to agree, but I didn't want to. I remembered poor Ms. Castellan in her kitchen, waiting for her son to come home. And I realized how lucky I was. My mom had always been there for me, always tried to make things normal for me, even with the gods and monsters and stuff. She put up with me going off on adventures, but now I was asking her bless- ing to do something that would probably get me killed.
I locked eyes with Paul, and some kind of understanding passed
between us.
"Sally." He put his hand over my mother's hands. "I can't claim to know what you and Percy have been going through all these years. But it sounds to me . . . it sounds like Percy is doing something noble. I wish I had that much courage."
I got a lump in my throat. I didn't get compliments like that too much.
My mom stared at her lemonade. She looked like she was trying not to cry. I thought about what Hestia had said, about how hard it was to yield, and I figured maybe my mom was finding that out.
"Percy," she said, "I give you my blessing."
I didn't feel any different. No magic glow lit the kitchen or anything. I glanced at Nico.
He looked more anxious than ever, but he nodded. "It's time."
"Percy," my mom said. "One last thing. If you . . . if you survive this fight with Kronos, send me a sign." She rummaged through her purse and handed me her cell phone.
"Mom," I said, "you know demigods and phones-"
"I know," she said. "But just in case. If you're not able to call . . . maybe a sign that I could see from anywhere in Manhattan. To let me know you're okay."
"Like Theseus," Paul suggested. "He was supposed to raise white sails when he came home to Athens."
"Except he forgot," Nico muttered. "And his father jumped off the palace roof in despair. But other than that, it was a great idea."
"What about a flag or a flare?" my mom said. "From Olympus-the Empire State Building."
"Something blue," I said.
We'd had a running joke for years about blue food. It was my favorite color, and my mom went out of her way to humor me. Every year my birthday cake, my Easter basket, my Christmas candy canes always had to be blue.
"Yes," my mom agreed. "I'll watch for a blue signal. And I'll try to avoid jumping off palace roofs."
She gave me one last hug. I tried not to feel like I was saying good- bye. I shook hands with Paul. Then Nico and I walked to the kitchen doorway and looked at Mrs. O'Leary.
"Sorry, girl," I said. "Shadow travel time again."
She whimpered and crossed her paws over her snout. "Where now?" I asked Nico. "Los Angeles?"
"No need," he said. "There's a closer entrance to the Underworld."
SEVEN
MY MATH TEACHER GIVES ME A LIFT
We emerged in Central Park just north of the Pond. Mrs. O'Leary looked pretty tired as she limped over to a cluster of boulders. She started sniffing around, and I was afraid she might mark her territory, but Nico said, "It's okay. She just smells the way home."
I frowned. "Through the rocks?"
"The Underworld has two major entrances," Nico said. "You know the one in L.A."
"Charon's ferry."
Nico nodded. "Most souls go that way, but there's a smaller path, harder to find. The Door of Orpheus."
"The dude with the harp."
"Dude with the lyre," Nico corrected. "But yeah, him. He used his music to charm the earth and open a new path into the Underworld. He sang his way right into Hades's palace and almost got away with his wife's soul."
I remembered the story. Orpheus wasn't supposed to look behind him when he was leading his wife back to the world, but of course he did. It was one of those typical "and-so-they-died/the-end" stories that always made us feel warm and fuzzy.
"So this is the Door of Orpheus." I tried to be impressed, but it still looked like a pile of rocks to me. "How does it open?"
"We need music," Nico said. "How's your singing?"
"Um, no. Can't you just, like, tell it to open? You're the son of Hades and all."
"It's not so easy. We need music."
I was pretty sure if I tried to sing, all I would cause was an avalanche.
"I have a better idea." I turned and called, "GROVER!"
We waited for a long time. Mrs. O'Leary curled up and took a nap. I could hear the crickets in the woods and an owl hooting. Traffic hummed along Central Park West. Horse hooves clopped down a nearby path, maybe a mounted police patrol. I was sure they'd love to find two kids hanging out in the park at one in the morning.
"It's no good," Nico said at last.
But I had a feeling. My empathy link was really tingling for the first time in months, which either meant a whole lot of people had suddenly switched on the Nature Channel, or Grover was close.
I shut my eyes and concentrated. Grover.
I knew he was somewhere in the park. Why couldn't I sense his emotions? All I got was a faint hum in the base of my skull.
Grover, I thought more insistently.
Hmm-hmmmm, something said.
An image came into my head. I saw a giant elm tree deep in the woods, well off the main paths. Gnarled roots laced the ground, making a kind of bed. Lying in it with his arms crossed and his eyes closed was a satyr. At first I couldn't be sure it was Grover. He was
covered in twigs and leaves, like he'd been sleeping there a long time. The roots seemed to be shaping themselves around him, slowly pulling him into the earth.
Grover, I said. Wake up. Unnnh-zzzzz.
Dude, you're covered in dirt. Wake up! Sleepy, his mind murmured.
FOOD, I suggested. PANCAKES!
His eyes shot open. A blur of thoughts filled my head like he was suddenly on fast-forward. The image shattered, and I almost fell over.
"What happened?" Nico asked.
"I got through. He's . . . yeah. He's on his way."
A minute later, the tree next to us shivered. Grover fell out of the branches, right on his head.
"Grover!" I yelled.
"Woof!" Mrs. O'Leary looked up, probably wondering if we were going to play fetch with the satyr.
"Blah-haa-haa!" Grover bleated. "You okay, man?"
"Oh, I'm fine." He rubbed his head. His horns had grown so much they poked an inch above his curly hair. "I was at the other end of the park. The dryads had this great idea of passing me through the trees to get me here. They don't understand height very well."
He grinned and got to his feet-well, his hooves, actually. Since last summer, Grover had stopped trying to disguise himself as human. He never wore a cap or fake feet anymore. He didn't even wear
jeans, since he had furry goat legs from the waist down. His T-shirt had a picture from that book Where the Wild Things Are. It was covered with dirt and tree sap. His goatee looked fuller, almost manly (or goatly?), and he was as tall as me now.
"Good to see you, G-man," I said. "You remember Nico."
Grover nodded at Nico, then he gave me a big hug. He smelled like fresh-mown lawns.
"Perrrrcy!" he bleated. "I missed you! I miss camp. They don't serve very good enchiladas in the wilderness."
"I was worried," I said. "Where've you been the last two months?"
"The last two-" Grover's smile faded. "The last two months? What are you talking about?"
"We haven't heard from you," I said. "Juniper's worried. We sent Iris- messages, but-"
"Hold on." He looked up at the stars like he was trying to calculate his position. "What month is this?"
"August."
The color drained from his face. "That's impossible. It's June. I just lay down to take a nap and . . ." He grabbed my arms. "I remember now! He knocked me out. Percy, we have to stop him!"
"Whoa," I said. "Slow down. Tell me what happened."
He took a deep breath. "I was . . . I was walking in the woods up by Harlem Meer. And I felt this tremble in the ground, like something powerful was near."
"You can sense stuff like that?" Nico asked.
Grover nodded. "Since Pan's death, I can feel when something is wrong in nature. It's like my ears and eyes are sharper when I'm in
the Wild. Anyway, I started following the scent. This man in a long black coat was walking through the park, and I noticed he didn't cast a shadow. Middle of a sunny day, and he cast no shadow. He kind of shimmered as he moved."
"Like a mirage?" Nico asked.
"Yes," Grover said. "And whenever he passed humans-"
"The humans would pass out," Nico said. "Curl up and go to sleep."
"That's right! Then after he was gone, they'd get up and go about their business like nothing happened."
I stared at Nico. "You know this guy in black?" "Afraid so," Nico said. "Grover, what happened?"
"I followed the guy. He kept looking up at the buildings around the park like he was making estimates or something. This lady jogger ran by, and she curled up on the sidewalk and started snoring. The guy in black put his hand on her forehead like he was checking her temperature. Then he kept walking. By this time, I knew he was a monster or something even worse. I followed him into this grove, to the base of a big elm tree. I was about to summon some dryads to help me capture him when he turned and . . ."
Grover swallowed. "Percy, his face. I couldn't make out his face because it kept shifting. Just looking at him made me sleepy. I said, 'What are you doing?' He said, 'Just having a look around. You should always scout a battlefield before the battle.' I said something really smart like, 'This forest is under my protection. You won't start any battles here!' And he laughed. He said, 'You're lucky I'm saving my energy for the main event, little satyr. I'll just grant you a short nap. Pleasant dreams.' And that's the last thing I remember."
Nico exhaled. "Grover, you met Morpheus, the God of Dreams.
You're lucky you ever woke up."
"Two months," Grover moaned. "He put me to sleep for two months!"
I tried to wrap my mind around what this meant. Now it made sense why we hadn't been able to contact Grover all this time.
"Why didn't the nymphs try to wake you?" I asked.
Grover shrugged. "Most nymphs aren't good with time. Two months for a tree-that's nothing. They probably didn't think anything was wrong."
"We've got to figure out what Morpheus was doing in the park," I said. "I don't like this 'main event' thing he mentioned."
"He's working for Kronos," Nico said. "We know that already. A lot of the minor gods are. This just proves there's going to be an invasion. Percy, we have to get on with our plan."
"Wait," Grover said. "What plan?"
We told him, and Grover started tugging at his leg fur. "You're not serious," he said. "Not the Underworld again."
"I'm not asking you to come, man," I promised. "I know you just woke up. But we need some music to open the door. Can you do it?"
Grover took out his reed pipes. "I guess I could try. I know a few Nirvana tunes that can split rocks. But, Percy, are you sure you want to do this?"
"Please, man," I said. "It would mean a lot. For old times' sake?"
He whimpered. "As I recall, in the old times we almost died a lot. But okay, here goes nothing."
He put his pipes to his lips and played a shrill, lively tune. The boulders trembled. A few more stanzas, and they cracked open,
revealing a triangular crevice.
I peered inside. Steps led down into the darkness. The air smelled of mildew and death. It brought back bad memories of my trip through the Labyrinth last year, but this tunnel felt even more dangerous. It led straight to the land of Hades, and that was almost always a one- way trip.
I turned to Grover. "Thanks . . . I think." "Perrrrcy, is Kronos really going to invade?"
"I wish I could tell you better, but yeah. He will."
I thought Grover might chew up his reed pipes in anxiety, but he straightened up and brushed off his T-shirt. I couldn't help thinking how different he looked from fat old Leneus. "I've got to rally the nature spirits, then. Maybe we can help. I'll see if we can find this Morpheus.'"
"Better tell Juniper you're okay, too."
His eyes widened. "Juniper! Oh, she's going to kill me!"
He started to run off, then scrambled back and gave me another hug. "Be careful down there! Come back alive!"
Once he was gone, Nico and I roused Mrs. O'Leary from her nap.
When she smelled the tunnel, she got excited and led the way down the steps. It was a pretty tight fit. I hoped she wouldn't get stuck. I couldn't imagine how much Drano we'd need to un-stick a hellhound wedged halfway down a tunnel to the Underworld.
"Ready?" Nico asked me. "It'll be fine. Don't worry." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
I glanced up at the stars, wondering if I would ever see them again. Then we plunged into darkness.
The stairs went on forever-narrow, steep, and slippery. It was completely dark except for the light of my sword. I tried to go slow, but Mrs. O'Leary had other ideas. She bounded ahead, barking happily. The sound echoed through the tunnel like cannon shots, and I figured we would not be catching anybody by surprise once we reached the bottom.
Nico lagged behind, which I thought was strange. "You okay?" I asked him.
"Fine." What was that expression on his face . . . doubt? "Just keep moving," he said.
I didn't have much choice. I followed Mrs. O'Leary into the depths. After another hour, I started to hear the roar of a river.
We emerged at the base of a cliff, on a plain of black volcanic sand. To our right, the River Styx gushed from the rocks and roared off in a cascade of rapids. To our left, far away in the gloom, fires burned on the ramparts of Erebos, the great black walls of Hades's kingdom.
I shuddered. I'd first been here when I was twelve, and only Annabeth and Grover's company had given me the courage to keep going. Nico wasn't going to be quite as helpful with the "courage" thing. He looked pale and worried himself.
Only Mrs. O'Leary acted happy. She ran along the beach, picked up a random human leg bone, and romped back toward me. She dropped the bone at my feet and waited for me to throw it.
"Um, maybe later, girl." I stared at the dark waters, trying to get up my nerve. "So, Nico . . . how do we do this?"
"We have to go inside the gates first," he said. "But the river's right here."
"I have to get something," he said. "It's the only way."
He marched off without waiting.
I frowned. Nico hadn't mentioned anything about going inside the gates. But now that we were here, I didn't know what else to do.
Reluctantly, I followed him down the beach toward the big black gates.
Lines of the dead stood outside waiting to get in. It must've been a heavy day for funerals, because even the EZ-DEATH line was backed up.
"Woof!" Mrs. O'Leary said. Before I could stop her she bounded toward the security checkpoint. Cerberus, the guard dog of Hades, appeared out of the gloom-a three-headed rottweiler so big he made Mrs. O'Leary look like a toy poodle. Cerberus was half transparent, so he's really hard to see until he's close enough to kill you, but he acted like he didn't care about us. He was too busy saying hello to Mrs. O'Leary.
"Mrs. O'Leary, no!" I shouted at her. "Don't sniff . . . Oh, man."
Nico smiled. Then he looked at me and his expression turned all serious again, like he'd remembered something unpleasant. "Come on. They won't give us any trouble in the line. You're with me."
I didn't like it, but we slipped through the security ghouls and into the Fields of Asphodel. I had to whistle for Mrs. O'Leary three times before she left Cerberus alone and ran after us.
We hiked over black fields of grass dotted with black poplar trees. If I really died in a few days like the prophecy said, I might end up here forever, but I tried not to think about that.
Nico trudged ahead, bringing us closer and closer to the palace of Hades.
"Hey," I said, "we're inside the gates already. Where are we-"
Mrs. O'Leary growled. A shadow appeared overhead-something dark, cold, and stinking of death. It swooped down and landed in the top of a poplar tree.
Unfortunately, I recognized her. She had a shriveled face, a horrible blue knit hat, and a crumpled velvet dress. Leathery bat wings sprang from her back. Her feet had sharp talons, and in her brass- clawed hands she held a flaming whip and a paisley handbag.
"Mrs. Dodds," I said.
She bared her fangs. "Welcome back, honey."
Her two sisters-the other Furies-swooped down and settled next to her in the branches of the poplar.
"You know Alecto?" Nico asked me.
"If you mean the hag in the middle, yeah," I said. "She was my math teacher."
Nico nodded, like this didn't surprise him. He looked up at the Furies and took a deep breath. "I've done what my father asked. Take us to the palace."
I tensed. "Wait a second, Nico. What do you-"
"I'm afraid this is my new lead, Percy. My father promised me information about my family, but he wants to see you before we try the river. I'm sorry."
"You tricked me?" I was so mad I couldn't think. I lunged at him, but the Furies were fast. Two of them swooped down and plucked me up by the arms. My sword fell out of my hand, and before I knew it, I was dangling sixty feet in the air.
"Oh, don't struggle, honey," my old math teacher cackled in my ear. "I'd hate to drop you."
Mrs. O'Leary barked angrily and jumped, trying to reach me, but we were too high.
"Tell Mrs. O'Leary to behave," Nico warned. He was hovering near me in the clutches of the third Fury. "I don't want her to get hurt, Percy. My father is waiting. He just wants to talk."
I wanted to tell Mrs. O'Leary to attack Nico, but it wouldn't have done any good, and Nico was right about one thing: my dog could get hurt if she tried to pick a fight with the Furies.
I gritted my teeth. "Mrs. O'Leary, down! It's okay, girl."
She whimpered and turned in circles, looking up at me. "All right, traitor," I growled at Nico. "You've got your prize. Take me to the stupid palace."
Alecto dropped me like a sack of turnips in the middle of the palace garden.
It was beautiful in a creepy way. Skeletal white trees grew from marble basins. Flower beds overflowed with golden plants and gemstones. A pair of thrones, one bone and one silver, sat on the balcony with a view of the Fields of Asphodel. It would've been a nice place to spend a Saturday morning except for the sulfurous smell and the cries of tortured souls in the distance.
Skeletal warriors guarded the only exit. They wore tattered U.S. Army desert combat fatigues and carried M16s.
The third Fury deposited Nico next to me. Then all three of them settled on the top of the skeletal throne. I resisted the urge to strangle Nico. They'd only stop me. I'd have to wait for my revenge.
I stared at the empty thrones, waiting for something to happen. Then the air shimmered. Three figures appeared-Hades and Persephone on their thrones, and an older woman standing between them. They
seemed to be in the middle of an argument.
"-told you he was a bum!" the older woman said. "Mother!" Persephone replied.
"We have visitors!" Hades barked. "Please!"
Hades, one of my least favorite gods, smoothed his black robes, which were covered with the terrified faces of the damned. He had pale skin and the intense eyes of a madman.
"Percy Jackson," he said with satisfaction. "At last."
Queen Persephone studied me curiously. I'd seen her once before in the winter, but now in the summer she looked like a totally different goddess. She had lustrous black hair and warm brown eyes. Her dress shimmered with colors. Flower patterns in the fabric changed and bloomed-roses, tulips, honeysuckle.
The woman standing between them was obviously Persephone's mother. She had the same hair and eyes, but looked older and sterner. Her dress was golden, the color of a wheat field. Her hair was woven with dried grasses so it reminded me of a wicker basket. I figured if somebody lit a match next to her, she'd be in serious trouble.
"Hmmph," the older woman said. "Demigods. Just what we need."
Next to me, Nico knelt. I wished I had my sword so I could cut his stupid head off. Unfortunately, Riptide was still out in the fields somewhere.
"Father," Nico said. "I have done as you asked."
"Took you long enough," Hades grumbled. "Your sister would've done a better job."
Nico lowered his head. If I hadn't been so mad at the little creep, I might've felt sorry for him.
I glared up at the god of the dead. "What do you want, Hades?"
"To talk, of course." The god twisted his mouth in a cruel smile. "Didn't Nico tell you?"
"So this whole quest was a lie. Nico brought me down here to get me killed."
"Oh, no," Hades said. "I'm afraid Nico was quite sincere about wanting to help you. The boy is as honest as he is dense. I simply convinced him to take a small detour and bring you here first."
"Father," Nico said, "you promised that Percy would not be harmed. You said if I brought him, you would tell me about my past-about my mother."
Queen Persephone sighed dramatically. "Can we please not talk about that woman in my presence?"
"I'm sorry, my dove," Hades said. "I had to promise the boy something."
The older lady harrumphed. "I warned you, daughter. This scoundrel Hades is no good. You could've married the god of doctors or the god of lawyers, but noooo. You had to eat the pomegranate."
"Mother-"
"And get stuck in the Underworld!" "Mother, please-"
"And here it is August, and do you come home like you're supposed to? Do you ever think about your poor lonely mother?"
"DEMETER!" Hades shouted. "That is enough. You are a guest in my house."
"Oh, a house is it?" she said. "You call this dump a house? Make my daughter live in this dark, damp-"
"I told you," Hades said, grinding his teeth, "there's a war in the world above. You and Persephone are better off here with me."
"Excuse me," I broke in. "But if you're going to kill me, could you just get on with it?"
All three gods looked at me.
"Well, this one has an attitude," Demeter observed. "Indeed," Hades agreed. "I'd love to kill him." "Father!" Nico said. "You promised!"
"Husband, we talked about this," Persephone chided. "You can't go around incinerating every hero. Besides, he's brave. I like that."
Hades rolled his eyes. "You liked that Orpheus fellow too. Look how well that turned out. Let me kill him, just a little bit."
"Father, you promised!" Nico said. "You said you only wanted to talk to him. You said if I brought him, you'd explain."
Hades glowered, smoothing the folds of his robes. "And so I shall. Your mother-what can I tell you? She was a wonderful woman." He glanced uncomfortably at Persephone. "Forgive me, my dear. I mean for a mortal, of course. Her name was Maria di Angelo. She was from Venice, but her father was a diplomat in Washington, D.C. That's where I met her. When you and your sister were young, it was a bad time to be children of Hades. World War II was brewing. A few of my, ah, other children were leading the losing side. I thought it best to put you two out of harm's way."
"That's why you hid us in the Lotus Casino?"
Hades shrugged. "You didn't age. You didn't realize time was passing. I waited for the right time to bring you out."
"But what happened to our mother? Why don't I remember her?"
"Not important," Hades snapped.
"What? Of course it's important. And you had other children-why were we the only ones who were sent away? And who was the lawyer who got us out?"
Hades grit his teeth. "You would do well to listen more and talk less, boy. As for the lawyer . . ."
Hades snapped his fingers. On top of his throne, the Fury Alecto began to change until she was a middle-aged man in a pinstriped suit with a briefcase. She-he-looked strange crouching at Hades's shoulder.
"You!" Nico said.
The Fury cackled. "I do lawyers and teachers very well!"
Nico was trembling. "But why did you free us from the casino?"
"You know why," Hades said. "This idiot son of Poseidon cannot be allowed to be the child of the prophecy."
I plucked a ruby off the nearest plant and threw it at Hades. It sank harmlessly into his robe. "You should be helping Olympus!" I said. "All the other gods are fighting Typhon, and you're just sitting here-"
"Waiting things out," Hades finished. "Yes, that's correct. When's the last time Olympus ever helped me, half-blood? When's the last time a child of mine was ever welcomed as a hero? Bah! Why should I rush out and help them? I'll stay here with my forces intact."
"And when Kronos comes after you?"
"Let him try. He'll be weakened. And my son here, Nico-" Hades looked at him with distaste. "Well, he's not much now, I'll grant you. It would've been better if Bianca had lived. But give him four more years of training. We can hold out that long, surely. Nico will turn sixteen, as the prophecy says, and then he will make the decision
that will save the world. And I will be king of the gods."
"You're crazy," I said. "Kronos will crush you, right after he finishes pulverizing Olympus."
Hades spread his hands. "Well, you'll get a chance to find out, half- blood. Because you'll be waiting out this war in my dungeons."
"No!" Nico said. "Father, that wasn't our agreement. And you haven't told me everything!"
"I've told you all you need to know," Hades said. "As for our agreement, I spoke with Jackson. I did not harm him. You got your information. If you had wanted a better deal, you should've made me swear on the Styx. Now, go to your room!" He waved his hand, and Nico vanished.
"That boy needs to eat more," Demeter grumbled. "He's too skinny. He needs more cereal."
Persephone rolled her eyes. "Mother, enough with the cereal. My lord Hades, are you sure we can't let this little hero go? He's awfully brave."
"No, my dear. I've spared his life. That's enough."
I was sure she was going to stand up for me. The brave, beautiful Persephone was going to get me out of this.
She shrugged indifferently. "Fine. What's for breakfast? I'm starving."
"Cereal," Demeter said.
"Mother!" The two women disappeared in a swirl of flowers and wheat.
"Don't feel too bad, Percy Jackson," Hades said. "My ghosts keep me well informed of Kronos's plans. I can assure you that you had
no chance to stop him in time. By tonight, it will be too late for your precious Mount Olympus. The trap will be sprung."
"What trap?" I demanded. "If you know about it, do something! At least let me tell the other gods!"
Hades smiled. "You are spirited. I'll give you credit for that. Have fun in my dungeon. We'll check on you again in-oh, fifty or sixty years."
CHAPTER EIGHT I TAKE THE WORST
BATH EVER
My sword reappeared in my pocket.
Yeah, great timing. Now I could attack the walls all I wanted.
My cell had no bars, no windows, not even a door. The skeletal guards shoved me straight through a wall, and it became solid behind me. I wasn't sure if the room was airtight. Probably. Hades's dungeon was meant for dead people, and they don't breathe. So forget fifty or sixty years. I'd be dead in fifty or sixty minutes.
Meanwhile, if Hades wasn't lying, some big trap was going to be sprung in New York by the end of the day, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
I sat on the cold stone floor, feeling miserable.
I don't remember dozing off. Then again, it must've been about seven in the morning, mortal time, and I'd been through a lot.
I dreamed I was on the porch of Rachel's beach house in St.
Thomas. The sun was rising over the Caribbean. Dozens of wooded islands dotted the sea, and white sails cut across the water. The smell of salt air made me wonder if I would ever see the ocean again.
Rachel's parents sat at the patio table while a personal chef fixed them omelets. Mr. Dare was dressed in a white linen suit. He was reading The Wall Street Journal. The lady across the table was
probably Mrs. Dare, though all I could see of her were hot pink fingernails and the cover of Condé Nast Traveler. Why she'd be reading about vacations while she was on vacation, I wasn't sure.
Rachel stood at the porch railing and sighed. She wore Bermuda shorts and her van Gogh T-shirt. (Yeah, Rachel was trying to teach me about art, but don't get too impressed. I only remembered the dude's name because he cut his ear off.)
I wondered if she was thinking about me, and how much it sucked that I wasn't with them on vacation. I know that's what I was thinking.
Then the scene changed. I was in St. Louis, standing downtown under the Arch. I'd been there before. In fact, I'd almost fallen to my death there before.
Over the city, a thunderstorm boiled-a wall of absolute black with lightning streaking across the sky. A few blocks away, swarms of emergency vehicles gathered with their lights flashing. A column of dust rose from a mound of rubble, which I realized was a collapsed skyscraper.
A nearby reporter was yelling into her microphone: "Officials are describing this as a structural failure, Dan, though no one seems to know if it is related to the storm conditions."
Wind whipped her hair. The temperature was dropping rapidly, like ten degrees just since I'd been standing there.
"Thankfully, the building had been abandoned for demolition," she said. "But police have evacuated all nearby buildings for fear the collapse might trigger-"
She faltered as a mighty groan cut through the sky. A blast of lightning hit the center of the darkness. The entire city shook. The air glowed, and every hair on my body stood up. The blast was so
powerful I knew it could only be one thing: Zeus's master bolt. It should have vaporized its target, but the dark cloud only staggered backward. A smoky fist appeared out of the clouds. It smashed another tower, and the whole thing collapsed like children's blocks.
The reporter screamed. People ran through the streets.
Emergency lights flashed. I saw a streak of silver in the sky-a chariot pulled by reindeer, but it wasn't Santa Claus driving. It was Artemis, riding the storm, shooting shafts of moonlight into the darkness. A fiery golden comet crossed her path . . . maybe her brother Apollo.
One thing was clear: Typhon had made it to the Mississippi River. He was halfway across the U.S., leaving destruction in his wake, and the gods were barely slowing him down.
The mountain of darkness loomed above me. A foot the size of Yankee Stadium was about to smash me when a voice hissed, "Percy!"
I lunged out blindly. Before I was fully awake, I had Nico pinned to the floor of the cell with the edge of my sword at his throat.
"Want . . . to . . . rescue," he choked.
Anger woke me up fast. "Oh, yeah? And why should I trust you?"
"No . . . choice?" he gagged.
I wished he hadn't said something logical like that. I let him go.
Nico curled into a ball and made retching sounds while his throat recovered. Finally he got to his feet, eyeing my sword warily. His own blade was sheathed. I suppose if he'd wanted to kill me, he could've done it while I slept. Still, I didn't trust him.
"We have to get out of here," he said.
"Why?" I said. "Does your dad want to talk to me again?"
He winced. "Percy, I swear on the River Styx, I didn't know what he was planning."
"You know what your dad is like!"
"He tricked me. He promised-" Nico held up his hands.
"Look . . . right now, we need to leave. I put the guards to sleep, but it won't last."
I wanted to strangle him again. Unfortunately, he was right. We didn't have time to argue, and I couldn't escape on my own. He pointed at the wall. A whole section vanished, revealing a corridor.
"Come on." Nico led the way.
I wished I had Annabeth's invisibility hat, but as it turned out, I didn't need it. Every time we came to a skeleton guard, Nico just pointed at it, and its glowing eyes dimmed. Unfortunately, the more Nico did it, the more tired he seemed. We walked through a maze of corridors filled with guards. By the time we reached a kitchen staffed by skeletal cooks and servants, I was practically carrying Nico. He managed to put all the dead to sleep but nearly passed out himself. I dragged him out of the servants' entrance and into the Fields of Asphodel.
I almost felt relieved until I heard the sound of bronze gongs high in the castle.
"Alarms," Nico murmured sleepily. "What do we do?"
He yawned then frowned like he was trying to remember. "How about . . . run?"
Running with a drowsy child of Hades was more like doing a three-legged race with a life-size rag doll. I lugged him along,
holding my sword in front of me. The spirits of the dead made way like the Celestial bronze was a blazing fire.
The sound of gongs rolled across the fields. Ahead loomed the walls of Erebos, but the longer we walked, the farther away they seemed. I was about to collapse from exhaustion when I heard a familiar "WOOOOOF!"
Mrs. O'Leary bounded out of nowhere and ran circles around us, ready to play.
"Good girl.'" I said. "Can you give us a ride to the Styx?"
The word Styx got her excited. She probably thought I meant sticks. She jumped a few times, chased her tail just to teach it who was boss, and then calmed down enough for me to push Nico onto her back. I climb aboard, and she raced toward the gates. She leaped straight over the EZ-DEATH line, sending guards sprawling and causing more alarms to blare. Cerberus barked, but he sounded more excited than angry, like: Can I play too?
Fortunately, he didn't follow us, and Mrs. O'Leary kept running. She didn't stop until we were far upriver and the fires of Erebos had disappeared in the murk.
Nico slid off Mrs. O'Leary's back and crumpled in a heap on the black sand.
I took out a square of ambrosia-part of the emergency god-food I always kept with me. It was a little bashed up, but Nico chewed it.
"Uh," he mumbled. "Better."
"Your powers drain you too much," I noted.
He nodded sleepily. "With great power . . . comes great need to take a nap. Wake me up later."
"Whoa, zombie dude." I caught him before he could pass out
again. "We're at the river. You need to tell me what to do."
I fed him the last of my ambrosia, which was a little dangerous.
The stuff can heal demigods, but it can also burn us to ashes if we eat too much. Fortunately, it seemed to do the trick. Nico shook his head a few times and struggled to his feet.
"My father will be coming soon," he said. "We should hurry."
The River Styx's current swirled with strange objects-broken toys, ripped-up college diplomas, wilted homecoming corsages-all the dreams people had thrown away as they'd passed from life into death. Looking at the black water, I could think of about three million places I'd rather swim.
"So . . . I just jump in?"
"You have to prepare yourself first," Nico said, "or the river will destroy you. It will burn away your body and soul."
"Sounds fun," I muttered.
"This is no joke," Nico warned. "There is only one way to stay anchored to your mortal life. You have to . . ."
He glanced behind me and his eyes widened. I turned and found myself face-to-face with a Greek warrior.
For a second I thought he was Ares, because this guy looked exactly like the god of war-tall and buff, with a cruel scarred face and closely shaved black hair. He wore a white tunic and bronze armor. He held a plumed war helm under his arm. But his eyes were human-pale green like a shallow sea-and a bloody arrow stuck out of his left calf, just above the ankle.
I stunk at Greek names, but even I knew the greatest warrior of all time, who had died from a wounded heel.
"Achilles," I said.
The ghost nodded. "I warned the other one not to follow my path. Now I will warn you."
"Luke? You spoke with Luke?"
"Do not do this," he said. "It will make you powerful. But it will also make you weak. Your prowess in combat will be beyond any mortal's, but your weaknesses, your failings will increase as well."
"You mean I'll have a bad heel?" I said. "Couldn't I just, like, wear something besides sandals? No offense."
He stared down at his bloody foot. "The heel is only my physical weakness, demigod. My mother, Thetis, held me there when she dipped me in the Styx. What really killed me was my own arrogance. Beware! Turn back!"
He meant it. I could hear the regret and bitterness in his voice. He was honestly trying to save me from a terrible fate.
Then again, Luke had been here, and he hadn't turned back.
That's why Luke had been able to host the spirit of Kronos without his body disintegrating. This is how he'd prepared himself, and why he seemed impossible to kill. He had bathed in the River Styx and taken on the powers of the greatest mortal hero, Achilles. He was invincible.
"I have to," I said. "Otherwise I don't stand a chance."
Achilles lowered his head. "Let the gods witness I tried. Hero, if you must do this, concentrate on your mortal point. Imagine one spot of your body that will remain vulnerable. This is the point where your soul will anchor your body to the world. It will be your greatest weakness, but also your only hope. No man may be completely invulnerable. Lose sight of what keeps you mortal, and the River Styx will burn you to ashes. You will cease to exist."
"I don't suppose you could tell me Luke's mortal point?"
He scowled. "Prepare yourself, foolish boy. Whether you survive this or not, you have sealed your doom!"
With that happy thought, he vanished. "Percy," Nico said, "maybe he's right." "This was your idea."
"I know, but now that we're here-"
"Just wait on the shore. If anything happens to me . . . Well, maybe Hades will get his wish, and you'll be the child of the prophecy after all."
He didn't look pleased about that, but I didn't care.
Before I could change my mind, I concentrated on the small of my back-a tiny point just opposite my navel. It was well defended when I wore my armor. It would be hard to hit by accident, and few enemies would aim for it on purpose. No place was perfect, but this seemed right to me, and a lot more dignified than, like, my armpit or something.
I pictured a string, a bungee cord connecting me to the world from the small of my back. And I stepped into the river.
Imagine jumping into a pit of boiling acid. Now multiply that pain times fifty. You still won't be close to understanding what it felt like to swim in the Styx. I planned to walk in slow and courageous like a real hero. As soon as the water touched my legs, my muscles turned to jelly and I fell face-first into the current.
I submerged completely. For the first time in my life, I couldn't breathe underwater. I finally understood the panic of drowning. Every nerve in my body burned. I was dissolving in the water. I saw faces-Rachel, Grover, Tyson, my mother-but they faded as soon as
they appeared.
"Percy," my mom said. "I give you my blessing." "Be safe, brother!" Tyson pleaded.
"Enchiladas!" Grover said. I wasn't sure where that came from, but it didn't seem to help much.
I was losing the fight. The pain was too much. My hands and feet were melting into the water, my soul was being ripped from my body. I couldn't remember who I was. The pain of Kronos's scythe had been nothing compared to this.
The cord, a familiar voice said. Remember your lifeline, dummy!
Suddenly there was a tug in my lower back. The current pulled at me, but it wasn't carrying me away anymore. I imagined the string in my back keeping me tied to the shore.
"Hold on, Seaweed Brain." It was Annabeth's voice, much clearer now. "You're not getting away from me that easily."
The cord strengthened.
I could see Annabeth now-standing barefoot above me on the canoe lake pier. I'd fallen out of my canoe. That was it. She was reaching out her hand to haul me up, and she was trying not to laugh. She wore her orange camp T-shirt and jeans. Her hair was tucked up in her Yankees cap, which was strange because that should have made her invisible.
"You are such an idiot sometimes." She smiled. "Come on. Take my hand."
Memories came flooding back to me-sharper and more colorful. I stopped dissolving. My name was Percy Jackson. I reached up and took Annabeth's hand.
Suddenly I burst out of the river. I collapsed on the sand, and Nico scrambled back in surprise.
"Are you okay?" he stammered. "Your skin. Oh, gods. You're hurt!"
My arms were bright red. I felt like every inch of my body had been broiled over a slow flame.
I looked around for Annabeth, though I knew she wasn't here. It had seemed so real.
"I'm fine . . . I think." The color of my skin turned back to normal. The pain subsided. Mrs. O'Leary came up and sniffed me with concern. Apparently I smelled really interesting.
"Do you feel stronger?" Nico asked.
Before I could decide what I felt, a voice boomed, "THERE!"
An army of the dead marched toward us. A hundred skeletal Roman legionnaires led the way with shields and spears. Behind them came an equal number of British redcoats with bayonets fixed. In the middle of the host, Hades himself rode a black-and-gold chariot pulled by nightmare horses, their eyes and manes smoldering with fire.
"You will not escape me this time, Percy Jackson!" Hades bellowed. "Destroy him!"
"Father, no!" Nico shouted, but it was too late. The front line of Roman zombies lowered their spears and advanced.
Mrs. O'Leary growled and got ready to pounce. Maybe that's what set me off. I didn't want them hurting my dog. Plus, I was tired of Hades being a big bully. If I was going to die, I might as well go down fighting.
I yelled, and the River Styx exploded. A black tidal wave smashed into the legionnaires. Spears and shields flew everywhere. Roman
zombies began to dissolve, smoke coming off their bronze helmets.
The redcoats lowered their bayonets, but I didn't wait for them. I charged.
It was the stupidest thing I've ever done. A hundred muskets fired at me, point blank. All of them missed. I crashed into their line and started hacking with Riptide. Bayonets jabbed. Swords slashed.
Guns reloaded and fired. Nothing touched me.
I whirled through the ranks, slashing redcoats to dust, one after the other. My mind went on autopilot: stab, dodge, cut, deflect, roll.
Riptide was no longer a sword. It was an arc of pure destruction.
I broke through the enemy line and leaped into the black chariot. Hades raised his staff. A bolt of dark energy shot toward me, but I deflected it off my blade and slammed into him. The god and I both tumbled out of the chariot.
The next thing I knew, my knee was planted on Hades's chest. I was holding the collar of his royal robes in one fist, and the tip of my sword was poised right over his face.
Silence. The army did nothing to defend their master. I glanced back and realized why. There was nothing left of them but weapons in the sand and piles of smoking, empty uniforms. I had destroyed them all.
Hades swallowed. "Now, Jackson, listen here "
He was immortal. There was no way I could kill him, but gods can be wounded. I knew that firsthand, and I figured a sword in the face wouldn't feel too good.
"Just because I'm a nice person," I snarled, "I'll let you go. But first, tell me about that trap!"
Hades melted into nothing, leaving me holding empty black robes.
I cursed and got to my feet, breathing heavily. Now that the danger was over, I realized how tired I was. Every muscle in my body ached. I looked down at my clothes. They were slashed to pieces and full of bullet holes, but I was fine. Not a mark on me.
Nico's mouth hung open. "You just . . . with a sword . . . you just-" "I think the river thing worked," I said.
"Oh gee," he said sarcastically. "You think?"
Mrs. O'Leary barked happily and wagged her tail. She bounded around, sniffing empty uniforms and hunting for bones. I lifted Hades's robe. I could still see the tormented faces shimmering in the fabric.
I walked to the edge of the river. "Be free."
I dropped the robe in the water and watched as it swirled away, dissolving in the current.
"Go back to your father," I told Nico. "Tell him he owes me for letting him go. Find out what's going to happen to Mount Olympus and convince him to help."
Nico stared at me. "I . . . I can't. He'll hate me now. I mean . . . even more."
"You have to," I said. "You owe me too."
His ears turned red. "Percy, I told you I was sorry. Please . . . let me come with you. I want to fight."
"You'll be more help down here."
"You mean you don't trust me anymore," he said miserably.
I didn't answer. I didn't know what I meant. I was too stunned by what I'd just done in battle to think clearly.
"Just go back to your father," I said, trying not to sound too harsh.
"Work on him. You're the only person who might be able to get him to listen."
"That's a depressing thought." Nico sighed. "All right. I'll do my best. Besides, he's still hiding something from me about my mom. Maybe I can find out what."
"Good luck. Now Mrs. O'Leary and I have to go." "Where?" Nico said.
I looked at the cave entrance and thought about the long climb back to the world of the living. "To get this war started. It's time I found Luke."
CHATPER NINE TWO SNAKES SAVE
MY LIFE
I love New York. You can pop out of the Underworld in Central Park, hail a taxi, head down Fifth Avenue with a giant hellhound loping along behind you, and nobody even looks at you funny.
Of course, the Mist helped. People probably couldn't see Mrs. O'Leary, or maybe they thought she was a large, loud, very friendly truck.
I took the risk of using my mom's cell phone to call Annabeth for the second time. I'd called her once from the runnel but only reached her voice mail. I'd gotten surprisingly good reception, seeing as I was at the mythological center of the world and all, but I didn't want to see what my mom's roaming charges were going to be.
This time, Annabeth picked up. "Hey," I said. "You get my message?"
"Percy, where have you been? Your message said almost nothing! We've been worried sick!"
"I'll fill you in later," I said, though how I was going to do that I had no idea. "Where are you?"
"We're on our way like you asked, almost to the Queens-Midtown Tunnel. But, Percy, what are you planning? We've left the camp virtually undefended, and there's no way the gods-"
"Trust me," I said. "I'll see you there."
I hung up. My hands were trembling. I wasn't sure if it was a leftover reaction from my dip in the Styx, or anticipation of what I was about to do. If this didn't work, being invulnerable wasn't going to save me from getting blasted to bits.
It was late afternoon when the taxi dropped me at the Empire State Building. Mrs. O'Leary bounded up and down Fifth Avenue, licking cabs and sniffing hot dog carts. Nobody seemed to notice her, although people did swerve away and look confused when she came close.
I whistled for her to heel as three white vans pulled up to the curb. They said Delphi Strawberry Service, which was the cover name for Camp Half-Blood. I'd never seen all three vans in the same place at once, though I knew they shuttled our fresh produce into the city.
The first van was driven by Argus, our many-eyed security chief. The other two were driven by harpies, who are basically demonic human/chicken hybrids with bad attitudes. We used the harpies mostly for cleaning the camp, but they did pretty well in midtown traffic too.
The doors slid open. A bunch of campers climbed out, some of them looking a little green from the long drive. I was glad so many had come: Pollux, Silena Beauregard, the Stoll brothers, Michael Yew, Jake Mason, Katie Gardner, and Annabeth, along with most of their siblings. Chiron came out of the van last. His horse half was compacted into his magic wheelchair, so he used the handicap lift.
The Ares cabin wasn't here, but I tried not to get too angry about that. Clarisse was a stubborn idiot. End of story.
I did a head count: forty campers in all.
Not many to fight a war, but it was still the largest group of half-
bloods I'd ever seen gathered in one place outside camp. Everyone looked nervous, and I understood why. We were probably sending out so much demigod aura that every monster in the northeastern United States knew we were here.
As I looked at their faces-all these campers I'd known for so many summers-a nagging voice whispered in my mind: One of them is a spy.
But I couldn't dwell on that. They were my friends. I needed them.
Then I remembered Kronos's evil smile. You can't count on friends. They will always let you down.
Annabeth came up to me. She was dressed in black camouflage with her Celestial bronze knife strapped to her arm and her laptop bag slung over her shoulder-ready for stabbing or surfing the Internet, whichever came first.
She frowned. "What is it?" "What's what?" I asked. "You're looking at me funny."
I realized I was thinking about my strange vision of Annabeth pulling me out of the Styx River. "It's, uh, nothing." I turned to the rest of the group. "Thanks for coming, everybody. Chiron, after you."
My old mentor shook his head. "I came to wish you luck, my boy. But I make it a point never to visit Olympus unless I am summoned."
"But you're our leader."
He smiled. "I am your trainer, your teacher. That is not the same as being your leader. I will go gather what allies I can. It may not be too late to convince my brother centaurs to help. Meanwhile, you called
the campers here, Percy. You are the leader."
I wanted to protest, but everybody was looking at me expectantly, even Annabeth.
I took a deep breath. "Okay, like I told Annabeth on the phone, something bad is going to happen by tonight. Some kind of trap. We've got to get an audience with Zeus and convince him to defend the city. Remember, we can't take no for an answer."
I asked Argus to watch Mrs. O'Leary, which neither of them looked happy about.
Chiron shook my hand. "You'll do well, Percy. Just remember your strengths and beware your weaknesses."
It sounded eerily close to what Achilles had told me. Then I remembered Chiron had taught Achilles. That didn't exactly reassure me, but I nodded and tried to give him a confident smile.
"Let's go," I told the campers.
A security guard was sitting behind the desk in the lobby, reading a big black book with a flower on the cover. He glanced up when we all filed in with our weapons and armor clanking. "School group?
We're about to close up."
"No," I said. "Six-hundredth floor."
He checked us out. His eyes were pale blue and his head was completely bald. I couldn't tell if he was human or not, but he seemed to notice our weapons, so I guess he wasn't fooled by the Mist.
"There is no six-hundredth floor, kid." He said it like it was a required line he didn't believe. "Move along."
I leaned across the desk. "Forty demigods attract an awful lot of monsters. You really want us hanging out in your lobby?"
He thought about that. Then he hit a buzzer and the security gate swung open. "Make it quick."
"You don't want us going through the metal detectors," I added.
"Um, no," he agreed. "Elevator on the right. I guess you know the way."
I tossed him a golden drachma and we marched ill rough.
We decided it would take two trips to get everybody up in the elevator. I went with the first group. Different elevator music was playing since my last visit-that old disco song "Stayin' Alive." A terrifying image flashed through my mind of Apollo in bell-bottom pants and a slinky silk shirt.
I was glad when the elevator doors finally dinged open. In front of us, a path of floating stones led through the clouds up to Mount Olympus, hovering six thousand feet over Manhattan.
I'd seen Olympus several times, but it still took my breath away. The mansions glittered gold and white against the sides of the mountain. Gardens bloomed on a hundred terraces. Scented smoke rose from braziers that lined the winding streets. And right at the top of the snow-capped crest rose the main palace of the gods. It looked as majestic as ever, but something seemed wrong. Then I realized the mountain was silent-no music, no voices, no laughter.
Annabeth studied me. "You look . . . different," she decided. "Where exactly did you go?"
The elevator doors opened again, and the second group of half- bloods joined us.
"Tell you later," I said. "Come on."
We made our way across the sky bridge into the streets of Olympus. The shops were closed. The parks were empty. A couple of Muses
sat on a bench strumming flaming lyres, but their hearts didn't seem to be in it. A lone Cyclops swept the street with an uprooted oak tree. A minor godling spotted us from a balcony and ducked inside, closing his shutters.
We passed under a big marble archway with statues of Zeus and Hera on either side. Annabeth made a face at the queen of the gods.
"Hate her," she muttered.
"Has she been cursing you or something?" I asked. Last year Annabeth had gotten on Hera's bad side, but Annabeth hadn't really talked about it since.
"Just little stuff so far," she said. "Her sacred animal is the cow, right?"
"Right."
"So she sends cows after me."
I tried not to smile. "Cows? In San Francisco?"
"Oh, yeah. Usually I don't see them, but the cows leave me little presents all over the place-in our backyard, on the sidewalk, in the school hallways. I have to be careful where I step."
"Look!" Pollux cried, pointing toward the horizon. "What is that?"
We all froze. Blue lights were streaking across the evening sky toward Olympus like tiny comets. They seemed to be coming from all over the city, heading straight toward the mountain. As they got close, they fizzled out. We watched them for several minutes and they didn't seem to do any damage, but still it was strange.
"Like infrared scopes," Michael Yew muttered. "We're being targeted."
"Let's get to the palace," I said.
No one was guarding the hall of the gods. The gold-and-silver doors stood wide open. Our footsteps echoed as we walked into the throne room.
Of course, "room" doesn't really cover it. The place was the size of Madison Square Garden. High above, the blue ceiling glittered with constellations. Twelve giant empty thrones stood in a U around a hearth. In one corner, a house-size globe of water hovered in the air, and inside swam my old friend the Ophiotaurus, half-cow, half- serpent.
"Moooo!" he said happily, turning in a circle.
Despite all the serious stuff going on, I had to smile. Two years ago we'd spent a lot of time trying to save the Ophiotaurus from the Titans, and I'd gotten kind of fond of him. He seemed to like me too, even though I'd originally thought he was a girl and named him Bessie.
"Hey, man," I said. "They treating you okay?"
"Mooo," Bessie answered.
We walked toward the thrones, and a woman's voice said, "Hello again, Percy Jackson. You and your friends are welcome."
Hestia stood by the hearth, poking the flames with a stick. She wore the same kind of simple brown dress as she had before, but she was a grown woman now.
I bowed. "Lady Hestia."
My friends followed my example.
Hestia regarded me with her red glowing eyes. "I see you went through with your plan. You bear the curse of Achilles."
The other campers started muttering among themselves: What did she say? What about Achilles?
"You must be careful," Hestia warned me. "You gained much on your journey. But you are still blind to the most important truth. Perhaps a glimpse is in order."
Annabeth nudged me. "Um . . . what is she talking about?"
I stared into Hestia's eyes, and an image rushed into my mind: I saw a dark alley between red brick warehouses. A sign above one of the doors read RICHMOND IRONWORKS.
Two half-bloods crouched in the shadows-a boy about fourteen and a girl about twelve. I realized with a start that the boy was Luke. The girl was Thalia, daughter of Zeus. I was seeing a scene from back in the days when they were on the run, before Grover found them.
Luke carried a bronze knife. Thalia had her spear and shield of terror, Aegis. Luke and Thalia both looked hungry and lean, with wild animal eyes, like they were used to being attacked.
"Are you sure?" Thalia asked.
Luke nodded. "Something down here. I sense it."
A rumble echoed from the alley, like someone had banged on a sheet of metal. The half-bloods crept forward.
Old crates were stacked on a loading dock. Thalia and Luke approached with their weapons ready. A curtain of corrugated tin quivered as if something were behind it.
Thalia glanced at Luke. He counted silently: One, two, three! He ripped away the tin, and a little girl flew at him with a hammer.
"Whoa!" Luke said.
The girl had tangled blond hair and was wearing flannel pajamas. She couldn't have been more than seven, but she would've brained Luke if he hadn't been so fast.
He grabbed her wrist, and the hammer skittered across the cement. The little girl fought and kicked. "No more monsters! Go away!"
"It's okay!" Luke struggled to hold her. "Thalia, put your shield up. You're scaring her."
Thalia tapped Aegis, and it shrank into a silver bracelet. "Hey, it's all right," she said. "We're not going to hurt you. I'm Thalia. This is Luke."
"Monsters!"
"No," Luke promised. "But we know all about monsters. We fight them too."
Slowly, the girl stopped kicking. She studied Luke and Thalia with large intelligent gray eyes.
"You're like me?" she said suspiciously.
"Yeah," Luke said. "We're . . . well, it's hard to explain, but we're monster fighters. Where's your family?"
"My family hates me," the girl said. "They don't want me. I ran away."
Thalia and Luke locked eyes. I knew they both related to what she was saying.
"What's your name, kiddo?" Thalia asked. "Annabeth."
Luke smiled. "Nice name. I tell you what, Annabeth-you're pretty fierce. We could use a fighter like you."
Annabeth's eyes widened. "You could?"
"Oh, yeah." Luke turned his knife and offered her the handle. "How'd you like a real monster-slaying weapon? This is Celestial bronze. Works a lot better than a hammer."
Maybe under most circumstances, offering a seven-year-old kid a knife would not be a good idea, but when you're a half-blood, regular rules kind of go out the window.
Annabeth gripped the hilt.
"Knives are only for the bravest and quickest fighters," Luke explained. "They don't have the reach or power of a sword, but they're easy to conceal and they can find weak spots in your enemy's armor. It takes a clever warrior to use a knife. I have a feeling you're pretty clever."
Annabeth stared at him with adoration. "I am!"
Thalia grinned. "We'd better get going, Annabeth. We have a safe house on the James River. We'll get you some clothes and food."
"You're . . . you're not going to take me back to my family?" she said. "Promise?"
Luke put his hand on her shoulder. "You're part of our family now. And I promise I won't let anything hurt you. I'm not going to fail you like our families did us. Deal?"
"Deal!" Annabeth said happily.
"Now, come on," Thalia said. "We can't stay put for long!"
The scene shifted. The three demigods were running through the woods. It must've been several days later, maybe even weeks. All of them looked beat up, like they'd seen some battles. Annabeth was wearing new clothes-jeans and an oversize army jacket.
"Just a little farther!" Luke promised. Annabeth stumbled, and he took her hand. Thalia brought up the rear, brandishing her shield like she was driving back whatever pursued them. She was limping on her left leg.
They scrambled to a ridge and looked down the other side at a white
Colonial house-May Castellan's place.
"All right," Luke said, breathing hard. "I'll just sneak in and grab some food and medicine. Wait here."
"Luke, are you sure?" Thalia asked. "You swore you'd never come back here. If she catches you-"
"We don't have a choice!" he growled. "They burned our nearest safe house. And you've got to treat that leg wound."
"This is your house?" Annabeth said with amazement.
"It was my house," Luke muttered. "Believe me, if it wasn't an emergency-"
"Is your mom really horrible?" Annabeth asked. "Can we see her?" "No!" Luke snapped.
Annabeth shrank away from him as though his anger surprised her.
"I . . . I'm sorry," he said. "Just wait here. I promise everything will be okay. Nothing's going to hurt you. I'll be back-"
A brilliant golden flash illuminated the woods. The demigods winced, and a man's voiceboomed: "You should not have come home."
The vision shut off.
My knees buckled, but Annabeth grabbed me. "Percy! What happened?"
"Did . . . did you see that?" I asked. "See what?"
I glanced at Hestia, but the goddess's face was expressionless. I remembered something she'd told me in the woods: If you are to understand your enemy Luke, you must understand his family. But why had she shown me those scenes?
"How long was I out?" I muttered.
Annabeth knit her eyebrows. "Percy, you weren't out at all. You just looked at Hestia for like one second and collapsed."
I could feel everyone's eyes on me. I couldn't afford to look weak. Whatever those visions meant, I had to stay focused on our mission.
"Um, Lady Hestia," I said, "we've come on urgent business. We need to see-"
"We know what you need," a man's voice said. I shuddered, because it was the same voice I'd heard in the vision.
A god shimmered into existence next to Hestia. He looked about twenty-five, with curly salt-and-pepper hair and elfish features. He wore a military pilot's flight suit, with tiny bird's wings fluttering on his helmet and his black leather boots. In the crook of his arm was a long staff entwined with two living serpents.
"I will leave you now," Hestia said. She bowed to the aviator and disappeared into smoke. I understood why she was so anxious to go. Hermes, the God of Messengers, did not look happy.
"Hello, Percy." His brow furrowed as though he was annoyed with me, and I wondered if he somehow knew about the vision I'd just had. I wanted to ask why he'd been in May Castellan's house that night, and what had happened after he caught Luke. I remembered the first time I'd met Luke at Camp Half-Blood. I'd asked him if he'd ever met his father, and he'd looked at me bitterly and said, Once.
But I could tell from Hermes's expression that this was not the time to ask.
I bowed awkwardly. "Lord Hermes."
Oh, sure, one of the snakes said in my mind. Don't say hi to us.
We're just reptiles.
George, the other snake scolded. Be polite. "Hello, George," I said. "Hey, Martha." Did you bring us a rat? George asked.
George, stop it, Martha said. He's busy!
Too busy for rats? George said. That's just sad.
I decided it was better not to get into it with George. "Um, Hermes," I said. "We need to talk to Zeus. It's important."
Hermes's eyes were steely cold. "I am his messenger. May I take a message?"
Behind me, the other demigods shifted restlessly. This wasn't going as planned. Maybe if I tried to speak with Hermes in private . . .
"You guys," I said. "Why don't you do a sweep of the city? Check the defenses. See who's left in Olympus. Meet Annabeth and me back here in thirty minutes."
Silena frowned. "But-"
"That's a good idea," Annabeth said. "Connor and Travis, you two lead."
The Stolls seemed to like that-getting handed an important responsibility right in front of their dad. They usually never led anything except toilet paper raids. "We're on it!" Travis said. They herded the others out of the throne room, leaving Annabeth and me with Hermes.
"My lord," Annabeth said. "Kronos is going to attack New York. You must suspect that. My mother must have foreseen it."
"Your mother," Hermes grumbled. He scratched his back with his caduceus, and George and Martha muttered Ow, ow, ow. "Don't get me started on your mother, young lady. She's the reason I'm here at
all. Zeus didn't want any of us to leave the front line. But your mother kept pestering him nonstop, 'It's a trap, it's a diversion, blah, blah, blah.' She wanted to come back herself, but Zeus was not going to let his number one strategist leave his side while we're battling Typhon. And so naturally he sent me to talk to you."
"But it is a trap!" Annabeth insisted. "Is Zeus blind?" Thunder rolled through the sky.
"I'd watch the comments, girl," Hermes warned. "Zeus is not blind
or deaf. He has not left Olympus completely undefended." "But there are these blue lights-"
"Yes, yes. I saw them. Some mischief by that insufferable goddess of magic, Hecate, I'd wager, but you may have noticed they aren't doing any damage. Olympus has strong magical wards. Besides, Aeolus, the King of the Winds, has sent his most powerful minions to guard the citadel. No one save the gods can approach Olympus from the air. They would be knocked out of the sky."
I raised my hand. "Um . . . what about that materializing/teleporting thing you guys do?"
"That's a form of air travel too, Jackson. Very fast, but the wind gods are faster. No, if Kronos wants Olympus, he'll have to march through the entire city with his army and take the elevators! Can you see him doing this?"
Hermes made it sound pretty ridiculous-hordes of monsters going up in the elevator twenty at a time, listening to "Stayin' Alive." Still, I didn't like it.
"Maybe just a few of you could come back," I suggested.
Hermes shook his head impatiently. "Percy Jackson, you don't understand. Typhon is our greatest enemy."
"I thought that was Kronos."
The god's eyes glowed. "No, Percy. In the old days, Olympus was almost overthrown by Typhon. He is husband of Echidna-"
"Met her at the Arch," I muttered. "Not nice."
"-and the father of all monsters. We can never forget how close he came to destroying us all; how he humiliated us! We were more powerful back in the old days. Now we can expect no help from Poseidon because he's fighting his own war. Hades sits in his realm and does nothing, and Demeter and Persephone follow his lead. It will take all our remaining power to oppose the storm giant. We can't divide our forces, nor wait until he gets to New York. We have to battle him now. And we're making progress."
"Progress?" I said. "He nearly destroyed St. Louis."
"Yes," Hermes admitted. "But he destroyed only half of Kentucky. He's slowing down. Losing power."
I didn't want to argue, but it sounded like Hermes was trying to convince himself.
In the corner, the Ophiotaurus mooed sadly.
"Please, Hermes," Annabeth said. "You said my mother wanted to come. Did she give you any messages for us?"
"Messages," he muttered. "'It'll be a great job,' they told me. 'Not much work. Lots ofworshippers.' Hmph. Nobody cares what I have to say. It's always about other people's messages."
Rodents, George mused. I'm in it for the rodents.
Shhh, Martha scolded. We care what Hermes has to say. Don't we, George?
Oh, absolutely. Can we go back to the battle now? I want to do laser
mode again. That's fun.
"Quiet, both of you," Hermes grumbled.
The god looked at Annabeth, who was doing her big-pleading-gray- eyes thing.
"Bah," Hermes said. "Your mother said to warn you that you are on your own. You must hold Manhattan without the help of the gods. As if I didn't know that. Why they pay her to be the wisdom goddess, I'm not sure."
"Anything else?" Annabeth asked.
"She said you should try plan twenty-three. She said you would know what that meant."
Annabeth's face paled. Obviously she knew what it meant, and she didn't like it. "Go on."
"Last thing." Hermes looked at me. "She said to tell Percy: 'Remember the rivers.' And, um, something about staying away from her daughter."
I'm not sure whose face was redder: Annabeth's or mine.
"Thank you, Hermes," Annabeth said. "And I . . . I wanted to say . . . I'm sorry about Luke."
The god's expression hardened like he'd turned to marble. "You should've left that subject alone."
Annabeth stepped back nervously. "Sorry?" "SORRY doesn't cut it!"
George and Martha curled around the caduceus, which shimmered and changed into something that looked suspiciously like a high- voltage cattle prod.
"You should've saved him when you had the chance," Hermes
growled at Annabeth. "You're the only one who could have."
I tried to step between them. "What are you talking about? Annabeth didn't-"
"Don't defend her, Jackson!" Hermes turned the cattle prod toward me. "She knows exactly what I'm talking about."
"Maybe you should blame yourself!" I should've kept my mouth shut, but all I could think about was turning his attention away from Annabeth. This whole time, he hadn't been angry with me. He'd been angry with her. "Maybe if you hadn't abandoned Luke and his mom!"
Hermes raised his cattle prod. He began to grow until he was ten feet tall. I thought, Well, that's it.
But as he prepared to strike, George and Martha leaned in close and whispered something in his ear.
Hermes clenched his teeth. He lowered the cattle prod, and it turned back to a staff.
"Percy Jackson," he said, "because you have taken on the curse of Achilles, I must spare you. You are in the hands of the Fates now. But you will never speak to me like that again. You have no idea how much I have sacrificed, how much-"
His voice broke, and he shrank back to human size. "My son, my greatest pride . . . my poor May . . ."
He sounded so devastated I didn't know what to say. One minute he was ready to vaporize us. Now he looked like he needed a hug.
"Look, Lord Hermes," I said. "I'm sorry, but I need to know. What happened to May? She said something about Luke's fate, and her eyes-"
Hermes glared at me, and my voice faltered. The look on his face
wasn't really anger, though. It was pain. Deep, incredible pain. "I will leave you now," he said tightly. "I have a war to fight."
He began to shine. I turned away and made sure Annabeth did the same, because she was still frozen in shock.
Good luck, Percy, Martha the snake whispered.
Hermes glowed with the light of a supernova. Then he was gone.
Annabeth sat at the foot of her mother's throne and cried. I wanted to comfort her, but I wasn't sure how.
"Annabeth," I said, "it's not your fault. I've never seen Hermes act that way. I guess . . . I don't know . . . he probably feels guilty about Luke. He's looking for somebody to blame. I don't know why he lashed out at you. You didn't do anything to deserve that."
Annabeth wiped her eyes. She stared at the hearth like it was her own funeral pyre.
I shifted uneasily. "Um, you didn't, right?"
She didn't answer. Her Celestial bronze knife was strapped to her arm-the same knife I'd seen in Hestia's vision. All these years, I hadn't realized it was a gift from Luke. I'd asked her many times why she preferred to fight with a knife instead of a sword, and she'd never answered me. Now I knew.
"Percy," she said. "What did you mean about Luke's mother? Did you meet her?"
I nodded reluctantly. "Nico and I visited her. She was a little . . . different." I described May Castellan, and the weird moment when her eyes had started to glow and she talked about her son's fate.
Annabeth frowned. "That doesn't make sense. But why were you visiting-" Her eyes widened. "Hermes said you bear the curse of
Achilles. Hestia said the same thing. Did you . . . did you bathe in the River Styx?"
"Don't change the subject." "Percy! Did you or not?" "Um . . . maybe a little."
I told her the story about Hades and Nico, and how I'd defeated an army of the dead. I left out the vision of her pulling me out of the river. I still didn't quite understand that part, and just thinking about it made me embarrassed.
She shook her head in disbelief. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"
"I had no choice," I said. "It's the only way I can stand up to Luke."
"You mean . . . di immortales, of course! That's why Luke didn't die. He went to the Styx and . . . Oh no, Luke. What were you thinking?"
"So now you're worried about Luke again," I grumbled. She stared at me like I'd just dropped from space. "What?"
"Forget it," I muttered. I wondered what Hermes had meant about Annabeth not saving Luke when she'd had the chance. Clearly, she wasn't telling me something. But at the moment I wasn't in the mood to ask. The last thing I wanted to hear about was more of her history with Luke.
"The point is he didn't die in the Styx," I said. "Neither did I. Now I have to face him. We have to defend Olympus."
Annabeth was still studying my face, like she was trying to see differences since my swim in the Styx. "I guess you're right. My mom mentioned-"
"Plan twenty-three."
She rummaged in her pack and pulled out Daedalus's laptop. The blue Delta symbol glowed on the top when she booted it up. She opened a few files and started to read.
"Here it is," she said. "Gods, we have a lot of work to do." "One of Daedalus's inventions?"
"A lot of inventions . . . dangerous ones. If my mother wants me to use this plan, she must think things are very bad." She looked at me. "What about her message to you: 'Remember the rivers'? What does that mean?"
I shook my head. As usual, I had no clue what the gods were telling me. Which rivers was I supposed to remember? The Styx? The Mississippi?
Just then the Stoll brothers ran in to the throne room. "You need to see this," Connor said. "Now."
The blue lights in the sky had stopped, so at first I didn't understand what the problem was.
The other campers had gathered in a small park at the edge of the mountain. They were clustered at the guardrail, looking down at Manhattan. The railing was lined with those tourist binoculars, where you could deposit one golden drachma and see the city.
Campers were using every single one.
I looked down at the city. I could see almost everything from here- the East River and the Hudson River carving the shape of Manhattan, the grid of streets, the lights of skyscrapers, the dark stretch of Central Park in the north. Everything looked normal, but something was wrong. I felt it in my bones before I realized what it was.
"I don't . . . hear anything," Annabeth said.
That was the problem.
Even from this height, I should've heard the noise of the city- millions of people bustling around, thousands of cars and machines- the hum of a huge metropolis. You don't think about it when you live in New York, but it's always there. Even in the dead of night, New York is never silent.
But it was now.
I felt like my best friend had suddenly dropped dead.
"What did they do?" My voice sounded tight and angry. "What did they do to my city?"
I pushed Michael Yew away from the binoculars and took a look.
In the streets below, traffic had stopped. Pedestrians were lying on the sidewalks, or curled up in doorways. There was no sign of violence, no wrecks, nothing like that. It was as if all the people in New York had simply decidedto stop whatever they were doing and pass out.
"Are they dead?" Silena asked in astonishment.
Ice coated my stomach. A line from the prophecy rang in my ears: And see the world in endless sleep. I remembered Grover's story about meeting the god Morpheus in Central Park. You're lucky I'm saving my energy for the main event.
"Not dead," I said. "Morpheus has put the entire island of Manhattan to sleep. The invasion has started."
CHAPTER TEN
I BUY SOME NEW FRIENDS
Mrs. O'Leary was the only one happy about the sleeping city.
We found her pigging out at an overturned hot dog stand while the owner was curled up on the sidewalk, sucking his thumb.
Argus was waiting for us with his hundred eyes wide open. He didn't say anything. He never does. I guess that's because he supposedly has an eyeball on his tongue. But his face made it clear he was freaking out.
I told him what we'd learned in Olympus, and how the gods would not be riding to the rescue. Argus rolled his eyes in disgust, which looked pretty psychedelic since it made his whole body swirl.
"You'd better get back to camp," I told him. "Guard it as best you can."
He pointed at me and raised his eyebrow quizzically. "I'm staying," I said.
Argus nodded, like this answer satisfied him. He looked at Annabeth and drew a circle in the air with his finger.
"Yes," Annabeth agreed. "I think it's time." "For what?" I asked.
Argus rummaged around in the back of his van. He brought out a
bronze shield and passed it to Annabeth. It looked pretty much standard issue-the same kind of round shield we always used in capture the flag. But when Annabeth set it on the ground, the reflection on the polished metal changed from sky and buildings to the Statue of Liberty-which wasn't anywhere close to us.
"Whoa," I said. "A video shield."
"One of Daedalus's ideas," Annabeth said. "I had Beckendorf make this before-" She glanced at Silena. "Um, anyway, the shield bends sunlight or moonlight from anywhere in the world to create a reflection. You can literally see any target under the sun or moon, as long as natural light is touching it. Look."
We crowded around as Annabeth concentrated. The image zoomed and spun at first, so I got motion sickness just watching it. We were in the Central Park Zoo, then zooming down East 60th, past Bloomingdale's, then turning on Third Avenue.
"Whoa," Connor Stoll said. "Back up. Zoom in right there." "What?" Annabeth said nervously. "You see invaders?"
"No, right there-Dylan's Candy Bar." Connor grinned at his brother. "Dude, it's open. And everyone is asleep. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Connor!" Katie Gardner scolded. She sounded like her mother, Demeter. "This is serious. You are not going to loot a candy store in the middle of a war!"
"Sorry," Connor muttered, but he didn't sound very ashamed.
Annabeth passed her hand in front of the shield, and another scene popped up: FDR Drive, looking across the river at Lighthouse Park.
"This will let us see what's going on across the city," she said. "Thank you, Argus. Hopefully we'll see you back at camp . . .
someday."
Argus grunted. He gave me a look that clearly meant Good luck; you'll need it, then climbed into his van. He and the two harpy drivers swerved away, weaving around clusters of idle cars that littered the road.
I whistled for Mrs. O'Leary, and she came bounding over.
"Hey, girl," I said. "You remember Grover? The satyr we met in the park?"
"WOOF!"
I hoped that meant Sure I do! And not, Do you have more hot dogs?
"I need you to find him," I said. "Make sure he's still awake. We're going to need his help. You got that? Find Grover!"
Mrs. O'Leary gave me a sloppy wet kiss, which seemed kind of unnecessary. Then she raced off north.
Pollux crouched next to a sleeping policeman. "I don't get it. Why didn't we fall asleep too? Why just the mortals?"
"This is a huge spell," Silena Beauregard said. "The bigger the spell, the easier it is to resist. If you want to sleep millions of mortals, you've got to cast a very thin layer of magic. Sleeping demigods is much harder."
I stared at her. "When did you learn so much about magic?" Silena blushed. "I don't spend all my time on my wardrobe."
"Percy," Annabeth called. She was still looking at the shield. "You'd better see this."
The bronze image showed Long Island Sound near La Guardia. A fleet of a dozen speedboats raced through the dark water toward Manhattan. Each boat was packed with demigods in full Greek
armor. At the back of the lead boat, a purple banner emblazoned with a black scythe flapped m the night wind. I'd never seen that design before, but it wasn't hard to figure out: the battle flag of Kronos.
"Scan the perimeter of the island," I said. "Quick."
Annabeth shifted the scene south to the harbor. A Staten Island Ferry was plowing through the waves near Ellis Island. The deck was crowded with dracaenae and a whole pack of hellhounds.
Swimming in front of the ship was a pod of marine mammals. At first I thought they were dolphins. Then I saw their doglike faces and the swords strapped to their waists, and I realized they were telkhines-sea demons.
The scene shifted again: the Jersey shore, right at the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel. A hundred assorted monsters were marching past the lanes of stopped traffic: giants with clubs, rogue Cyclopes, a few fire-spitting dragons, and just to rub it in, a World War II-era Sherman tank, pushing cars out of its way as it rumbled into the tunnel.
"What's happening with the mortals outside Manhattan?" I said. "Is the whole state asleep?"
Annabeth frowned. "I don't think so, but it's strange. As far as I can tell from these pictures, Manhattan is totally asleep. Then there's like a fifty-mile radius around the island where time is running really, really slow. The closer you get to Manhattan, the slower it is."
She showed me another scene-a New Jersey highway. It was Saturday evening, so the traffic wasn't as bad as it might've been on a weekday. The drivers looked awake, but the cars were moving at about one mile per hour. Birds flew overhead in slow motion.
"Kronos," I said. "He's slowing time."
"Hecate might be helping," Katie Gardner said. "Look how the cars
are all veering away from the Manhattan exits, like they're getting a subconscious message to turn back."
"I don't know." Annabeth sounded really frustrated. She hated not knowing. "But somehow they've surrounded Manhattan in layers of magic. The outside world might not even realize something is wrong. Any mortals coming toward Manhattan will slow down so much they won't know what's happening."
"Like flies in amber," Jake Mason murmured.
Annabeth nodded. "We shouldn't expect any help coming in."
I turned to my friends. They looked stunned and scared, and I couldn't blame them. The shield had shown us at least three hundred enemies on the way. There were forty of us. And we were alone.
"All right," I said. "We're going to hold Manhattan."
Silena tugged at her armor. "Um, Percy, Manhattan is huge." "We are going to hold it," I said. "We have to."
"He's right," Annabeth said. "The gods of the wind should keep Kronos's forces away from Olympus by air, so he'll try a ground assault. We have to cut off the entrances to the island."
"They have boats," Michael Yew pointed out.
An electric tingle went down my back. Suddenly I understood Athena's advice: Remember the rivers.
"I'll take care of the boats," I said. Michael frowned. "How?"
"Just leave it to me," I said. "We need to guard the bridges and tunnels. Let's assume they'll try a midtown or downtown assault, at least on their first try. That would be the most direct way to the Empire State Building. Michael, take Apollo's cabin to the
Williamsburg Bridge. Katie, Demeter's cabin takes the Brooklyn- Battery Tunnel. Grow thorn bushes and poison ivy in the tunnel. Do whatever you have to do, but keep them out of there! Conner, take half of Hermes cabin and cover the Manhattan Bridge. Travis, you take the other half and cover the Brooklyn Bridge. And no stopping for looting or pillaging!"
"Awwww!" the whole Hermes cabin complained.
"Silena, take the Aphrodite crew to the Queens-Midtown Tunnel."
"Oh my gods," one of her sisters said. "Fifth Avenue is so on our way! We could accessorize, and monsters, like, totally hate the smell of Givenchy."
"No delays," I said. "Well . . . the perfume thing, if you think it'll work."
Six Aphrodite girls kissed me on the cheek in excitement.
"All right, enough!" I closed my eyes, trying to think of what I'd forgotten. "The Holland Tunnel. Jake, take the Hephaestus cabin there. Use Greek fire, set traps. Whatever you've got."
He grinned. "Gladly. We've got a score to settle. For Beckendorf!" The whole cabin roared in approval.
"The 59th Street Bridge," I said. "Clarisse-"
I faltered. Clarisse wasn't here. The whole Ares cabin, curse them, was sitting back at camp.
"We'll take that," Annabeth stepped in, saving me from an embarrassing silence. She turned to her siblings. "Malcolm, take the Athena cabin, activate plan twenty-three along the way, just like I showed you. Hold that position."
"You got it."
"I'll go with Percy," she said. "Then we'll join you, or we'll go wherever we're needed."
Somebody in the back of the group said, "No detours, you two." There were some giggles, but I decided to let it pass.
"All right," I said. "Keep in touch with cell phones." "We don't have cell phones," Silena protested.
I reached down, picked up some snoring lady's BlackBerry, and tossed it to Silena. "You do now. You all know Annabeth's number, right? If you need us, pick up a random phone and call us. Use it once, drop it, then borrow another one if you have to. That should make it harder for the monsters to zero in on you."
Everyone grinned as though they liked this idea.
Travis cleared his throat. "Uh, if we find a really nice phone-" "No, you can't keep it," I said.
"Aw, man."
"Hold it, Percy," Jake Mason said. "You forgot the Lincoln Tunnel."
I bit back a curse. He was right. A Sherman tank and a hundred monsters were marching through that tunnel right now, and I'd positioned our forces everywhere else.
Then a girl's voice called from across the street: "How about you leave that to us?"
I'd never been happier to hear anyone in my life. Aband of thirty adolescent girls crossed Fifth Avenue. They wore white shirts, silvery camouflage pants, and combat boots. They all had swords at their sides, quivers on their backs, and bows at the ready. A pack of white timber wolves milled around their feet, and many of the girls had hunting falcons on their arms.
The girl in the lead had spiky black hair and a black leather jacket. She wore a silver circlet on her head like a princess's tiara, which didn't match her skull earrings or her Death to Barbie T-shirt showing a little Barbie doll with an arrow through its head.
"Thalia!" Annabeth cried.
The daughter of Zeus grinned. "The Hunters of Artemis, reporting for duty."
There were hugs and greetings all around . . . or at least Thalia was friendly. The other Hunters didn't like being around campers, especially boys, but they didn't shoot any of us, which for them was a pretty warm welcome.
"Where have you been the last year?" I asked Thalia. "You've got like twice as many Hunters now!"
She laughed. "Long, long story. I bet my adventures were more dangerous than yours, Jackson."
"Complete lie," I said.
"We'll see," she promised. "After this is over, you, Annabeth, and me: cheeseburgers and fries at that hotel on West 57th."
"Le Parker Meridien," I said. "You're on. And Thalia, thanks."
She shrugged. "Those monsters won't know what hit them. Hunters, move out!"
She slapped her silver bracelet, and the shield Aegis spiraled into full form. The golden head of Medusa molded in the center was so horrible, the campers all backed away. The Hunters took off down the avenue, followed by their wolves and falcons, and I had a feeling the Lincoln Tunnel would be safe for now.
"Thank the gods," Annabeth said. "But if we don't blockade the rivers from those boats, guarding the bridges and tunnels will be
pointless."
"You're right," I said.
I looked at the campers, all of them grim and determined. I tried not to feel like this was the last time I'd ever see them all together.
"You're the greatest heroes of this millennium," I told them. "It doesn't matter how many monsters come at you. Fight bravely, and we will win." I raised Riptide and shouted, "FOR OLYMPUS!"
They shouted in response, and our forty voices echoed off the buildings of Midtown. For a moment it sounded brave, but it died quickly in the silence of ten million sleeping New Yorkers.
Annabeth and I would've had our pick of cars, but they were all wedged in bumper-to-bumper traffic. None of the engines were running, which was weird. It seemed the drivers had had time to turn off the ignition before they got too sleepy. Or maybe Morpheus had the power to put engines to sleep as well. Most of the drivers had apparently tried to pull to the curb when they felt themselves passing out, but still the streets were too clogged to navigate.
Finally we found an unconscious courier leaning against a brick wall, still straddling his red Vespa. We dragged him off the scooter and laid him on the sidewalk.
"Sorry, dude," I said. With any luck, I'd be able to bring his scooter back. If I didn't, it would hardly matter, because the city would be destroyed.
I drove with Annabeth behind me holding on to my waist. We zigzagged down Broadway with our engine buzzing through the eerie calm. The only sounds were occasional cell phones ringing-like they were calling out to each other, as if New York had turned into a giant electronic aviary.
Our progress was slow. Every so often we'd come across pedestrians who'd fallen asleep right in front of a car, and we'd move them just to be safe. Once we stopped to extinguish a pretzel vendor's cart that had caught on fire. A few minutes later we had to rescue a baby carriage that was rolling aimlessly down the street. It turned out there was no baby in it-just somebody's sleeping poodle. Go figure. We parked it safely in a doorway and kept riding.
We were passing Madison Square Park when Annabeth said, "Pull over."
I stopped in the middle of East 23rd. Annabeth jumped off and ran toward the park. By the time I caught up with her, she was staring at a bronze statue on a red marble pedestal. I'd probably passed it a million times but never really looked at it.
The dude was sitting in a chair with his legs crossed. He wore an old-fashioned suit-Abraham Lincoln style-with a bow tie and long coattails and stuff. A bunch of bronze books were piled under his chair. He held a writing quill in one hand and a big metal sheet of parchment in the other.
"Why do we care about . . ." I squinted at the name on the pedestal. "William H. Steward?"
"Seward," Annabeth corrected. "He was a New York governor. Minor demigod-son of Hebe, I think. But that's not important. It's the statue I care about."
She climbed on a park bench and examined the base of the statue. "Don't tell me he's an automaton," I said.
Annabeth smiled. "Turns out most of the statues in the city are automatons. Daedalus planted them here just in case he needed an army."
"To attack Olympus or defend it?"
Annabeth shrugged. "Either one. That was plan twenty-three. He could activate one statue and it would start activating its brethren all over the city, until there was an army. It's dangerous, though. You know how unpredictable automatons are."
"Uh-huh," I said. We'd had our share of bad experiences with them. "You're seriously thinking about activating it?"
"I have Daedalus's notes," she said. "I think I can . . . Ah, here we go."
She pressed the tip of Seward's boot, and the statue stood up, its quill and paper ready.
"What's he going to do?" I muttered. "Take a memo?" "Shh," Annabeth. "Hello, William."
"Bill," I suggested.
"Bill . . . Oh, shut up," Annabeth told me. The statue tilted its head, looking at us with blank metal eyes.
Annabeth cleared her throat. "Hello, er, Governor Seward. Command sequence: Daedalus Twenty-three. Defend Manhattan. Begin Activation."
Seward jumped off his pedestal. He hit the ground so hard his shoes cracked the sidewalk. Then he went clanking off toward the east.
"He's probably going to wake up Confucius," Annabeth guessed. "What?" I said.
"Another statue, on Division. The point is, they'll keep waking each other up until they're all activated."
"And then?"
"Hopefully, they defend Manhattan."
"Do they know that we're not the enemy?" "I think so."
"That's reassuring." I thought about all the bronze statues in the parks, plazas, and buildings of New York. There had to be hundreds, maybe thousands.
Then a ball of green light exploded in the evening sky. Greek fire, somewhere over the East River.
"We have to hurry," I said. And we ran for the Vespa.
We parked outside Battery Park, at the lower tip of Manhattan where the Hudson and East Rivers came together and emptied into the bay.
"Wait here," I told Annabeth. "Percy, you shouldn't go alone."
"Well, unless you can breathe underwater . . ." She sighed. "You are so annoying sometimes."
"Like when I'm right? Trust me, I'll be fine. I've got the curse of Achilles now. I'll all invincible and stuff."
Annabeth didn't look convinced. "Just be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you. I mean, because we need you for the battle."
I grinned. "Back in a flash."
I clambered down the shoreline and waded into the water.
Just for you non-sea-god types out there, don't go swimming m New York Harbor. It may not be as filthy as it was in my mom's day, but that water will still probably make you grow a third eye or have mutant children when you grow up.
I dove into the murk and sank to the bottom. I tried to find the spot where the two rivers' currents seemed equal-where they met to form
the bay. I figured that was the best place to get their attention.
"HEY!" I shouted in my best underwater voice. The sound echoed in the darkness. "I heard you guys are so polluted you're embarrassed to show your faces. Is that true?"
A cold current rippled through the bay, churning up plumes of garbage and silt.
"I heard the East River is more toxic," I continued, "but the Hudson smells worse. Or is it the other way around?"
The water shimmered. Something powerful and angry was watching me now. I could sense its presence . . . or maybe two presences.
I was afraid I'd miscalculated with the insults. What if they just blasted me without showing themselves? But these were New York river gods. I figured their instinct would be to get in my face.
Sure enough, two giant forms appeared in front of me. At first they were just dark brown columns of silt, denser than the water around them. Then they grew legs, arms, and scowling faces.
The creature on the left looked disturbingly like a telkhine. His face was wolfish. His body was vaguely like a seal's-sleek black with flipper hands and feet. His eyes glowed radiation green.
The dude on the right was more humanoid. He was dressed in rags and seaweed, with a chain-mail coat made of bottle caps and old plastic six-pack holders. His face was blotchy with algae, and his beard was overgrown. His deep blue eyes burned with anger.
The seal, who had to be the god of the East River, said, "Are you
trying to get yourself killed, kid? Or are you just extra stupid?"
The bearded spirit of the Hudson scoffed. "You're the expert on stupid, East."
"Watch it, Hudson," East growled. "Stay on your side of the island
and mind your business."
"Or what? You'll throw another garbage barge at me?" They floated toward each other, ready to fight.
"Hold it!" I yelled. "We've got a bigger problem."
"The kid's right," East snarled. "Let's both kill him, then we'll fight each other."
"Sounds good," Hudson said.
Before I could protest, a thousand scraps of garbage surged off the bottom and flew straight at me from both directions: broken glass, rocks, cans, tires.
I was expecting it, though. The water in front of me thickened into a shield. The debris bounced off harmlessly. Only one piece got through-a big chunk of glass that hit my chest and probably should've killed me, but it shattered against my skin.
The two river gods stared at me. "Son of Poseidon?" East asked. I nodded.
"Took a dip in the Styx?" Hudson asked. "Yep."
They both made disgusted sounds.
"Well, that's perfect," East said. "Now how do we kill him?"
"We could electrocute him," Hudson mused. "If I could just find some jumper cables-"
"Listen to me!" I said. "Kronos's army is invading Manhattan.'"
"Don't you think we know that?" East asked. "I can feel his boats right now. They're almost across."
"Yep," Hudson agreed. "I got some filthy monsters crossing my waters too."
"So stop them," I said. "Drown them. Sink their boats."
"Why should we?" Hudson grumbled. "So they invade Olympus. What do we care?"
"Because I can pay you." I took out the sand dollar my father had given me for my birthday.
The river gods' eyes widened.
"It's mine!" East said. "Give it here, kid, and I promise none of Kronos's scum are getting across the East River."
"Forget that," Hudson said. "That sand dollar's mine, unless you want me to let all those ships cross the Hudson."
"We'll compromise." I broke the sand dollar in half. A ripple of clean fresh water spread out from the break, as if all the pollution in the bay were being dissolved.
"You each get half," I said. "In exchange, you keep all of Kronos's forces away from Manhattan."
"Oh, man," Hudson whimpered, reaching out for the sand dollar. "It's been so long since I was clean."
"The power of Poseidon," East River murmured. "He's a jerk, but he sure knows how to sweep pollution away."
They looked at each other, then spoke as one: "It's a deal."
I gave them each a sand-dollar half, which they held reverently. "Um, the invaders?" I prompted.
East flicked his hand. "They just got sunk."
Hudson snapped his fingers. "Bunch of hellhounds just took a dive."
"Thank you," I said. "Stay clean."
As I rose toward the surface, East called out, "Hey, kid, any time you got a sand dollar to spend, come on back. Assuming you live."
"Curse of Achilles," Hudson snorted. "They always think that'll save them, don't they?"
"If only he knew," East agreed. They both laughed, dissolving into the water.
Back on the shore, Annabeth was talking on her cell phone, but she hung up as soon as she saw me. She looked pretty shaken.
"It worked," I told her. "The rivers are safe."
"Good," she said. "Because we've got other problems. Michael Yew just called. Another army is marching over the Williamsburg Bridge. The Apollo cabin needs help. And Percy, the monster leading the enemy . . . it's the Minotaur."
CHAPTER ELEVEN WE BREAK A BRIDGE
Fortunately, Blackjack was on duty.
I did my best taxicab whistle, and within a few minutes two dark shapes circled out of the sky. They looked like hawks at first, but as they descended I could make out the long galloping legs of pegasi.
Yo, boss. Blackjack landed at a trot, his friend Porkpie right behind him. Man, I thought those wind gods were gonna knock us to Pennsylvania until we said we were with you!
"Thanks for coming," I told him. "Hey, why do pegasi gallop as they fly, anyway?"
Blackjack whinnied. Why do humans swing their arms as they walk? I dunno, boss. It just feels right. Where to?
"We need to get to the Williamsburg Bridge," I said.
Blackjack lowered his neck. You're darn right, boss. We flew over it on the way here, and it don't look good. Hop on!
On the way to the bridge, a knot formed in the pit of my stomach. The Minotaur was one of the first monsters I'd ever defeated. Four years ago he'd nearly killed my mother on Half-Blood Hill. I still had nightmares about that.
I'd been hoping he would stay dead for a few centuries, but I should've known my luck wouldn't hold.
We saw the battle before we were close enough to make out individual fighters. It was well after midnight now, but the bridge
blazed with light. Cars were burning. Arcs of fire streamed in both directions as flaming arrows and spears sailed through the air.
We came in for a low pass, and I saw the Apollo campers retreating. They would hide behind cars and snipe at the approaching army, setting off explosive arrows and dropping caltrops in the road, building fiery barricades wherever they could, dragging sleeping drivers out of their cars to get them out of harm's way. But the enemy kept advancing. An entire phalanx of dracaenae marched in the lead, their shields locked together, spear tips bristling over the top. An occasional arrow would connect with their snaky trunks, or a neck, or a chink in their armor, and the unlucky snake woman would disintegrate, but most of the Apollo arrows glanced harmlessly off their shield wall. About a hundred more monsters marched behind them.
Hellhounds leaped ahead of the line from time to time. Most were destroyed with arrows, but one got hold of an Apollo camper and dragged him away. I didn't see what happened to him next. I didn't want to know.
"There!" Annabeth called from the back of her pegasus.
Sure enough, in the middle of the invading legion was Old Beefhead himself.
The last time I'd seen the Minotaur, he'd been wearing nothing but his tighty whities. I don't know why. Maybe he'd been shaken out of bed to chase me. This time, he was prepared for battle.
From the waist down, he wore standard Greek battle gear-a kiltlike apron of leather and metal flaps, bronze greaves covering his legs, and tightly wrapped leather sandals. His top was all bull-hair and hide and muscle leading to a head so large he should've toppled over just from the weight of his horns. He seemed largerthan the last time
I'd seen him-ten feet tall at least. A double-bladed axe was strapped to his back, but he was too impatient to use it. As soon as he saw me circling overhead (or sniffed me, more likely, since his eyesight was bad), he bellowed and picked up a white limousine.
"Blackjack, dive!" I yelled.
What? The pegasus asked. No way could he . . . Holy horse feed!
We were at least a hundred feet up, but the limo came sailing toward us, flipping fender over fender like a two-ton boomerang. Annabeth and Porkpie swerved madly to the left, while Blackjack tucked in his wings and plunged. The limo sailed over my head, missing by maybe two inches. It cleared the suspension lines of the bridge and fell toward the East River.
Monsters jeered and shouted, and the Minotaur picked up another car.
"Drop us behind the lines with the Apollo cabin," I told Blackjack. "Stay in earshot but get out of danger!"
I ain't gonna argue, boss!
Blackjack swooped down behind an overturned school bus, where a couple of campers were hiding. Annabeth and I leaped off as soon as our pegasi's hooves touched the pavement. Then Blackjack and Porkpie soared into the night sky.
Michael Yew ran up to us. He was definitely the shortest commando I'd ever seen. He had a bandaged cut on his arm. His ferrety face was smeared with soot and his quiver was almost empty, but he was smiling like he was having a great time.
"Glad you could join us," he said. "Where are the other reinforcements?"
"For now, we're it," I said.
"Then we're dead," he said.
"You still have your flying chariot?" Annabeth asked.
"Nah," Michael said. "Left it at camp. I told Clarisse she could have it. Whatever, you know? Not worth fighting about anymore. But she said it was too late. We'd insulted her honor for the last time or some stupid thing."
"Least you tried," I said.
Michael shrugged. "Yeah, well, I called her some names when she said she still wouldn't fight. I doubt that helped. Here come the uglies!"
He drew an arrow and launched it toward the enemy. The arrow made a screaming sound as it flew. When it landed, it unleashed a blast like a power chord on an electric guitar magnified through the world's largest speakers. The nearest cars exploded. Monsters dropped their weapons and clasped their ears in pain. Some ran.
Others disintegrated on the spot.
"That was my last sonic arrow," Michael said.
"A gift from your dad?" I asked. "God of music?"
Michael grinned wickedly. "Loud music can be bad for you. Unfortunately, it doesn't always kill."
Sure enough, most monsters were regrouping, shaking off their confusion.
"We have to fall back," Michael said. "I've got Kayla and Austin setting traps farther down the bridge."
"No," I said. "Bring your campers forward to this position and wait for my signal. We're going to drive the enemy back to Brooklyn."
Michael laughed. "How do you plan to do that?"
I drew my sword.
"Percy," Annabeth said, "let me come with you."
"Too dangerous," I said. "Besides, I need you to help Michael coordinate the defensive line. I'll distract the monsters. You group up here. Move the sleeping mortals out of the way. Then you can start picking off monsters while I keep them focused on me. If anybody can do all that, you can."
Michael snorted. "Thanks a lot." I kept my eyes on Annabeth.
She nodded reluctantly. "All right. Get moving."
Before I could lose my courage, I said, "Don't I get a kiss for luck? It's kind of a tradition, right?"
I figured she would punch me. Instead, she drew her knife and stared at the army marching toward us. "Come back alive, Seaweed Brain. Then we'll see."
I figured it was the best offer I would get, so I stepped out from behind the school bus. I walked up the bridge in plain sight, straight toward the enemy.
When the Minotaur saw me, his eyes burned with hate. He bellowed- a sound that was somewhere between a yell, a moo, and a really loud belch.
"Hey, Beef Boy," I shouted back. "Didn't I kill you already?"
He pounded his fist into the hood of a Lexus, and it crumpled like aluminum foil.
A few dracaenae threw flaming javelins at me. I knocked them aside. A hellhound lunged, and I sidestepped. I could have stabbed it, but I hesitated.
This is not Mrs. O'Leary, I reminded myself. This is an untamed monster. It will kill me and all my friends.
It pounced again. This time I brought Riptide up in a deadly arc. The hellhound disintegrated into dust and fur.
More monsters surged forward-snakes and giants and telkhines-but the Minotaur roared at them, and they backed off
"One on one?" I called. "Just like old times?"
The Minotaur's nostrils quivered. He seriously needed to keep a pack of Aloe Vera Kleenex in his armor pocket, because that nose was wet and red and pretty gross. He unstrapped his axe and swung it around.
It was beautiful in a harsh I'm~going~to-gut~you~like~a~fish kind of way. Each of its twin blades was shaped like an omega: Ω-the last letter of the Greek alphabet. Maybe that was because the axe would be the last thing his victims ever saw. The shaft was about the same height as the Minotaur, bronze wrapped in leather. Tied around the base of each blade were lots of bead necklaces. I realized they were Camp Half-Blood beads-necklaces taken from defeated demigods.
I was so mad, I imagined my eyes glowing just like the Minotaur's. I raised my sword. The monster army cheered for the Minotaur, but the sound died when I dodged his first swing and sliced his axe in half, right between the handholds.
"Moo?" he grunted.
"HAAA!" I spun and kicked him in the snout. He staggered backward, trying to regain his footing, then lowered his head to charge.
He never got the chance. My sword flashed-slicing off one horn, then the other. He tried to grab me. I rolled away, picking up half of his broken axe. The other monsters backed up in stunned silence,
making a circle around us. The Minotaur bellowed in rage. He was never very smart to begin with, but now his anger made him reckless. He charged me, and I ran for the edge of the bridge, breaking through a line of dracaenae.
The Minotaur must've smelled victory. He thought I was trying to get away. His minions cheered. At the edge of the bridge, I turned and braced the axe against the railing to receive his charge. The Minotaur didn't even slow down.
CRUNCH.
He looked down in surprise at the axe handle sprouting from his breastplate.
"Thanks for playing," I told him.
I lifted him by his legs and tossed him over the side of the bridge. Even as he fell, he was disintegrating, turning back into dust, his essence returning to Tartarus.
I turned toward his army. It was now roughly one hundred and ninety-nine to one. I did the natural thing. I charged them.
You're going to ask how the "invincible" thing worked: if I magically dodged every weapon, or if the weapons hit me and just didn't harm me. Honestly, I don't remember. All I knew was that I wasn't going to let these monsters invade my hometown.
I sliced through armor like it was made of paper. Snake women exploded. Hellhounds melted to shadow. I slashed and stabbed and whirled, and I might have even laughed once or twice-a crazy laugh that scared me as much as it did my enemies. I was aware of the Apollo campers behind me shooting arrows, disrupting every attempt by the enemy to rally. Finally, the monsters turned and fled- about twenty left alive out of two hundred.
I followed with the Apollo campers at my heels.
"Yes!" yelled Michael Yew. "That's what I'm talking about!"
We drove them back toward the Brooklyn side of the bridge. The sky was growing pale m the east. I could see the toll stations ahead.
"Percy!" Annabeth yelled. "You've already routed them. Pull back! We're overextended!"
Some part of me knew she was right, but I was doing so well, I wanted to destroy every last monster.
Then I saw the crowd at the base of the bridge. The retreating monsters were running straight toward their reinforcements. It was a small group, maybe thirty or forty demigods in battle armor, mounted on skeletal horses. One of them held a purple banner with the black scythe design.
The lead horseman trotted forward. He took off his helm, and I recognized Kronos himself, his eyes like molten gold.
Annabeth and the Apollo campers faltered. The monsters we'd been pursuing reached the Titan's line and were absorbed into the new force. Kronos gazed in our direction. He was a quarter mile away, but I swear I could see him smile.
"Now," I said, "we pull back."
The Titan lord's men drew their swords and charged. The hooves of their skeletal horses thundered against the pavement. Our archers shot a volley, bringing down several of the enemy, but they just kept riding.
"Retreat!" I told my friends. "I'll hold them.'" In a matter of seconds they were on me.
Michael and his archers tried to retreat, but Annabeth stayed right
beside me, fighting with her knife and mirrored shield as we slowly backed up the bridge.
Kronos's cavalry swirled around us, slashing and yelling insults. The Titan himself advanced leisurely, like he had all the time in the world. Being the lord of time, I guess he did.
I tried to wound his men, not kill. That slowed me down, but these weren't monsters. They were demigods who'd fallen under Kronos's spell. I couldn't see faces under l heir battle helmets, but some of them had probably been my friends. I slashed the legs off their horses and made the skeletal mounts disintegrate. After the first few demigods took a spill, the rest figured out they'd better dismount and fight me on foot.
Annabeth and I stayed shoulder to shoulder, facing opposite directions. A dark shape passed over me, and I dared to glance up. Blackjack and Porkpie were swooping in, kicking our enemies in the helmets and flying away like very large kamikaze pigeons.
We'd almost made it to the middle of the bridge when something strange happened. I felt a chill down my spine-like that old saying about someone walking on your grave. Behind me, Annabeth cried out in pain.
"Annabeth!" I turned in time to see her fall, clutching her arm. A demigod with a bloody knife stood over her.
In a flash I understood what had happened. He'd been trying to stab me. Judging from the position of his blade, he would've taken me- maybe by sheer luck-in the small of my back, my only weak point.
Annabeth had intercepted the knife with her own body.
But why? She didn't know about my weak spot. No one did.
I locked eyes with the enemy demigod. He wore an eye patch under
his war helm: Ethan Nakamura, the son of Nemesis. Somehow he'd survived the explosion on the Princess Andromeda. I slammed him in the face with my sword hilt so hard I dented his helm.
"Get back!" I slashed the air in a wide arc, driving the rest of the demigods away from Annabeth. "No one touches her!"
"Interesting," Kronos said.
He towered above me on his skeletal horse, his scythe in one hand. He studied the scene with narrowed eyes as if he could sense that I'd just come close to death, the way a wolf can smell fear.
"Bravely fought, Percy Jackson," he said. "But it's time to surrender .
. . or the girl dies."
"Percy, don't," Annabeth groaned. Her shirt was soaked with blood. I had to get her out of here.
"Blackjack!" I yelled.
As fast as light, the pegasus swooped down and clamped his teeth on the straps of Annabeth's armor. They soared away over the river before the enemy could even react.
Kronos snarled. "Some day soon, I am going to make pegasus soup. But in the meantime . . ." He dismounted, his scythe glistening in the dawn light. "I'll settle for another dead demigod."
I met his first strike with Riptide. The impact shook the entire bridge, but I held my ground. Kronos's smile wavered.
With a yell, I kicked his legs out from under him. His scythe skittered across the pavement. I stabbed downward, but he rolled aside and regained his footing. His scythe flew back to his hands.
"So . . ." He studied me, looking mildly annoyed. "You had the courage to visit the Styx. I had to pressure Luke in many ways to convince him. If only you had supplied my host body instead . . . But
no matter. I am still more powerful. I am a TITAN."
He struck the bridge with the butt of his scythe, and a wave of pure force blasted me backward. Cars went careening. Demigods-even Luke's own men-were blown off the edge of the bridge. Suspension cords whipped around, and I skidded halfway back to Manhattan.
I got unsteadily to my feet. The remaining Apollo campers had almost made it to the end of the bridge, except for Michael Yew, who was perched on one of the suspension cables a few yards away from me, His last arrow was notched in his bow.
"Michael, go!" I screamed.
"Percy, the bridge!" he called. "It's already weak!"
At first I didn't understand. Then I looked down and saw fissures in the pavement. Patches of the road were half melted from Greek fire. The bridge had taken a beating from Kronos's blast and the exploding arrows.
"Break it!" Michael yelled. "Use your powers!"
It was a desperate thought-no way it would work- but I stabbed Riptide into the bridge. The magic blade sank to its hilt m asphalt. Salt water shot from the crack like I'd hit a geyser. I pulled out my blade and the fissure grew. The bridge shook and began to crumble. Chunks the size of houses fell into the East River. Kronos's demigods cried out in alarm and scrambled backward. Some were knocked off their feet. Within a few seconds, a fifty-foot chasm opened in the Williamsburg Bridge between Kronos and me.
The vibrations died. Kronos's men crept to the edge and looked at the hundred-and-thirty-foot drop into the river.
I didn't feel safe, though. The suspension cables were still attached. The men could get across that way if they were brave enough. Or
maybe Kronos had a magic way to span the gap.
The Titan lord studied the problem. He looked behind him at the rising sun, then smiled across the chasm. He raised his scythe in a mock salute. "Until this evening, Jackson."
He mounted his horse, whirled around, and galloped back to Brooklyn, followed by his warriors.
I turned to thank Michael Yew, but the words died in my throat. Twenty feet away, a bow lay in the street. Its owner was nowhere to be seen.
"No!" I searched the wreckage on my side of the bridge. I stared down at the river. Nothing.
I yelled in anger and frustration. The sound carried forever in the morning stillness. I was about to whistle for Blackjack to help me search, when my mom's phone rang. The LCD display said I had a call from Finklestein & Associates-probably a demigod calling on a borrowed phone.
I picked up, hoping for good news. Of course I was wrong.
"Percy?" Silena Beauregard sounded like she'd been crying. "Plaza Hotel. You'd better come quickly and bring a healer from Apollo's cabin. It's . . . it's Annabeth."
CHAPTER TWELVE RACHEL MAKES A
BAD DEAL
I grabbed Will Solace from the Apollo cabin and told the rest of his siblings to keep searching for Michael Yew. We borrowed a Yamaha FZI from a sleeping biker and drove to the Plaza Hotel at speeds that would've given my mom a heart attack. I'd never driven a motorcycle before, but it wasn't any harder than riding a pegasus.
Along the way, I noticed a lot of empty pedestals that usually held statues. Plan twenty-three seemed to be working. I didn't know if that was good or bad.
It only took us five minutes to reach the Plaza-an old-fashioned white stone hotel with a gabled blue roof, sitting at the southeast corner of Central Park.
Tactically speaking, the Plaza wasn't the best place for a headquarters. It wasn't the tallest building in town, or the most centrally located. But it had old-school style and had attracted a lot of famous demigods over the years, like the Beatles and Alfred Hitchcock, so I figured we were in good company.
I gunned the Yamaha over the curb and swerved to a stop at the fountain outside the hotel.
Will and I hopped off. The statue at the top of the fountain called down, "Oh, fine. I suppose you want me to watch your bike too!"
She was a life-size bronze standing in the middle of a granite bowl. She wore only a bronze sheet around her legs, and she was holding a basket of metal fruit. I'd never paid her too much attention before.
Then again, she'd never talked to me before. "Are you supposed to be Demeter?" I asked. A bronze apple sailed over my head.
"Everyone thinks I'm Demeter.'" she complained. "I'm Pompona, the Roman Goddess of Plenty, but why should you care? Nobody cares about the minor gods. If you cared about the minor gods, you wouldn't be losing this war! Three cheers for Morpheus and Hecate, I say!"
"Watch the bike," I told her.
Pompona cursed in Latin and threw more fruit as Will and I ran toward the hotel.
I'd never actually been inside the Plaza. The lobby was impressive, with the crystal chandeliers and the passed-out rich people, but I didn't pay much attention. A couple of Hunters gave us directions to the elevators, and we rode up to the penthouse suites.
Demigods had completely taken over the top floors. Campers and Hunters were crashed out on sofas, washing up in the bathrooms, ripping silk draperies to bandage their wounds, and helping themselves to snacks and sodas from the minibars. A couple of timber wolves were drinking out of the toilets. I was relieved to see that so many of my friends had made it through the night alive, but everybody looked beat up.
"Percy!" Jake Mason clapped me on the shoulder. "We're getting reports-"
"Later," I said. "Where's Annabeth?"
"The terrace. She's alive, man, but . . ." I pushed past him.
Under different circumstances I would've loved the view from the terrace. It looked straight down onto Central Park. The morning was clear and bright-perfect for a picnic or a hike, or pretty much anything except fighting monsters.
Annabeth lay on a lounge chair. Her face was pale and beaded with sweat. Even though she was covered in blankets, she shivered.
Silena Beauregard was wiping her forehead with a cool cloth.
Will and I pushed through a crowd of Athena kids. Will unwrapped Annabeth's bandages to examine the wound, and I wanted to faint. The bleeding had stopped but the gash looked deep. The skin around the cut was a horrible shade of green.
"Annabeth . . ." I choked up. She'd taken that knife for me. How could I have let that happen?
"Poison on the dagger," she mumbled. "Pretty stupid of me, huh?"
Will Solace exhaled with relief. "It's not so bad, Annabeth. A few more minutes and we would've been in trouble, but the venom hasn't gotten past the shoulder yet. Just lie still. Somebody hand me some nectar."
I grabbed a canteen. Will cleaned out the wound with the godly drink while I held Annabeth's hand.
"Ow,"she said. "Ow, ow!" She gripped my fingers so tight they turned purple, but she stayed still, like Will asked. Silena muttered words of encouragement. Will put some silver paste over the wound and hummed words in Ancient Greek-a hymn to Apollo. Then he applied fresh bandages and stood up shakily.
The healing must've taken a lot of his energy. He looked almost as
pale as Annabeth.
"That should do it," he said. "But we're going to need some mortal supplies."
He grabbed a piece of hotel stationery, jotted down some notes, and handed it to one of the Athena guys. "There's a Duane Reade on Fifth. Normally I would never steal-"
"I would," Travis volunteered.
Will glared at him. "Leave cash or drachmas to pay, whatever you've got, but this is an emergency. I've got a feeling we're going to have a lot more people to treat."
Nobody disagreed. There was hardly a single demigod who hadn't already been wounded . . . except me.
"Come on, guys," Travis Stoll said. "Let's give Annabeth some space. We've got a drugstore to raid . . . I mean, visit."
The demigods shuffled back inside. Jake Mason grabbed my shoulder as he was leaving. "We'll talk later, but it's under control. I'm using Annabeth's shield to keep an eye on things. The enemy withdrew at sunrise; not sure why. We've got a lookout at each bridge and tunnel."
"Thanks, man," I said.
He nodded. "Just take your time."
He closed the terrace doors behind him, leaving Silena, Annabeth, and me alone.
Silena pressed a cool cloth to Annabeth's forehead. "This is all my fault."
"No," Annabeth said weakly. "Silena, how is it your fault?"
"I've never been any good at camp," she murmured. "Not like you or
Percy. If I was a better fighter . . ."
Her mouth trembled. Ever since Beckendorf died she'd been getting worse, and every time I looked at her, it made me angry about his death all over again. Her expression reminded me of glass-like she might break any minute. I swore to myself that if I ever found the spy who'd cost her boyfriend his life, I would give him to Mrs.
O'Leary as a chew toy.
"You're a great camper," I told Silena. "You're the best pegasus rider we have. And you get along with people. Believe me, anyone who can make friends with Clarisse has talent."
She stared at me like I'd just given her an idea. "That's it! We need the Ares cabin. I can talk to Clarisse. I know I can convince her to help us."
"Whoa, Silena. Even if you could get off the island, Clarisse is pretty stubborn. Once she gets angry-"
"Please," Silena said. "I can take a pegasus. I know I can make it back to camp. Let me try."
I exchanged looks with Annabeth. She nodded slightly.
I didn't like the idea. I didn't think Silena stood a chance of convincing Clarisse to fight. On the other hand, Silena was so distracted right now that she would just get herself hurt in battle. Maybe sending her back to camp would give her something else to focus on.
"All right," I told her. "I can't think of anybody better to try."
Silena threw her arms around me. Then she pushed back awkwardly, glancing at Annabeth. "Um, sorry. Thank you, Percy! I won't let you down!"
Once she was gone, I knelt next to Annabeth and felt her forehead.
She was still burning up.
"You're cute when you're worried," she muttered. "Your eyebrows get all scrunched together."
"You are not going to die while I owe you a favor," I said. "Why did you take that knife?"
"You would've done the same for me."
It was true. I guess we both knew it. Still, I felt like somebody was poking my heart with a cold metal rod. "How did you know?"
"Know what?"
I looked around to make sure we were alone. Then I leaned in close and whispered: "My Achilles spot. If you hadn't taken that knife, I would've died."
She got a faraway look in her eyes. Her breath smelled of grapes, maybe from the nectar. "I don't know, Percy. I just had this feeling you were in danger. Where . . . where is the spot?"
I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. But this was Annabeth. If I couldn't trust her, I couldn't trust anyone.
"The small of my back."
She lifted her hand. "Where? Here?"
She put her hand on my spine, and my skin tingled. I moved her fingers to the one spot that grounded me to my mortal life. A thousand volts of electricity seemed to arc through my body.
"You saved me," I said. "Thanks."
She removed her hand, but I kept holding it.
"So you owe me," she said weakly. "What else is new?"
We watched the sun come up over the city. The traffic should've been heavy by now, but there were no cars honking, no crowds
bustling along the sidewalks.
Far away, I could hear a car alarm echo through the streets. A plume of black smoke curled into the sky somewhere over Harlem. I wondered how many ovens had been left on when the Morpheus spell hit; how many people had fallen asleep in the middle of cooking dinner. Pretty soon there would be more fires. Everyone in New York was in danger-and all those lives depended on us.
"You asked me why Hermes was mad at me," Annabeth said. "Hey, you need to rest-"
"No, I want to tell you. It's been bothering me for a long time." She moved her shoulder and winced. "Last year, Luke came to see me in San Francisco."
"In person?" I felt like she'd just hit me with a hammer. "He came to your house?"
"This was before we went into the Labyrinth, before . . ." She faltered, but I knew what she meant: before be turned into Kronos. "He came under a flag of truce. He said he only wanted five minutes to talk. He looked scared, Percy. He told me Kronos was going to use him to take over the world. He said he wanted to run away, like the old days. He wanted me to come with him."
"But you didn't trust him."
"Ofcourse not. I thought it was a trick. Plus . . . well, a lot of things had changed since the old days. I told Luke there was no way. He got mad. He said . . . he said I might as well fight him right there, because it was the last chance I'd get."
Her forehead broke out in sweat again. The story was taking too much of her energy.
"It's okay," I said. "Try to get some rest."
"You don't understand, Percy. Hermes was right. Maybe if I'd gone with him, I could've changed his mind. Or-or I had a knife. Luke was unarmed. I could've-"
"Killed him?" I said. "You know that wouldn't have been right."
She squeezed her eyes shut. "Luke said Kronos would use him like a stepping stone. Those were his exact words. Kronos would use Luke, and become even more powerful."
"He did that," I said. "He possessed Luke's body."
"But what if Luke's body is only a transition? What if Kronos has a plan to become even more powerful? I could've stopped him. The war is my fault."
Her story made me feel like I was back in the Styx, slowly dissolving. I remembered last summer, when the two-headed god, Janus, had warned Annabeth she would have to make a major choice-and that had happened after she saw Luke. Pan had also said
something to her: You will play a great role, though it may not be the role you imagined.
I wanted to ask her about the vision Hestia had shown me, about her early days with Luke and Thalia. I knew it had something to do with my prophecy, but I didn't understand what.
Before I could get up my nerve, the terrace door opened. Connor Stoll stepped through.
"Percy." He glanced at Annabeth like he didn't want to say anything bad in front of her, but I could tell he wasn't bringing good news. "Mrs. O'Leary just came back with Grover. I think you should talk to him."
Grover was having a snack in the living room. He was dressed for battle in an armored shirt made from tree bark and twist ties, with his
wooden cudgel and his reed pipes hanging from his belt.
The Demeter cabin had whipped up a whole buffet in the hotel kitchens-everything from pizza to pineapple ice cream.
Unfortunately, Grover was eating the furniture. He'd already chewed the stuffing off a fancy chair and was now gnawing the armrest.
"Dude," I said, "we're only borrowing this place."
"Blah-ha-ha!" He had stuffing all over his face. "Sorry, Percy. It's just . . . Louis the Sixteenth furniture. Delicious. Plus I always eat furniture when I get-"
"When you get nervous," I said. "Yeah, I know. So what's up?" He clopped on his hooves. "I heard about Annabeth. Is she . . .?" "She's going to be fine. She's resting."
Grover took a deep breath. "That's good. I've mobilized most of the nature spirits in the city-well, the ones that will listen to me, anyway." He rubbed his forehead. "I had no idea acorns could hurt so much. Anyway, we're helping out as much as we can."
He told me about the skirmishes they'd seen. Mostly they'd been covering uptown, where we didn't have enough demigods.
Hellhounds had appeared in all sorts of places, shadow-traveling inside our lines, and the dryads and satyrs had been fighting them off. A young dragon had appeared in Harlem, and a dozen wood nymphs died before the monster was finally defeated.
As Grover talked, Thalia entered the room with two of her lieutenants. She nodded to me grimly, went outside to check on Annabeth, and came back in. She listened while Grover completed his report-the details getting worse and worse.
"We lost twenty satyrs against some giants at Fort Washington," he said, his voice trembling. "Almost half my kinsmen. River spirits
drowned the giants in the end, but . . ."
Thalia shouldered her bow. "Percy, Kronos's forces are still gathering at every bridge and tunnel. And Kronos isn't the only Titan. One of my Hunters spotted a huge man in golden armor mustering an army on the Jersey shore. I'm not sure who he is, but he radiates power like only a Titan or god."
I remembered the golden Titan from my dream-the one on Mount Othrys who erupted into flames.
"Great," I said. "Any good news?"
Thalia shrugged. "We've sealed off the subway tunnels into Manhattan. My best trappers took care of it. Also, it seems like the enemy is waiting for tonight to attack. I think Luke"-she caught herself-"I mean Kronos needs time to regenerate after each fight.
He's still not comfortable with his new form. It's taking a lot of his power to slow time around the city."
Grover nodded. "Most of his forces are more powerful at night, too. But they'll be back after sundown."
I tried to think clearly. "Okay. Any word from the gods?"
Thalia shook her head. "I know Lady Artemis would be here if she could. Athena, too. But Zeus has ordered them to stay at his side.
The last I heard, Typhon was destroying the Ohio River valley. He should reach the Appalachian Mountains by midday."
"So at best," I said, "we've got another two days before he arrives."
Jake Mason cleared his throat. He'd been standing there so silently I'd almost forgotten he was in the room.
"Percy, something else," he said. "The way Kronos showed up at the Williamsburg Bridge, like he knew you were going there. And he shifted his forces to our weakest points. As soon as we deployed, he
changed tactics. He barely touched the Lincoln Tunnel, where the Hunters were strong. He went for our weakest spots, like he knew."
"Like he had inside information," I said. "The spy." "What spy?" Thalia demanded.
I told her about the silver charm Kronos had shown me, the communication device.
"That's bad," she said. "Very bad."
"It could be anyone," Jake said. "We were all standing there when Percy gave the orders."
"But what can we do?" Grover asked. "Frisk every demigod until we find a scythe charm?"
They all looked at me, waiting for a decision. I couldn't afford to show how panicked I felt, even if things seemed hopeless.
"We keep fighting," I said. "We can't obsess about this spy. If we're suspicious of each other, we'll just tear ourselves apart. You guys were awesome last night. I couldn't ask for a braver army. Let's set up a rotation for the watches. Rest up while you can. We've got a long night ahead of us."
The demigods mumbled agreement. They went their separate ways to sleep or eat or repair their weapons.
"Percy, you too," Thalia said. "We'll keep an eye on things. Go lie down. We need you in good shape for tonight."
I didn't argue too hard. I found the nearest bedroom and crashed on the canopied bed. I thought I was too wired to sleep, but my eyes closed almost immediately.
In my dream, I saw Nico di Angelo alone in the gardens of Hades. He'd just dug a hole in one of Persephone's flower beds, which I
didn't figure would make the queen very happy.
He poured a goblet of wine into the hole and began to chant. "Let the dead taste again. Let them rise and take this offering. Maria di Angelo, show yourself!"
White smoke gathered. A human figure formed, but it wasn't Nico's mother. It was a girl with dark hair, olive skin, and the silvery clothes of a Hunter.
"Bianca," Nico said. "But-"
Don't summon our mother, Nico, she warned. She is the one spirit you are forbidden to see.
"Why?" he demanded. "What's our father hiding?"
Pain, Bianca said. Hatred. A curse that stretches back to the Great Prophecy.
"What do you mean?" Nico said. "I have to know!"
The knowledge will only hurt you. Remember what I said: holding grudges is a fatal flaw for children of Hades.
"Iknow that," Nico said. "But I'm not the same as I used to be, Bianca. Stop trying to protect me!"
Brother, you don't understand-
Nico swiped his hand through the mist, and Bianca s image dissipated.
"Maria di Angelo," he said again. "Speak to me!"
A different image formed. It was a scene rather than a single ghost. In the mist, I saw Nico and Bianca as little children, playing in the lobby of an elegant hotel, chasing each other around marble columns.
A woman sat on a nearby sofa. She wore a black dress, gloves, and a
black veiled hat like a star from an old 1940s movie. She had Bianca's smile and Nico's eyes.
On a chair next to her sat a large oily man in a black pinstripe suit. With a shock, I realized it was Hades. He was leaning toward the woman, using his hands as he talked, like he was agitated.
"Please, my dear," he said. "You must come to the Underworld. I don't care what Persephone thinks! I can keep you safe there."
"No, my love." She spoke with an Italian accent. "Raise our children in the land of the dead? I will not do this."
"Maria, listen to me. The war in Europe has turned the other gods against me. A prophecy has been made. My children are no longer safe. Poseidon and Zeus have forced me into an agreement. None of us are to have demigod children ever again."
"But you already have Nico and Bianca. Surely-"
"No! The prophecy warns of a child who turns sixteen. Zeus has decreed that the children I currently have must be turned over to Camp Half-Blood for proper training, but I know what he means. At best they'll be watched, imprisoned, turned against their father. Even more likely, he will not take a chance. He won't allow my demigod children to reach sixteen. He'll find a way to destroy them, and I won't risk that!"
"Certamente,"Maria said. "We will stay together. Zeus is un imbecile."
I couldn't help admiring her courage, but Hades glanced nervously at the ceiling. "Maria, please. I told you, Zeus gave me a deadline of last week to turn over the children. His wrath will be horrible, and I cannot hide you forever. As long as you are with the children, you are in danger too."
Maria smiled, and again it was creepy how much she looked like her daughter. "You are a god, my love. You will protect us. But I will not take Nico and Bianca to the Underworld."
Hades wrung his hands. "Then, there is another option. I know a place in the desert where time stands still. I could send the children there, just for a while, for their own safety, and we could be together. I will build you a golden palace by the Styx."
Maria di Angelo laughed gently. "You are a kind man, my love. A generous man. The other gods should see you as I do, and they would not fear you so. But Nico and Bianca need their mother.
Besides, they are only children. The gods wouldn't really hurt them."
"You don't know my family," Hades said darkly. "Please, Maria, I can't lose you."
She touched his lips with her fingers. "You will not lose me. Wait for me while I get my purse. Watch the children."
She kissed the lord of the dead and rose from the sofa. Hades watched her walk upstairs as if her every step away caused him pain.
A moment later, he tensed. The children stopped playing as if they sensed something too.
"No!" Hades said. But even his godly powers were too slow. He only had time to erect a wall of black energy around the children before the hotel exploded.
The force was so violent, the entire mist image dissolved.
When it came into focus again, I saw Hades kneeling in the ruins, holding the broken form of Maria di Angelo. Fires still burned all around him. Lightning flashed across the sky, and thunder rumbled.
Little Nico and Bianca stared at their mother uncomprehendingly. The Fury Alecto appeared behind them, hissing and flapping her
leathery wings. The children didn't seem to notice her.
"Zeus!" Hades shook his fist at the sky. "I will crush you for this! I willbring her back!"
"My lord, you cannot," Alecto warned. "You of all immortals must respect the laws of death."
Hades glowed with rage. I thought he would show his true form and vaporize his own children, but at the last moment he seemed to regain control.
"Take them," he told Alecto, choking back a sob. "Wash their memories clean m the Lethe and bring them to the Lotus Hotel. Zeus will not harm them there."
"As you wish, my lord," Alecto said. "And the woman's body? "Take her as well," he said bitterly. "Give her the ancient rites."
Alecto, the children, and Maria's body dissolved into shadows, leaving Hades alone in the ruins.
"I warned you," a new voice said.
Hades turned. A girl in a multicolored dress stood by the smoldering remains of the sofa. She had short black hair and sad eyes. She was no more than twelve. I didn't know her, but she looked strangely familiar.
"You dare come here?" Hades growled. "I should blast you to dust!" "You cannot," the girl said. "The power of Delphi protects me."
With a chill, I realized I was looking at the Oracle of Delphi, back when she was alive and young. Somehow, seeing her like this was even spookier than seeing her as a mummy.
"You've killed the woman I loved!" Hades roared. "Your prophecy brought us to this.'"
He loomed over the girl, but she didn't flinch.
"Zeus ordained the explosion to destroy the children," she said, "because you defied his will. I had nothing to do with it. And I did warn you to hide them sooner."
"I couldn't! Maria would not let me! Besides, they were innocent."
"Nevertheless, they are your children, which makes them dangerous. Even if you put them away in the Lotus Hotel, you only delay the problem. Nico and Bianca will never be able to rejoin the world lest they turn sixteen."
"Because of your so-called Great Prophecy. And you have forced me into an oath to have no other children. You have left me with nothing!"
"I foresee the future," the girl said. "I cannot change it."
Black fire lit the god's eyes, and I knew something bad was coming. I wanted to yell at the girl to hide or run.
"Then, Oracle, hear the words of Hades," he growled. "Perhaps I cannot bring back Maria. Nor can I bring yon an early death. But your soul is still mortal, and I can curse you."
The girl's eyes widened. "You would not-"
"I swear," Hades said, "as long as my children remain outcasts, as long as I labor under the curse of your Great Prophecy, the Oracle of Delphi will never have another mortal host. You will never rest in peace. No other will take your place. Your body will wither and die, and still the Oracle's spirit will be locked inside you. You will speak your bitter prophecies until you crumble to nothing. The Oracle will die with you!"
The girl screamed, and the misty image was blasted to shreds. Nico fell to his knees in Persephone's garden, his face white with shock.
Standing in front of him was the real Hades, towering in his black robes and scowling down at his son.
"And just what," he asked Nico, "do you think you're doing?" A black explosion filled my dreams. Then the scene changed.
Rachel Elizabeth Dare was walking along a white sand beach. She wore a swimsuit with a T-shirt wrapped around her waist. Her shoulders and face were sunburned.
She knelt and began writing in the surf with her finger. I tried to make out the letters. I thought my dyslexia was acting up until I realized she was writing in Ancient Greek.
That was impossible. The dream had to be false.
Rachel finished writing a few words and muttered, "What in the world?"
I can read Greek, but I only recognized one word before the sea washed it away: Περσεύς. My name: Perseus.
Rachel stood abruptly and backed away from the surf. "Oh, gods," she said. "That's what it means."
She turned and ran, kicking up sand as she raced back to her family's villa.
She pounded up the porch steps, breathing hard. Her father looked up from his Wall Street Journal
"Dad." Rachel marched up to him. "We have to go back."
Her dad's mouth twitched, like he was trying to remember how to smile. "Back? We just got here."
"There's trouble in New York. Percy's in danger." "Did he call you?"
"No . . . not exactly. But I know. It's a feeling."
Mr. Dare folded his newspaper. "Your mother and I have been looking forward to this vacation for a long time."
"No you haven't! You both hate the beach! You're just too stubborn to admit it."
"Now, Rachel-"
"I'm telling you something is wrong in New York! The whole city . . . I don't know what exactly, but it's under attack."
Her father sighed. "I think we would've heard some thing like that on the news."
"No," Rachel insisted. "Not this kind of attack. Have you had any calls since we got here?"
Her father frowned. "No . . . but it is the weekend, in the middle of the summer."
"You always get calls," Rachel said. "You've got to admit that's strange."
Her father hesitated. "We can't just leave. We've spent a lot of money."
"Look," Rachel said. "Daddy . . . Percy needs me. I have to deliver a message. It's life or death."
"What message? What are you talking about?" "I can't tell you.
"Then you can't go."
Rachel closed her eyes like she was getting up her courage. "Dad . . . let me go, and I'll make a deal with you."
Mr. Dare sat forward. Deals were something he understood. "I'm listening."
"Clarion Ladies Academy. I'll-I'll go there in the fall. I won't even complain. But you have to get me back to New York right now."
He was silent for a long time. Then he opened his phone and made a call.
"Douglas? Prep the plane. We're leaving for New York. Yes . . . immediately."
Rachel flung her arms around him, and her father seemed surprised, like she'd never hugged him before.
"I'll make it up to you, Dad!"
He smiled, but his expression was chilly. He studied her like he wasn't seeing his daughter-just the young lady he wanted her to be, once Clarion Academy got through with her.
"Yes, Rachel," he agreed. "You most certainly will." The scene faded. I mumbled in my sleep: "Rachel, no!"
I was still tossing and turning when Thalia shook me awake.
"Percy," she said. "Come on. It's late afternoon.
We've got visitors."
I sat up, disoriented. The bed was too comfortable, and I hated sleeping in the middle of the day.
"Visitors?" I said.
Thalia nodded grimly. "A Titan wants to see you, under a flag of truce. He has a message from Kronos."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN A TITAN BRINGS ME
A PRESENT
We could see the white flag from half a mile away. It was as big as a soccer field, carried by a thirty-foot-tall giant with bright blue skin and icy gray hair.
"A Hyperborean," Thalia said. "The giants of the north. It's a bad sign that they sided with Kronos. They're usually peaceful."
"You've met them?" I said.
"Mmm. There's a big colony in Alberta. You do not want to get into a snowball fight with those guys."
As the giant got closer, I could see three human-size envoys with him: a half-blood in armor, an empousa demon with a black dress and flaming hair, and a tall man in a tuxedo. The empousa held the tux dude's arm, so they looked like a couple on their way to a Broadway show or something-
except for her flaming hair and fangs.
The group walked leisurely toward the Heckscher Playground. The swings and ball courts were empty. The only sound was the fountain on Umpire Rock.
I looked at Grover. "The tux dude is the Titan?"
He nodded nervously. "He looks like a magician. I hate magicians.
They usually have rabbits."
I stared at him. "You're scared of bunnies?"
"Blah-hah-hah! They're big bullies. Always stealing celery from defenseless satyrs!"
Thalia coughed.
"What?" Grover demanded.
"We'll have to work on your bunny phobia later," I said. "Here they come."
The man in the tux stepped forward. He was taller than an average human-about seven feet. His black hair was tied in a ponytail. Dark round glasses covered his eyes, but what really caught my attention was the skin on his face. It was covered in scratches, like he'd been attacked by a small animal-a really, really mad hamster, maybe.
"Percy Jackson," he said in a silky voice. "It's a great honor."
His lady friend the empousa hissed at me. She'd probably heard how I'd destroyed two of her sisters last summer.
"My dear," Tux Dude said to her. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable over there, eh?"
She released his arm and drifted over to a park bench.
I glanced at the armed demigod behind Tux Dude. 1 hadn't recognized him in his new helmet, but it was my old backstabbing buddy Ethan Nakamura. His nose looked like a squashed tomato from our fight on the Williamsburg Bridge. That made me feel better.
"Hey, Ethan," I said. "You're looking good." Ethan glared at me.
"To business." Tux Dude extended his hand. "I am Prometheus."
I was too surprised to shake. "The fire-stealer guy? The chained-to- the-rock-with-the-vultures guy?"
Prometheus winced. He touched the scratches on his face. "Please, don't mention the vultures. But yes, I stole fire from the gods and gave it to your ancestors. In return, the ever merciful Zeus had me chained to a rock and tortured for all eternity."
"But-"
"How did I get free? Hercules did that, eons ago. So you see, I have a soft spot for heroes. Some of you can be quite civilized."
"Unlike the company you keep," I noticed.
I was looking at Ethan, but Prometheus apparently thought I meant the empousa.
"Oh, demons aren't so bad," he said. "You just have to keep them well fed. Now, Percy Jackson, let us parley."
He waved me toward a picnic table and we sat down. Thalia and Grover stood behind me.
The blue giant propped his white flag against a tree and began absently playing on the playground. He stepped on the monkey bars and crushed them, but he didn't seem angry. He just frowned and said, "Uh-oh." Then he stepped in the fountain and broke the concrete bowl in half. "Uh-oh." The water froze where his foot touched it. A bunch of stuffed animals hung from his belt-the huge kind you get for grand prizes at an arcade. He reminded me of Tyson, and the idea of fighting him made me sad.
Prometheus sat forward and laced his fingers. He looked earnest, kindly, and wise. "Percy, your position is weak. You know you can't stop another assault."
"We'll see."
Prometheus looked pained, like he really cared what happened to me. "Percy, I'm the Titan of forethought. I know what's going to happen."
"Also the Titan of crafty counsel," Grover put in. "Emphasis on
crafty."
Prometheus shrugged. "True enough, satyr. But I supported the gods in the last war. I told Kronos: 'You don't have the strength. You'll lose.' And I was right. So you see, I know how to pick the winning side. This time, I'm backing Kronos."
"Because Zeus chained you to a rock," I guessed.
"Partly, yes. I won't deny I want revenge. But that's not the only reason I'm supporting Kronos. It's the wisest choice. I'm here because I thought you might listen to reason."
He drew a map on the table with his finger. Wherever he touched, golden lines appeared, glowing on the concrete. "This is Manhattan. We have armies here, here, here, and here. We know your numbers. We outnumber you twenty to one."
"Your spy has been keeping you posted," I guessed.
Prometheus smiled apologetically. "At any rate, our forces are growing daily. Tonight, Kronos will attack. You will be overwhelmed. You've fought bravely, but there's just no way you can hold all of Manhattan. You'll be forced to retreat to the Empire State Building. There you'll be destroyed. I have seen this. It will happen."
I thought about the picture Rachel had drawn in my dreams-an army at the base of the Empire State Building. I remembered the words of the young girl Oracle in my dream: I foresee the future. I cannot change it. Prometheus spoke with such certainty it was hard not to believe him.
"I won't let it happen," I said.
Prometheus brushed a speck off his tux lapel. "Understand, Percy. You are refighting the Trojan War here. Patterns repeat themselves in history. They reappear just as monsters do. A great siege. Two armies. The only difference is, this time you are defending. You are Troy. And you know what happened to the Trojans, don't you?"
"So you're going to cram a wooden horse into the elevator at the Empire State Building?" I asked. "Good luck."
Prometheus smiled. "Troy was completely destroyed, Percy. You don't want that to happen here. Stand down, and New York will be spared. Your forces will be granted amnesty. I will personally assure your safety. Let Kronos take Olympus. Who cares? Typhon will destroy the gods .my way."
"Right," I said. "And I'm supposed to believe Kronos would spare the city."
"All he wants is Olympus," Prometheus promised. "The might of the gods is tied to their seats of power. You saw what happened to Poseidon once his undersea palace was attacked."
I winced, remembering how old and decrepit my father looked.
"Yes," Prometheus said sadly. "I know that was hard for you. When Kronos destroys Olympus, the gods will fade. They will become so weak they will be easily defeated. Kronos would rather do this while Typhon has the Olympians distracted in the west. Much easier.
Fewer lives lost. But make no mistake, the best you can do is slow us down. The day after tomorrow, Typhon arrives in New York, and you will have no chance at all. The gods and Mount Olympus will still be destroyed, but it will be much messier. Much, much worse for you and your city. Either way, the Titans will rule."
Thalia pounded her fist on the table. "I serve Artemis. The Hunters
will fight to our last breath. Percy, you're not seriously going to listen to this slimeball, are you?"
I figured Prometheus was going to blast her, but he just smiled. "Your courage does you credit, Thalia Grace."
Thalia stiffened. "That's my mother's surname. I don't use it."
"As you wish," Prometheus said casually, but I could tell he'd gotten under her skin. I'd never even heard Thalia's last name before.
Somehow it made her seem almost normal. Less mysterious and powerful.
"At any rate," the Titan said, "you need not be my enemy. I have always been a helper of mankind."
"That's a load of Minotaur dung," Thalia said. "When mankind first sacrificed to the gods, you tricked them into giving you the best portion. You gave us fire to annoy the gods, not because you cared about us."
Prometheus shook his head. "You don't understand. I helped shape your nature."
A wiggling lump of clay appeared in his hands. He fashioned it into a little doll with legs and arms. The lump man didn't have any eyes, but it groped around the table, stumbling over Prometheus's fingers. "I have been whispering in man's ear since the beginning of your existence. I represent your curiosity, your sense of exploration, your inventiveness. Help me save you, Percy. Do this, and I will give mankind a new gift-a new revelation that will move you as far for- ward as fire did. You can't make that kind of advance under the gods. They would never allow it. But this could be a new golden age for you. Or . . ." He made a fist and smashed the clay man into a pancake.
The blue giant rumbled, "Uh-oh." Over at the park bench, the
empousa bared her fangs in a smile.
"Percy, you know the Titans and their offspring are not all bad," Prometheus said. "You've met Calypso."
My face felt hot. "That's different."
"How? Much like me, she did nothing wrong, and yet she was exiledforever simply because she was Atlas's daughter. We are not your enemies. Don't let the worst happen," he pleaded. "We offer you peace."
I looked at Ethan Nakamura. "You must hate this." "I don't know what you mean."
"If we took this deal, you wouldn't get revenge. You wouldn't get to kill us all. Isn't that what you want?"
His good eye flared. "All I want is respect, Jackson. The gods never gave me that. You wanted me to go to your stupid camp, spend my time crammed into the Hermes cabin because I'm not important? Not even recognized?"
He sounded just like Luke when he'd tried to kill me in the woods at camp four years ago. The memory made my hand ache where the pit scorpion had stung me.
"Your mom's the goddess of revenge," I told Ethan. "We should respect that?"
"Nemesis stands for balance! When people have too much good luck, she tears them down."
"Which is why she took your eye?"
"It was payment," he growled. "In exchange, she swore to me that one day I would tip the balance of power. I would bring the minor gods respect. An eye was a small price to pay."
"Great mom."
"At least she keeps her word, unlike the Olympians. She always pays her debts-good or evil."
"Yeah," I said. "So I saved your life, and you repaid me by raising Kronos. That's fair."
Ethan grabbed the hilt of his sword, but Prometheus stopped him. "Now, now," the Titan said. "We're on a diplomatic mission."
Prometheus studied me as if trying to understand my anger. Then he nodded like he'd just picked a thought from my brain.
"It bothers you what happened to Luke," he decided. "Hestia didn't show you the full story. Perhaps if you understood . . ."
The Titan reached out.
Thalia cried a warning, but before I could react, Prometheus's index finger touched my forehead.
* * *
Suddenly I was back in May Castellan's living room. Candles flickered on the fireplace mantel, reflected in the mirrors along the walls. Through the kitchen doorway I could see Thalia sitting at the table while Ms. Castellan bandaged her wounded leg. Seven-year- old Annabeth sat next to her, playing with a Medusa beanbag toy.
Hermes and Luke stood apart in the living room.
The god's face looked liquid in the candlelight, like he couldn't decide what shape to adopt. He was dressed in a navy blue jogging outfit with winged Reeboks.
"Why show yourself now?" Luke demanded. His shoulders were tense, as if he expected a fight. "All these years I've been calling to you, praying you'd show up, and nothing. You left me with her."He
pointed toward the kitchen like he couldn't bear to look at his mother, much less say her name.
"Luke, do not dishonor her," Hermes warned. "Your mother did the best she could. As for me, I could not interfere with your path. The children of the gods must find their own way."
"So it was for my own good. Growing up on the streets, fending for myself, fighting monsters."
"You're my son," Hermes said. "I knew you had the ability. When I was only a baby, I crawled from my cradle and set out for-"
"I'm not a god! Just once, you could've said something. You could've helped when"-he took an unsteady breath, lowering his voice so no one in the kitchen could overhear-"when she was having one of her fits, shaking me and saying crazy things about my fate. When I used to hide in the closet so she wouldn't find me with those . . . those glowing eyes. Did you even care that I was scared? Did you even know when I finally ran away?"
In the kitchen, Ms. Castellan chattered aimlessly, pouring Kool-Aid for Thalia and Annabeth as she told them stories about Luke as a baby. Thalia rubbed her bandaged leg nervously. Annabeth glanced into the living room and held up a burned cookie for Luke to see.
She mouthed, Can we go now?
"Luke, I care very much," Hermes said slowly, "but gods must not interfere directly in mortal affairs. It is one of our Ancient Laws.
Especially when your destiny . . ." His voice trailed off. He stared at the candles as if remembering something unpleasant.
"What?" Luke asked. "What about my destiny?"
"You should not have come back," Hermes muttered. "It only upsets you both. However, I see now that you are getting too old to be on the run without help. I'll speak with Chiron at Camp Half-Blood and
ask him to send a satyr to collect you."
"We're doing fine without your help," Luke growled. "Now, what were you saying about my destiny?"
The wings on Hermes's Reeboks fluttered restlessly. He studied his son like he was trying to memorize his face, and suddenly a cold feeling washed through me. I realized Hermes knew what May Castellan's mutterings meant. I wasn't sure how, but looking at his face I was absolutely certain. Hermes understood what would happen to Luke someday, how he would turn evil.
"My son," he said, "I'm the god of travelers, the god of loads. If I know anything, I know that you must walk your own path, even though it tears my heart."
"You don't love me."
"I promise I . . . I do love you. Go to camp. I will see that you get a quest soon. Perhaps you can defeat the Hydra, or steal the apples of Hesperides. You will get a chance to be a great hero before . . ."
"Before what?" Luke's voice was trembling now. "What did my mom see that made her like this? What's going to happen to me? If you love me, tell me."
Hermes's expression tightened. "I cannot." "Then you don't care!" Luke yelled.
In the kitchen, the talking died abruptly.
"Luke?" May Castellan called. "Is that you? Is my boy all right?"
Luke turned to hide his face, but I could see the tears in his eyes. "I'm fine. I have a new family. I don't need either of you."
"I'm your father," Hermes insisted.
"A father is supposed to be around. I've never even met you. Thalia,
Annabeth, come on! We're leaving!"
"My boy, don't go!" May Castellan called after him. "I have your lunch ready!"
Luke stormed out the door, Thalia and Annabeth scrambling after him. May Castellan tried to follow, but Hermes held her back.
As the screen door slammed, May collapsed in Hermes's arms and began to shake. Her eyes opened-glowing green-and she clutched desperately at Hermes's shoulders.
"My son," she hissed in a dry voice. "Danger. Terrible fate!"
"I know, my love," Hermes said sadly. "Believe me, I know."
The image faded. Prometheus pulled his hand away from my forehead.
"Percy?" Thalia asked. "What . . . what was that?" I realized I was clammy with sweat.
Prometheus nodded sympathetically. "Appalling, isn't it? The gods know what is to come, and yet they do nothing, even for their children. How long did it take for them to tell you your prophecy, Percy Jackson? Don't you think your father knows what will happen to you?"
I was too stunned to answer.
"Perrrcy," Grover warned, "he's playing with your mind. Trying to make you angry."
Grover could read emotions, so he probably knew Prometheus was succeeding.
"Do you really blame your friend Luke?" the Titan asked me. "And what about you, Percy? Will you be controlled by your fate? Kronos offers you a much better deal."
I clenched my fists. As much as I hated what Prometheus had shown me, I hated Kronos a lot more. "I'll give you a deal. Tell Kronos to call off his attack, leave Luke Castellan's body, and return to the pits of Tartarus. Then maybe I won't have to destroy him,"
The empousa snarled. Her hair erupted in fresh flames, but Prometheus just sighed.
"If you change your mind," he said, "I have a gift for you."
A Greek vase appeared on the table. It was about three feet high and a foot wide, glazed with black-and-white geometric designs. The ceramic lid was fastened with a leather harness.
Grover whimpered when he saw it. Thalia gasped. "That's not-"
"Yes," Prometheus said. "You recognize it."
Looking at the jar, I felt a strange sense of fear, but I had no idea why.
"This belonged to my sister-in-law," Prometheus explained. "Pandora."
A lump formed in my throat. "As in Pandora's box?"
Prometheus shook his head. "I don't know how this box business got started. It was never a box. It was a pithos, a storage jar. I suppose Pandora's pithos doesn't have the same ring to it, but never mind that. Yes, she did open this jar, which contained most of the demons that now haunt mankind-fear, death, hunger, sickness."
"Don't forget me," the empousa purred.
"Indeed," Prometheus conceded. "The first empousa was also trapped in this jar, released by Pandora. But what I find curious about the story-Pandora always gets the blame. She is punished for
being curious. The gods would have you believe that this is the lesson: mankind should not explore. They should not ask questions. They should do what they are told. In truth, Percy, this jar was a trap designed by Zeus and the other gods. It was revenge on me and my entire family-my poor simple brother Epimetheus and his wife Pandora. The gods knew she would open the jar. They were willing to punish the entire race of humanity along with us."
I thought about my dream of Hades and Maria di Angelo. Zeus had destroyed an entire hotel to eliminate two demigod children-just to save his own skin, because he was scared of a prophecy. He'd killed an innocent woman and probably hadn't lost any sleep over it. Hades was no better. He wasn't powerful enough to take his revenge on Zeus, so he cursed the Oracle, dooming a young girl to a horrible fate. And Hermes . . . why had he abandoned Luke? Why hadn't he at least warned Luke, or tried to raise him better so he wouldn't turn evil?
Maybe Prometheus was toying with my mind.
But what if he's right? part of me wondered. How are the gods any better than the Titans?
Prometheus tapped the lid of Pandora's jar. "Only one spirit remained inside when Pandora opened it."
"Hope," I said.
Prometheus looked pleased. "Very good, Percy. Elpis, the Spirit of Hope, would not abandon humanity. Hope does not leave without being given permission. She can only be released by a child of man."
The Titan slid the jar across the table.
"I give you this as a reminder of what the gods are like," he said. "Keep Elpis, if you wish. But if you decide that you have seen enough destruction, enough futile suffering, then open the jar. Let
Elpis go. Give up Hope, and I will know that you are surrendering. I promise Kronos will be lenient. He will spare the survivors."
I stared at the jar and got a very bad feeling. I figured Pandora had been completely ADHD, like me. I could never leave things alone. I didn't like temptation. What if this was my choice? Maybe the prophecy all came down to my keeping this jar closed or opening it.
"I don't want the thing," I growled.
"Too late," Prometheus said. "The gift is given. It cannot be taken back."
He stood. The empousa came forward and slipped her arm through his.
"Morrain!" Prometheus called to the blue giant. "We are leaving. Get your flag."
"Uh-oh," the giant said.
"We will see you soon, Percy Jackson," Prometheus promised. "One way or another."
Ethan Nakamura gave me one last hateful look. Then the truce party turned and strolled up the lane through Central Park, like it was just a regular sunny Sunday afternoon.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN PIGS FLY
Back at the Plaza, Thalia pulled me aside. "What did Prometheus show you?"
Reluctantly, I told her about the vision of May Castellan's house. Thalia rubbed her thigh like she was remembering the old wound.
"That was a bad night," she admitted. "Annabeth was so little, I don't think she really understood what she saw. She just knew Luke was upset."
I looked out the hotel windows at Central Park. Small fires were still burning in the north, but otherwise the city seemed unnaturally peaceful. "Do you know what happened to May Castellan? I mean-"
"I know what you mean," Thalia said. "I never saw her have an, um, episode, but Luke told me about the glowing eyes, the strange things she would say. He made me promise never to tell. What caused it, I have no idea. If Luke knew, he never told me."
"Hermes knew," I said. "Something caused May to see parts of Luke's future, and Hermes understood what would happen-how Luke would turn into Kronos."
Thalia frowned. "You can't be sure of that. Remember Prometheus was manipulating what you saw, Percy, showing you what happened in the worst possible light. Hermes did love Luke. I could tell just by looking at his face. And Hermes was there that night because he was checking up on May, taking care of her. He wasn't all bad."
"It's still not right," I insisted. "Luke was just a little kid. Hermes never helped him, never stopped him from running away."
Thalia shouldered her bow. Again it struck me how much stronger she looked now that she'd stopped aging. You could almost see a silvery glow around her-the blessing of Artemis.
"Percy,"she said, "you can't start feeling sorry for Luke. We all have tough things to deal with. All demigods do. Our parents are hardly ever around. But Luke made bad choices. Nobody forced him to do that. In fact-"
She glanced down the hall to make sure we were alone. "I'm worried about Annabeth. If she has to face Luke in battle, I don't know if she can do it. She's always had a soft spot for him."
Blood rose to my face. "She'll do fine."
"I don't know. After that night, after we left his mom's house? Luke was never the same. He got reckless and moody, like he had something to prove. By the time Grover found us and tried to get us to camp . . . well, part of the reason we had so much trouble was because Luke wouldn't be careful. He wanted to pick a fight with every monster we crossed. Annabeth didn't see that as a problem.
Luke was her hero. She only understood that his parents had made him sad, and she got very defensive of him. She still is defensive. All I'm saying . . . don't you fall into the same trap. Luke has given himself to Kronos now. We can't afford to be soft on him."
I looked out at the fires in Harlem, wondering how many sleeping mortals were in danger right now because of Luke's bad choices.
"You're right," I said.
Thalia patted my shoulder. "I'm going to check on the Hunters, then get some more sleep before nightfall. You should crash too."
"The last thing I need is more dreams."
"I know, believe me." Her dark expression made me wonder what she'd been dreaming about. It was a common demigod problem: the more dangerous our situation became, the worse and more frequent our dreams got. "But Percy, there's no telling when you'll get another chance for rest. It's going to be a long night-maybe our last night."
I didn't like it, but I knew she was right. I nodded wearily and gave her Pandora's jar. "Do me a favor. Lock this in the hotel vault, will you? I think I'm allergic to pithos."
Thalia smiled. "You got it."
I found the nearest bed and passed out. But of course sleep only brought more nightmares.
I saw the undersea palace of my father. The enemy army was closer now, entrenched only a few hundred yards outside the palace. The fortress walls were completely destroyed. The temple my dad had used as his headquarters was burning with Greek fire.
I zoomed in on the armory, where my brother and some other Cyclopes were on lunch break, eating from huge jars of Skippy extra-chunky peanut butter (and don't ask me how it tasted underwater, because I don't want to know). As I watched, the outer wall of the armory exploded. A Cyclops warrior stumbled inside, collapsing on the lunch table. Tyson knelt down to help, but it was too late. The Cyclops dissolved into sea silt.
Enemy giants moved toward the breach, and Tyson picked up the fallen warrior's club. He yelled something to his fellow blacksmiths- probably "For Poseidon!"-but with his mouth full of peanut butter it sounded like "PUH PTEH BUN!" His brethren all grabbed hammers and chisels, yelled, "PEANUT BUTTER!" and charged behind Tyson into battle.
Then the scene shifted. I was with Ethan Nakamura at the enemy camp. What I saw made me shiver, partly because the army was so huge, partly because I recognized the place.
We were in the backwoods of New Jersey, on a crumbling road lined with run-down businesses and tattered billboard signs. A trampled fence ringed a big yard full of cement statuary. The sign above the warehouse was hard to read because it was in red cursive, but I knew what it said: AUNTY EM'S GARDEN GNOME EMPORIUM.
I hadn't thought about the place in years. It was clearly abandoned. The statues were broken and spray-painted with graffiti. A cement satyr-Grover's Uncle Ferdinand-had lost his arm. Part of the warehouse roof had caved in. A big yellow sign pasted on the door read: CONDEMNED.
Hundreds of tents and fires surrounded the property. Mostly I saw monsters, but there were some human mercenaries in combat fatigues and demigods in armor, too. A purple-and-black banner hung outside the emporium, guarded by two huge blue Hyperboreans.
Ethan was crouched at the nearest campfire. A couple of other demigods sat with him, sharpening their swords. The doors of the warehouse opened, and Prometheus stepped out.
"Nakamura," he called. "The master would like to speak to you." Ethan stood up warily. "Something wrong?"
Prometheus smiled. "You'll have to ask him."
One of the other demigods snickered. "Nice knowing you." Ethan readjusted his sword belt and headed into the warehouse.
Except for the hole in the roof, the place was just as 1 remembered. Statues of terrified people stood frozen in midscream. In the snack
bar area, the picnic tables had been moved aside. Right between the soda dispenser and pretzel warmer stood a golden throne. Kronos lounged on it, his scythe across his lap. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, and with his brooding expression he looked almost human-like the younger version of Luke I'd seen in the vision, pleading with Hermes to tell him his fate. Then Luke saw Ethan, and his face contorted into a very inhuman smile. His golden eyes glowed.
"Well, Nakamura. What did you think of the diplomatic mission?"
Ethan hesitated. "I'm sure Lord Prometheus is better suited to speak-"
"But I asked you."
Ethan's good eye darted back and forth, noting the guards that stood around Kronos. "I . . . I don't think Jackson will surrender. Ever."
Kronos nodded. "Anything else you wanted to tell me?" "N-no, sir.
"You look nervous, Ethan."
"No, sir. It's just . . . I heard this was the lair of -"
"Medusa? Yes, quite true. Lovely place, eh? Unfortunately, Medusa hasn't re-formed since Jackson killed her, so you needn't worry about joining her collection. Besides, there are much more dangerous forces in this room."
Kronos looked over at a Laistrygonian giant who was munching noisily on some french fries. Kronos waved his hand and the giant froze. A french fry hung suspended in midair halfway between his hand and his mouth.
"Why turn them to stone," Kronos asked, "when you can freeze time itself?"
His golden eyes bored into Ethan's face. "Now, tell me one more thing. What happened last night on the Williamsburg Bridge?"
Ethan trembled. Beads of perspiration were popping up on his forehead. "I . . . I don't know, sir."
"Yes, you do." Kronos rose from his seat. "When you attacked Jackson, something happened. Something was not quite right. The girl, Annabeth, jumped in your way."
"She wanted to save him."
"But he is invulnerable," Kronos said quietly. "You saw that yourself."
"I can't explain it. Maybe she forgot."
"She forgot," Kronos said. "Yes, that must've been it. Oh dear, I forgot my friend is invulnerable and took a knife for him. Oops. Tell me, Ethan, where were you aiming when you stabbed at Jackson?"
Ethan frowned. He clasped his hand as if he were holding a blade, and mimed a thrust. "I'm not sure, sir. It all happened so fast. I wasn't aiming for any spot in particular.'
Kronos's fingers tapped the blade of his scythe. "I see," he said in a chilly tone. "If your memory improves, I will expect-"
Suddenly the Titan lord winced. The giant in the corner unfroze and the french fry fell into his mouth. Kronos stumbled backward and sank into his throne.
"My lord?" Ethan started forward.
"I-" The voice was weak, but just for a moment it was Luke's. Then Kronos's expression hardened. He raised his hand and flexed his fingers slowly as if forcing them to obey.
"It is nothing," he said, his voice steely and cold again. "A minor
discomfort."
Ethan moistened his lips. "He's still fighting you, isn't he? Luke-"
"Nonsense," Kronos spat. "Repeat that lie, and I will cut out your tongue. The boy's soul has been crushed. I am simply adjusting to the limits of this form. It requires rest. It is annoying, but no more than a temporary inconvenience."
"As . . . as you say, my lord."
"You!" Kronos pointed his scythe at a dracaena with green armor and a green crown. "Queen Sess, is it?"
"Yesssss, my lord."
"Is our little surprise ready to be unleashed?"
The dracaena queen bared her fangs. "Oh, yessss, my lord. Quite a lovely sssssurprissse."
"Excellent," Kronos said. "Tell my brother Hyperion to move our main force south into Central Park. The half-bloods will be in such disarray they will not be able to defend themselves. Go now, Ethan. Work on improving your memory. We will talk again when we have taken Manhattan."
Ethan bowed, and my dreams shifted one last time. I saw the Big House at camp, but it was a different era. The house was painted red instead of blue. The campers down at the volleyball pit had early '90s hairstyles, which were probably good for keeping monsters away.
Chiron stood by the porch, talking to Hermes and a woman holding a baby. Chiron's hair was shorter and darker. Hermes wore his usual jogging suit with his winged high-tops. The woman was tall and pretty. She had blond hair, shining eyes and a friendly smile. The baby in her arms squirmed in his blue blanket like Camp Half-Blood
was the last place he wanted to be.
"It's an honor to have you here," Chiron told the woman, though he sounded nervous. "It's been a long time since a mortal was allowed at camp."
"Don't encourage her," Hermes grumbled. "May, you can't do this."
With a shock, I realized I was seeing May Castellan. She looked nothing like the old woman I'd met. She seemed full of life-the kind of person who could smile and make everyone around her feel good.
"Oh, don't worry so much," May said, rocking the baby. "You need an Oracle, don't you? The old one's been dead for, what, twenty years?"
"Longer," Chiron said gravely.
Hermes raised his arms in exasperation. "I didn't tell you that story so you could apply. It's dangerous. Chiron, tell her."
"It is," Chiron warned. "For many years, I have forbidden anyone from trying. We don't know exactly what's happened. Humanity seems to have lost the ability to host the Oracle."
"We've been through that," May said. "And I know I can do it. Hermes, this is my chance to do something good. I've been given the gift of sight for a reason."
I wanted to yell at May Castellan to stop. I knew what was about to happen. I finally understood how her life had been destroyed. But I couldn't move or speak.
Hermes looked more hurt than worried. "You couldn't marry if you became the Oracle," he complained. "You couldn't see me anymore."
May put her hand on his arm. "I can't have you forever, can I? You'll move on soon. You're immortal."
He started to protest, but she put her hand on his chest. "You know it's true! Don't try to spare my feelings. Besides, we have a wonderful child. I can still raise Luke if I'm the Oracle, right?"
Chiron coughed. "Yes, but in all fairness, I don't know how that will affect the spirit of the Oracle. A woman who has already borne a child-as far as I know, this has never been done before. If the spirit does not take-"
"It will," May insisted.
No, I wanted to shout. It won't.
May Castellan kissed her baby and handed the bundle to Hermes. "I'll be right back."
She gave them one last confident smile and climbed the steps. Chiron and Hermes paced in silence. The baby squirmed.
A green glow lit the windows of the house. The campers stopped playing volleyball and stared up at the attic. A cold wind rushed through the strawberry fields.
Hermes must've felt it too. He cried, "No! NO!"
He shoved the baby into Chiron's arms and ran for the porch. Before he reached the door, the sunny afternoon was shattered by May Castellan's terrified scream.
I got up so fast I banged my head on somebody's shield. "Ow!"
"Sorry, Percy." Annabeth was standing over me. "I was just about to wake you."
I rubbed my head, trying to clear the disturbing visions. Suddenly a lot of things made sense to me: May Castellan had tried to become the Oracle. She hadn't known about Hades's curse preventing the
spirit of Delphi from taking another host. Neither had Chiron or Hermes. They hadn't realized that by trying to take the job, May would be driven mad, plagued with fits in which her eyes would glow green and she would have shattered glimpses of her child's future.
"Percy?" Annabeth asked. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I lied. "What . . . what are you doing in armor? You should be resting."
"Oh, I'm fine," she said, though she still looked pale. She was barely moving her right arm. "That nectar and ambrosia fixed me up."
"Uh-huh. You can't seriously go out and fight."
She offered me her good hand and helped me up. My head was pounding. Outside, the sky was purple and red.
"You're going to need every person you have," she said. "I just looked in my shield. There's an army-"
"Heading south into Central Park," I said. "Yeah, I know."
I told her part of my dreams. I left out the vision of May Castellan, because it was too disturbing to talk about. I also left out Ethan's speculation about Luke fighting Kronos inside his body. I didn't want to get Annabeth's hopes up.
"Do you think Ethan suspects about your weak spot?" she asked.
"I don't know," I admitted. "He didn't tell Kronos anything, but if he figures it out-"
"We can't let him."
"I'll bonk him on the head harder next time," I suggested. "Any idea what surprise Kronos was talking about?"
She shook her head. "I didn't see anything in the shield, but I don't
like surprises." "Agreed."
"So," she said, "are you going to argue about me coming along?" "Nah. You'd just beat me up."
She managed a laugh, which was good to hear. I grabbed my sword, and we went to rally the troops.
Thalia and the head counselors were waiting for us at the Reservoir. The lights of the city were blinking on at twilight. I guess a lot of them were on automatic timers. Streetlamps glowed around the shore of the lake, making the water and trees look even spookier.
"They're coming," Thalia confirmed, pointing north with a silver arrow. "One of my scouts just reported they've crossed the Harlem River. There was no way to hold them back. The army . . ." She shrugged. "It's huge."
"We'll hold them at the park," I said. "Grover, you ready?"
He nodded. "As ready as we'll ever be. If my nature spirits can stop them anywhere, this is the place."
"Yes, we will!" said another voice. A very old, fat satyr pushed through the crowd, stumbling over his own spear. He was dressed in wood-bark armor that only covered half of his belly.
"Leneus?" I said.
"Don't act so surprised," he huffed. "I am a leader of the Council, and you did tell me to find Grover. Well, I found him, and I'm not going to let a mere outcast lead the satyrs without my help!"
Behind Leneus's back, Grover made gagging motions, but the old satyr grinned like he was the savior of the day. "Never fear! We'll show those Titans!"
I didn't know whether to laugh or be angry, but I managed to keep a straight face. "Um . . . yeah. Well, Grover, you won't be alone.
Annabeth and the Athena cabin will make their stand here. And me, and . . . Thalia?"
She patted me on the shoulder. "Say no more. The Hunters are ready."
I looked at the other counselors. "That leaves the rest of you with a job just as important. You have to guard the other entrances to Manhattan. You know how tricky Kronos is. He'll hope to distract us with this big army and sneak another force in somewhere else. It's up to you to make sure that doesn't happen. Has each cabin chosen a bridge or tunnel?"
The counselors nodded grimly.
"Then let's do it," I said. "Good hunting, everybody!" We heard the army before we saw it.
The noise was like a cannon barrage combined with afootball stadium crowd-like every Patriots fan in New England was charging us with bazookas.
At the north end of the reservoir, the enemy vanguard broke through the woods-a warrior in golden armor leading a battalion of Laistrygonian giants with huge bronze axes. Hundreds of other monsters poured out behind them.
"Positions!" Annabeth yelled.
Her cabinmates scrambled. The idea was to make the enemy army break around the reservoir. To get to us, they'd have to follow the trails, which meant they'd be marching in narrow columns on either side of the water.
At first, the plan seemed to work. The enemy divided and streamed
toward us along the shore. When they were halfway across, our defenses kicked in. The jogging trail erupted in Greek fire, incinerating many of the monsters instantly. Others flailed around, engulfed in green flames. Athena campers threw grappling hooks around the largest giants and pulled them to the ground.
In the woods on the right, the Hunters sent a volley of silver arrows into the enemy line, destroying twenty or thirty dracaenae, but more marched behind them. A bolt of lightning crackled out of the sky and fried a Laistrygonian giant to ashes, and I knew Thalia must be doing her daughter of Zeus thing.
Grover raised his pipes and played a quick tune. A roar went up from the woods on both sides as every tree, rock, and bush seemed to sprout a spirit. Dryads and satyrs raised their clubs and charged. The trees wrapped around the monsters, strangling them. Grass grew around the feet of the enemy archers. Stones flew up and hit dracaenae in the faces.
The enemy slogged forward. Giants smashed through the trees, and naiads faded as their life sources were destroyed. Hellhounds lunged at the timber wolves, knocking them aside. Enemy archers returned fire, and a Hunter fell from a high branch.
"Percy!" Annabeth grabbed my arm and pointed at the reservoir. The Titan in the gold armor wasn't waiting for his forces to advance around the sides. He was charging toward us, walking straight over the top of the lake.
A Greek firebomb exploded right on top of him, but he raised his palm and sucked the flames out of the air.
"Hyperion," Annabeth said in awe. "The lord of light. Titan of the east."
"Bad?" I guessed.
"Next to Atlas, he's the greatest Titan warrior. In the old days, four Titans controlled the four corners of the world. Hyperion was the east-the most powerful. He was the father of Helios, the first sun god."
"I'll keep him busy," I promised. "Percy, even you can't-"
"Just keep our forces together."
We'd set up at the reservoir for good reason. I concentrated on the water and felt its power surging through me.
I advanced toward Hyperion, running over the top of the water.
Yeah, buddy. Two can play that game.
Twenty feet away, Hyperion raised his sword. His eyes were just like I'd seen in my dream-as gold as Kronos's but brighter, like miniature suns.
"The sea god's brat," he mused. "You're the one who trapped Atlas beneath the sky again?"
"It wasn't hard," I said. "You Titans are about as bright as my gym socks."
Hyperion snarled. "You want bright?"
His body ignited in a column of light and heat. I looked away, but I was still blinded.
Instinctively I raised Riptide-just in time. Hyperion's blade slammed against mine. The shock wave sent a ten-foot ring of water across the surface of the lake.
My eyes still burned. I had to shut off his light.
I concentrated on the tidal wave and forced it to reverse. Just before impact, I jumped upward on a jet of water.
"AHHHHH!" The waves smashed into Hyperion and he went under, his light extinguished.
I landed on the lake's surface just as Hyperion struggled to his feet. His golden armor was dripping wet. His eyes no longer blazed, but they still looked murderous.
"You will burn, Jackson!" he roared.
Our swords met again and the air charged with ozone.
The battle still raged around us. On the right flank, Annabeth was leading an assault with her siblings. On the left flank, Grover and his nature spirits were regrouping, entangling the enemies with bushes and weeds.
"Enough games," Hyperion told me. "We fight on land."
I was about to make some clever comment, like "No," when the Titan yelled. A wall of force slammed me through the air-just like the trick Kronos had pulled on the bridge. I sailed backward about three hundred yards and smashed into the ground. If it hadn't been for my new invulnerability, I would've broken every bone in my body.
I got to my feet, groaning. "I really hate it when you Titans do that." Hyperion closed on me with blinding speed.
I concentrated on the water, drawing strength from it.
Hyperion attacked. He was powerful and fast, but he couldn't seem to land a blow. The ground around his feet kept erupting in flames, but I kept dousing it just as quickly.
"Stop it!" the Titan roared. "Stop that wind!"
I wasn't sure what he meant. I was too busy fighting.
Hyperion stumbled like he was being pushed away. Water sprayed his face, stinging his eyes. The wind picked up, and Hyperion
staggered backward.
"Percy!" Grover called in amazement. "How are you doing that?" Doing what? I thought.
Then I looked down, and I realized I was standing in the middle of my own personal hurricane. Clouds of water vapor swirled around me, winds so powerful they buffeted Hyperion and flattened the grass in a twenty-yard radius. Enemy warriors threw javelins at me, but the storm knocked them aside.
"Sweet," I muttered. "But a little more!"
Lightning flickered around me. The clouds darkened and the rain swirled faster. I closed in on Hyperion and blew him off his feet.
"Percy!" Grover called again. "Bring him over here!"
I slashed and jabbed, letting my reflexes take over, Hyperion could barely defend himself. His eyes kept trying to ignite, but the hurricane quenched his flames.
I couldn't keep up a storm like this forever, though. I could feel my powers weakening. With one last effort, I propelled Hyperion across the field, straight to where Grover was waiting.
"I will not be toyed with!" Hyperion bellowed.
He managed to get to his feet again, but Grover put his reed pipes to his lips and began to play. Leneus joined him. Around the grove, every satyr took up the song-an eerie melody, like a creek flowing over stones. The ground erupted at Hyperion's feet. Gnarled roots wrapped around his legs.
"What's this?" he protested. He tried to shake off the roots, but he was still weak. The roots thickened until he looked like he was wearing wooden boots.
"Stop this!" he shouted. "Your woodland magic is no match for a Titan!"
But the more he struggled, the faster the roots grew. They curled about his body, thickening and hardening into bark. His golden armor melted into the wood, becoming part of a large trunk.
The music continued. Hyperion's forces backed up in astonishment as their leader was absorbed. He stretched out his arms and they became branches, from which smaller branches shot out and grew leaves. The tree grew taller and thicker, until only the Titan's face was visible in the middle of the trunk.
"You cannot imprison me!" he bellowed. "I am Hyperion! I am-" The bark closed over his face.
Grover took his pipes from his mouth. "You are a very nice maple tree."
Several of the other satyrs passed out from exhaustion, but they'd done their job well. The Titan lord was completely encased in an enormous maple. The trunk was at least twenty feet in diameter, with branches as tall as any in the park. The tree might've stood there for centuries.
The Titan's army started to retreat. A cheer went up from the Athena cabin, but our victory was short-lived.
Because just then Kronos unleashed his surprise.
"REEEEET!"
The squeal echoed through upper Manhattan. Demigods and monsters alike froze in terror.
Grover shot me a panicked look. "Why does that sound like . . . It can't be!"
I knew what he was thinking. Two years ago we'd gotten a "gift" from Pan-a huge boar that carried us across the Southwest (after it tried to kill us). The boar had a similar squeal, but what we were hearing now seemed higher pitched, shriller, almost like . . . like if the boar had an angry girlfriend.
"REEEEEET!" A huge pink creature soared over the reservoir-a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade nightmare blimp with wings.
"A sow!" Annabeth cried. "Take cover!"
The demigods scattered as the winged lady pig swooped down. Her wings were pink like a flamingo's, which matched her skin beautifully, but it was hard to think of her as cute when her hooves slammed into the ground, barely missing one of Annabeth's siblings. The pig stomped around and tore down half an acre of trees, belching a cloud of noxious gas. Then it took off again, circling around for another strike.
"Don't tell me that thing is from Greek mythology," I complained.
"Afraid so," Annabeth said. "The Clazmonian Sow. It terrorized Greek towns back in the day."
"Let me guess," I said. "Hercules beat it."
"Nope," Annabeth said. "As far as I know, no hero has ever beaten it."
"Perfect," I muttered.
The Titan's army was recovering from its shock. I guess they realized the pig wasn't after them.
We only had seconds before they were ready to fight, and our forces were still in a panic. Every time the sow belched, Grover's nature spirits yelped and faded back into their trees.
"That pig has to go." I grabbed a grappling hook from one of
Annabeth's siblings. "I'll take care of it. You guys hold the rest of the enemy. Push them back!"
"But, Percy," Grover said, "what if we can't?"
I saw how tired he was. The magic had really drained him. Annabeth didn't look much better from fighting with a bad shoulder wound. I didn't know how the Hunters were doing, but the right flank of the enemy army was now between them and us.
I didn't want to leave my friends in such bad shape, but that sow was the biggest threat. It would destroy everything: buildings, trees, sleeping mortals. It had to be stopped.
"Retreat if you need to," I said. "Just slow them down. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Before I could change my mind, I swung the grappling hook like a lasso. When the sow came down for its next pass, I threw with all my strength. The hook wrapped around the base of the pig's wing. It squealed in rage and veered off, yanking the rope and me into the sky.
If you're heading downtown from Central Park, my advice is to take the subway. Flying pigs are faster, but way more dangerous.
The sow soared past the Plaza Hotel, straight into the canyon of Fifth Avenue. My brilliant plan was to climb the rope and get on the pig's back. Unfortunately I was too busy swinging around dodging streetlamps and the sides of buildings.
Another thing I learned: it's one thing to climb a rope in gym class. It's a completely different thing to climb a rope attached to a moving pig's wing while you're flying at a hundred miles an hour.
We zigzagged along several blocks and continued south on Park Avenue.
Boss! Hey, boss! Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blackjack speeding along next to us, darting back and forth to avoid the pig's wings.
"Watch out!" I told him.
Hop on! Blackjack whinnied. I can catch you . . . probably.
That wasn't very reassuring. Grand Central lay dead ahead. Above the main entrance stood the giant statue of Hermes, which I guess hadn't been activated because it was so high up. I was flying right toward him at the speed of demigod-smashing.
"Stay alert!" I told Blackjack. "I've got an idea."
Oh, I hate your ideas.
I swung outward with all my might. Instead of smashing into the Hermes statue, I whipped around it, circling the rope under its arms. I thought this would tether the pig, but I'd underestimated the momentum of a thirty-ton sow in flight. Just as the pig wrenched the statue loose from its pedestal, I let go. Hermes went for a ride, taking my place as the pig's passenger, and I free-fell toward the street.
In that split second I thought about the days when my mom used to work at the Grand Central candy shop. I thought how bad it would be if I ended up as a grease spot on the pavement.
Then a shadow swooped under me, and thump-I was on Blackjack's back. It wasn't the most comfortable landing. In fact, when I yelled "OW!" my voice was an octave higher than usual.
Sorry, boss, Blackjack murmured.
"No problem," I squeaked. "Follow that pig!"
The porker had taken a right at East 42nd and was flying back toward Fifth Avenue. When it flew above the rooftops, I could see fires here and there around the city. It lookedlike my friends were
having a rough time. Kronos was attacking on several fronts. But at the moment, I had my own problems.
The Hermes statue was still on its leash. It kept bonking into buildings and spinning around. The pig swooped over an office building, and Hermes plowed into a water tower on the roof, blasting water and wood everywhere.
Then something occurred to me. "Get closer," I told Blackjack.
He whinnied in protest.
"Just within shouting distance," I said. "I need to talk to the statue."
Now I'm sure you've lost it, boss, Blackjack said, but he did what I asked. When I was close enough to see the statue's face clearly, I yelled, "Hello, Hermes! Command sequence: Daedalus Twenty- three. Kill Flying Pigs! Begin Activation!"
Immediately the statue moved its legs. It seemed confused to find that it was no longer on top of Grand Central Terminal. It was, instead, being given a sky-ride on the end of a rope by a large winged sow. It smashed through the side of a brick building, which I think made it a little mad. It shook its head and began to climb the rope.
I glanced down at the street. We were coming up on the main public library, with the big marble lions flanking the steps. Suddenly I had a weird thought: Could stone statues be automatons too? It seemed like a long shot, but . . .
"Faster!" I told Blackjack. "Get in front of the pig, Taunt him!"
Um, boss-
"Trust me," I said. "I can do this . . . probably."
Oh, sure. Mock the horse.
Blackjack burst through the air. He could fly pretty darned fast when he wanted to. He got in front of the pig, which now had a metal Hermes on its back.
Blackjack whinnied, You smell like ham! He kicked the pig in the snout with his back hooves and went into a steep dive. The pig screamed in rage and followed.
We barreled straight for the front steps of the library. Blackjack slowed down just enough for me to hop off, then he kept flying toward the main doors.
I yelled out, "Lions! Command sequence: Daedalus Twenty-three. Kill Flying Pigs! Begin Activation!"
The lions stood up and looked at me. They probably thought I was teasing them. But just then: "REEEEEET!"
The massive pink pork monster landed with a thud, cracking the sidewalk. The lions stared at it, not believing their luck, and pounced. At the same time, a very beat-up Hermes statue leaped onto the pig's head and started banging it mercilessly with a caduceus.
Those lions had some nasty claws.
I drew Riptide, but there wasn't much for me to do. The pig disintegrated before my eyes. I almost felt sorry for it. I hoped it got to meet the boar of its dreams down in Tartarus.
When the monster had completely turned to dust, the lions and the Hermes statue looked around in confusion.
"You can defend Manhattan now," I told them, but they didn't seem to hear. They went charging down Park Avenue, and I imagined they would keep looking for flying pigs until someone deactivated them.
Hey, boss, said Blackjack. Can we take a donut break?
I wiped the sweat off my brow. "I wish, big guy, but the fight's still going on."
In fact, I could hear it getting closer. My friends needed help. I jumped on Blackjack, and we flew north toward the sound of explosions.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHIRON THROWS A
PARTY
Midtown was a war zone. We flew over little skirmishes everywhere. A giant was ripping up trees in Bryant Park while dryads pelted him with nuts. Outside the Waldorf Astoria, a bronze statue of Benjamin Franklin was whacking a hellhound with a rolled-up newspaper. A trio of Hephaestus campers fought a squad of dracaenae in the middle of Rockefeller Center.
I was tempted to stop and help, but I could tell from the smoke and noise that the real action had moved farther south. Our defenses were collapsing. The enemy was closing in on the Empire State Building.
We did a quick sweep of the surrounding area. The Hunters had set up a defensive line on 37th, just three blocks north of Olympus. To the east on Park Avenue, Jake Mason and some other Hephaestus campers were leading an army of statues against the enemy. To the west, the Demeter cabin and Grover's nature spirits had turned Sixth Avenue into a jungle that was hampering a squadron of Kronos's demigods. The south was clear for now, but the flanks of the enemy army were swinging around. A few more minutes and we'd be totally surrounded.
"We have to land where they need us most," I muttered.
That's everywhere, boss.
I spotted a familiar silver owl banner in the southeast corner of the fight, 33rd at the Park Avenue tunnel. Annabeth and two of her siblings were holding back a Hyperborean giant.
"There!" I told Blackjack. He plunged toward the battle.
I leaped off his back and landed on the giant's head. When the giant looked up, I slid off his face, shield-bashing his nose on the way down.
"RAWWWR!' The giant staggered backward, blue blood trickling from his nostrils.
I hit the pavement running. The Hyperborean breathed a cloud of white mist, and the temperature dropped. The spot where I'd landed was now coated with ice, and I was covered in frost like a sugar donut.
"Hey, ugly!" Annabeth yelled. I hoped she was talking to the giant, not me.
Blue Boy bellowed and turned toward her, exposing the unprotected back of his legs. I charged and stabbed him behind the knee.
"WAAAAH!" The Hyperborean buckled. I waited for him to turn, but he froze. I mean he literally turned to solid ice. From the point where I'd stabbed him, cracks appeared in his body. They got larger and wider until the giant crumbled in a mountain of blue shards.
"Thanks." Annabeth winced, trying to catch her breath. "The pig?" "Pork chops," I said.
"Good." She flexed her shoulder. Obviously, the wound was still bothering her, but she saw my expression and rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, Percy. Come on! We've got plenty of enemies left."
She was right. The next hour was a blur. I fought like I'd never fought before-wading into legions of dracaenae, taking out dozens
of telkhines with every strike, destroying empousai and knocking out enemy demigods. No matter how many I defeated, more took their place.
Annabeth and I raced from block to block, trying to shore up our defenses. Too many of our friends lay wounded in the streets. Too many were missing.
As the night wore on and the moon got higher, we were backed up foot by foot until we were only a block from the Empire State Building in any direction. At one point Grover was next to me, bonking snake women over the head with his cudgel. Then he disappeared in the crowd, and it was Thalia at my side, driving the monsters back with the power of her magic shield. Mrs. O'Leary bounded out of nowhere, picked up a Laistrygonian giant in her mouth, and flung him into the air like a Frisbee. Annabeth used her invisibility cap to sneak behind the enemy lines. Whenever a monster disintegrated for no apparent reason with a surprised look on his face, I knew Annabeth had been there.
But it still wasn't enough.
"Hold your lines!" Katie Gardner shouted, somewhere off to my left.
The problem was there were too few of us to hold anything. The entrance to Olympus was twenty feet behind me. A ring of brave demigods, Hunters, and nature spirits guarded the doors. I slashed and hacked, destroying everything m my path, but even I was getting tired, and I couldn't be everywhere at once.
Behind the enemy troops, a few blocks to the east, a bright light began to shine. I thought it was the sunrise. Then I realized Kronos was riding toward us on a golden chariot. A dozen Laistrygonian giants bore torches before him. Two Hyperboreans carried his black- and-purple banners. The Titan lord looked fresh and rested, his
powers at full strength. He was taking his time advancing, letting me wear myself down.
Annabeth appeared next to me. "We have to fall back to the doorway. Hold it at all costs!"
She was right. I was about to order a retreat when I heard the hunting horn.
It cut through the noise of the battle like a fire alarm. A chorus of horns answered from all around us, echoing off the buildings of Manhattan.
I glanced at Thalia, but she just frowned.
"Not the Hunters," she assured me. "We're all here." "Then who?"
The horns got louder. I couldn't tell where they were coming from because of the echo, but it sounded like an entire army was approaching.
I was afraid it might be more enemies, but Kronos's forces looked as confused as we were. Giants lowered their clubs. Dracaenae hissed. Even Kronos's honor guard looked uneasy.
Then, to our left, a hundred monsters cried out at once. Kronos's entire northern flank surged forward. I thought we were doomed, but they didn't attack. They ran straight past us and crashed into their southern allies.
A new blast of horns shattered the night. The air shimmered. In a blur of movement, an entire cavalry appeared as if dropping out of light speed.
"Yeah, baby!" a voice wailed. "PARTY!"
A shower of arrows arced over our heads and slammed into the
enemy, vaporizing hundreds of demons. But these weren't regular arrows. They made whizzy sounds as they flew, like WHEEEEEE! Some had pinwheels attached to them. Others had boxing gloves rather than points.
"Centaurs!" Annabeth yelled.
The Party Pony army exploded into our midst in a riot of colors: tie- dyed shirts, rainbow Afro wigs, oversize sunglasses, and war-painted faces. Some had slogans scrawled across their flanks like HORSEZ PWN or KRONOS SUX.
Hundreds of them filled the entire block. My brain couldn't process everything I saw, but I knew if I were the enemy, I'd be running.
"Percy!" Chiron shouted across the sea of wild centaurs. He was dressed in armor from the waist up, his bow in his hand, and he was grinning in satisfaction. "Sorry we're late!"
"DUDE!" Another centaur yelled. "Talk later. WASTE MONSTERS NOW!"
He locked and loaded a double-barrel paint gun and blasted an enemy hellhound bright pink. The paint must've been mixed with Celestial bronze dust or something, because as soon as it splattered the hellhound, the monster yelped and dissolved into a pink-and- black puddle.
"PARTY PONIES.'" a centaur yelled. "SOUTH FLORIDA!"
Somewhere across the battlefield, a twangy voice yelled back, "HEART OF TEXAS CHAPTER!"
"HAWAII OWNS YOUR FACES!" a third one shouted.
It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. The entire Titan army turned and fled, pushed back by a flood of paintballs, arrows, swords, and NERF baseball bats. The centaurs trampled everything
in their path.
"Stop running, you fools!" Kronos yelled. "Stand and ACKK!"
That last part was because a panicked Hyperborean giant stumbled backward and sat on top of him. The lord of time disappeared under a giant blue butt.
We pushed them for several blocks until Chiron yelled, "HOLD! On your promise, HOLD!"
It wasn't easy, but eventually the order got relayed up and down the ranks of centaurs, and they started to pull back, letting the enemy flee.
"Chiron's smart," Annabeth said, wiping the sweat off her face. "If we pursue, we'll get too spread out. We need to regroup."
"But the enemy-"
"They're not defeated," she agreed. "But the dawn is coming. At least we've bought some time."
I didn't like pulling back, but I knew she was right. I watched as the last of the telkhines scuttled toward the East River. Then reluctantly I turned and headed back toward the Empire State Building.
We set up a two-block perimeter, with a command tent at the Empire State Building. Chiron informed us that the Party Ponies had sent chapters from almost every state in the Union: forty from California, two from Rhode Island, thirty from Illinois . . . Roughly five hundred total had answered his call, but even with that many, we couldn't defend more than a few blocks.
"Dude," said a centaur named Larry. His T-shirt identified him as
BIG CHIEF UBER GUY, NEW MEXICO CHAPTER. "That was
more fun than our last convention in Vegas!"
"Yeah," said Owen from South Dakota. He wore a black leather
jacket and an old WWII army helmet. "We totally wasted them!"
Chiron patted Owen on the back. "You did well, my friends, but don't get careless. Kronos should never be underestimated. Now why don't you visit the diner on West 33rd and get some breakfast? I hear the Delaware chapter found a stash of root beer."
"Root beer!" They almost trampled each other as they galloped off.
Chiron smiled. Annabeth gave him a big hug, and Mrs. O'Leary licked his face.
"Ack," he grumbled. "Enough of that, dog. Yes, I'm glad to see you too."
"Chiron, thanks," I said. "Talk about saving the day."
He shrugged. "I'm sorry it took so long. Centaurs travel fast, as you know. We can bend distance as we ride. Even so, getting all the centaurs together was no easy task. The Party Ponies are not exactly organized."
"How'd you get through the magic defenses around the city?" Annabeth asked.
"They slowed us down a bit," Chiron admitted, "but I think they're intended mostly to keep mortals out. Kronos doesn't want puny humans getting in the way of his great victory."
"So maybe other reinforcements can get through," I said hopefully.
Chiron stroked his beard. "Perhaps, though time is short. As soon as Kronos regroups, he will attack again. Without the element of surprise on our side . . ."
I understood what he meant. Kronos wasn't beaten. Not by a long shot. I half hoped Kronos had been squashed under that Hyperborean giant's butt, but I knew better. He'd be back, tonight at the latest.
"And Typhon?" I asked.
Chiron's face darkened. "The gods are tiring. Dionysus was incapacitated yesterday. Typhon smashed his chariot, and the wine god went down somewhere m the Appalachians. No one has seen him since. Hephaestus is out of action as well. He was thrown from the battle so hard he created a new lake in West Virginia. He will heal, but not soon enough to help. The others still fight. They've managed to slow Typhon's approach. But the monster can not be stopped. He will arrive in New York by this time tomorrow. Once he and Kronos combine forces-"
"Then what chance do we have?" I said. "We can't hold out another day."
"We'll have to," Thalia said. "I'll see about setting some new traps around the perimeter."
She looked exhausted. Her jacket was smeared in grime and monster dust, but she managed to get to her feet and stagger off.
"I will help her," Chiron decided. "I should make sure my brethren don't go too overboard with the root beer."
I thought "too overboard" pretty much summed up the Party Ponies, but Chiron cantered off, leaving Annabeth and me alone.
She cleaned the monster slime off her knife. I'd seen her do that hundreds of times, but I'd never thought about why she cared so much about the blade.
"At least your mom is okay," I offered.
"If you call fighting Typhon okay." She locked eyes with me. "Percy, even with the centaurs' help, I'm starting to think-"
"I know." I had a bad feeling this might be our last chance to talk, and I felt like there were a million things I hadn't told her. "Listen,
there were some . . . some visions Hestia showed me." "You mean about Luke?"
Maybe it was just a safe guess, but I got the feeling Annabeth knew what I'd been holding back. Maybe she'd been having dreams of her own.
"Yeah," I said. "You and Thalia and Luke. The first time you met. And the time you met Hermes."
Annabeth slipped her knife back into its sheath. "Luke promised he'd never let me get hurt. He said . . . he said we'd be a new family, and it would turn out better than his."
Her eyes reminded me of that seven-year-old girl's in the alley- angry, scared, desperate for a friend.
"Thalia talked to me earlier," I said. "She's afraid-" "That I can't face Luke," she said miserably.
I nodded. "But there's something else you should know. Ethan Nakamura seemed to think Luke was still alive inside his body, maybe even fighting Kronos for control."
Annabeth tried to hide it, but I could almost see her mind working on the possibilities, maybe starting to hope.
"I didn't want to tell you," I admitted.
She looked up at the Empire State Building. "Percy, for so much of my life, I felt like everything was changing, all the time. I didn't have anyone I could rely on."
I nodded. That was something most demigods could understand.
"I ran away when I was seven," she said. "Then with Luke and Thalia, I thought I'd found a family, but it fell apart almost immediately. What I'm saying . . . I hate it when people let me down,
when things are temporary. I think that's why I want to be an architect."
"To build something permanent," I said. "A monument to last a thousand years."
She held my eyes. "I guess that sounds like my fatal flaw again."
Years ago in the Sea of Monsters, Annabeth had told me her biggest flaw was pride-thinking she could fix anything. I'd even seen a glimpse of her deepest desire, shown to her by the Sirens' magic.
Annabeth had imagined her mother and father together, standing in front of a newly rebuilt Manhattan, designed by Annabeth. And Luke had been there too-good again, welcoming her home.
"I guess I understand how you feel," I said. "But Thalia's right. Luke has already betrayed you so many times. He was evil even before Kronos. I don't want him to hurt you anymore."
Annabeth pursed her lips. I could tell she was trying not to get mad. "And you'll understand if I keep hoping there's a chance you're wrong."
I looked away. I felt like I'd done my best, but that didn't make me feel any better.
Across the street, the Apollo campers had set up a field hospital to tend the wounded-dozens of campers and almost as many Hunters. I was watching the medics work, and thinking about our slim chances for holding Mount Olympus. . . .
And suddenly: I wasn't there anymore.
I was standing in a long dingy bar with black walls, neon signs, and a bunch of partying adults. A banner across the bar read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOBBY EARL. Country music played on the speakers. Big guys in jeans and work shirts crowded the bar. Waitresses
carried trays of drinks and shouted at each other. It was pretty much exactly the kind of place my mom would never let me go.
I was stuck in the very back of the room, next to the bathrooms (which didn't smell so great) and a couple of antique arcade games.
"Oh good, you're here," said the man at the Pac-Man machine. "I'll have a Diet Coke."
He was a pudgy guy in a leopard-skin Hawaiian shirt, purple shorts, red running shoes, and black socks, which didn't exactly make him blend in with the crowd. His nose was bright red. A bandage was wrapped around his curly black hair like he was recovering from a concussion.
I blinked. "Mr. D?"
He sighed, not taking his eyes from the game. "Really, Peter Johnson, how long will it take for you to recognize me on sight?"
"About as long as it'll take for you to figure out my name," I muttered. "Where are we?"
"Why, Bobby Earl's birthday party," Dionysus said. "Somewhere in lovely rural America."
"I thought Typhon swatted you out of the sky. They said you crash- landed."
"Your concern is touching. I did crash-land. Very painfully. In fact, part of me is still buried under a hundred feet of rubble in an abandoned coal mine. It will be several more hours before I have enough strength to mend. But in the meantime, part of my consciousness is here."
"At a bar, playing Pac-Man."
"Party time," Dionysus said. "Surely you've heard of it. Wherever there is a party, my presence is invoked. Because of this, I can exist
in many different places at once. The only problem was finding a party. I don't know if you're aware how serious things are outside your safe little bubble of New York-"
"Safe little bubble?"
"-but believe me, the mortals out here in the heartland are panicking. Typhon has terrified them. Very few are throwing parties. Apparently Bobby Earl and his friends, bless them, are a little slow. They haven't yet figured out that the world is ending."
"So . . . I'm not really here?"
"No. In a moment I'll send you back to your normal insignificant life, and it will be as if nothing had happened."
"And why did you bring me here?"
Dionysus snorted. "Oh, I didn't want you particularly. Any of you silly heroes would do. That Annie girl-"
"Annabeth."
"The point is," he said, "I pulled you into party time to deliver a warning. We are in danger."
"Gee," I said. "Never would've figured that out. Thanks."
He glared at me and momentarily forgot his game. Pac-Man got eaten by the red ghost dude.
"Erre es korakas, Blinky!" Dionysus cursed. "I will have your soul!" "Um, he's a video game character," I said.
"That's no excuse! And you're ruining my game, Jorgenson!" "Jackson."
"Whichever! Now listen, the situation is graver than you imagine. If Olympus falls, not only will the gods fade, but everything that is connected to our legacy will also begin to unravel. The very fabric of
your puny little civilization-"
The game played a song and Mr. D progressed to level 254. "Ha!" he shouted. "Take that, you pixelated fiends!"
"Um, fabric of civilization," I prompted.
"Yes, yes. Your entire society will dissolve. Perhaps not right away, but mark my words, the chaos of the Titans will mean the end of Western civilization. Art, law, wine tastings, music, video games, silk shirts, black velvet paintings-all the things that make life worth living will disappear!"
"So why aren't the gods rushing back to help us?" I said. "We should combine forces at Olympus. Forget Typhon."
He snapped his fingers impatiently. "You forgot my Diet Coke."
"Gods, you're annoying." I got the attention of a waitress and ordered the stupid soda. I put it on Bobby Earl's tab.
Mr. D took a good long drink. His eyes never left the video game. "The truth is, Pierre-"
"Percy."
"-the other gods would never admit this, but we actually need you mortals to rescue Olympus. You see, we are manifestations of your culture. If you don't care enough to save Olympus yourselves-"
"Like Pan," I said, "depending on the satyrs to save the Wild." "Yes, quite. I will deny I ever said this, of course, but the gods need
heroes. They always have. Otherwise we would not keep you annoying little brats around."
"I feel so wanted. Thanks."
"Use the training I have given you at camp." "What training?"
"You know. All those hero techniques and . . . No!" Mr. D slapped the game console. "Na pari i eychi! The last level!"
He looked at me, and purple fire flickered in his eyes. "As 1 recall, I once predicted you would turn out to be as selfish as all the other human heroes. Well, here is your chance to prove me wrong."
"Yeah, making you proud is real high on my list."
"You must save Olympus, Pedro! Leave Typhon to the Olympians and save our own seats of power. It must be done!"
"Great. Nice little chat. Now, if you don't mind, my friends will be wondering-"
"There is more," Mr. D warned. "Kronos has not yet attained full power. The body of the mortal was only a temporary measure."
"We kind of guessed that."
"And did you also guess that within a day at most, Kronos will burn away that mortal body and take on the true form of a Titan king?"
"And that would mean . . ."
Dionysus inserted another quarter. "You know about the true forms of the gods."
"Yeah. You can't look at them without burning up."
"Kronos would be ten times more powerful. His very presence would incinerate you. And once he achieves this, he will empower the other Titans. They are weak now, compared to what they will soon become, unless you can stop them. The world will fall, the gods will die, and I will never achieve a perfect score on this stupid machine."
Maybe I should've been terrified, but honestly, I was already about as scared as I could get.
"Can I go now?" I asked.
"One last thing. My son Pollux. Is he alive?" I blinked. "Yeah, last I saw him."
"I would very much appreciate it if you could keep him that way. I lost his brother Castor last year-"
"I remember." I stared at him, trying to wrap my mind around the idea that Dionysus could be a caring father. I wondered how many other Olympians were thinking about their demigod children right now. "I'll do my best."
"Your best," Dionysus muttered. "Well, isn't that reassuring. Go now. You have some nasty surprises to deal with, and I must defeat Blinky!"
"Nasty surprises?"
He waved his hand, and the bar disappeared.
I was back on Fifth Avenue. Annabeth hadn't moved. She didn't give any sign that I'd been gone or anything.
She caught me staring and frowned. "What?" "Um . . . nothing, I guess."
I gazed down the avenue, wondering what Mr. D had meant by nasty surprises. How much worse could it get?
My eyes rested on a beat-up blue car. The hood was badly dented, like somebody had tried to hammer out some huge craters. My skin tingled. Why did that car look so familiar? Then I realized it was a Prius.
Paul's Prius.
I bolted down the street.
"Percy!" Annabeth called. "Where are you going?"
Paul was passed out in the driver's seat. My mom was snoring beside him. My mind felt like mush. How had I not seen them before?
They'd been sitting here in traffic for over a day, the battle raging around them, and I hadn't even noticed.
"They . . . they must've seen those blue lights in the sky." I rattled the doors but they were locked. "I need to get them out."
"Percy," Annabeth said gently.
"I can't leave them here!" I sounded a little crazy. I pounded on the windshield. "I have to move them. I have to-"
"Percy, just . . . just hold on." Annabeth waved to Chiron, who was talking to some centaurs down the block. "We can push the car to a side street, all right? They're going to be fine."
My hands trembled. After all I'd been through over the last few days, I felt so stupid and weak, but the sight of my parents made me want to break down.
Chiron galloped over. "What's . . . Oh dear. I see."
"They were coming to find me," I said. "My mom must've sensed something was wrong."
"Most likely," Chiron said. "But, Percy, they will be fine. The best thing we can do for them is stay focused on our job."
Then I noticed something in the backseat of the Prius, and my heart skipped a beat. Seat-belted behind my mother was a black-and-white Greek jar about three feet tall. Its lid was wrapped in a leather harness.
"No way," I muttered.
Annabeth pressed her hand to the window. "That's impossible! I thought you left that at the Plaza."
"Locked in a vault," I agreed.
Chiron saw the jar and his eyes widened. "That isn't- " "Pandora's jar." I told him about my meeting with Prometheus.
"Then the jar is yours," Chiron said grimly. "It will follow you and tempt you to open it, no matter where you leave it. It will appear when you are weakest."
Like now, I thought. Looking at my helpless parents.
I imagined Prometheus smiling, so anxious to help out us poor mortals. Give up Hope, and I will know that you are surrendering. I promise Kronos will be lenient.
Anger surged through me. I drew Riptide and cut through the driver's side window like it was made of plastic wrap.
"We'll put the car in neutral," I said. "Push them out of the way. And take that stupid jar to Olympus."
Chiron nodded. "A good plan. But, Percy . . ."
Whatever he was going to say, he faltered. A mechanical drumbeat grew loud in the distance-the chop-chop-chop of a helicopter.
On a normal Monday morning in New York, this would've been no big deal, but after two days of silence, a mortal helicopter was the oddest thing I'd ever heard. A few blocks east, the monster army shouted and jeered as the helicopter came into view. It was a civilian model painted dark red, with a bright green "DE" logo on the side.
The words under the logo were too small to read, but I knew what they said: DARE ENTERPRISES.
My throat closed up. I looked at Annabeth and could tell she recognized the logo too. Her face was as red as the helicopter.
"What is she doing here?" Annabeth demanded. "How did she get
through the barrier?"
"Who?" Chiron looked confused. "What mortal would be insane enough-"
Suddenly the helicopter pitched forward.
"The Morpheus enchantment!" Chiron said. "The foolish mortal pilot is asleep."
I watched in horror as the helicopter careened sideways, falling toward a row of office buildings. Even if it didn't crash, the gods of the air would probably swat it out of the sky for coming near the Empire State Building.
I was too paralyzed to move, but Annabeth whistled and Guido the pegasus swooped out of nowhere.
You rang for a handsome horse? he asked.
"Come on, Percy," Annabeth growled. "We have to save your friend."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN WE GET HELP FROM
A THIEF
Here's my definition of not fun. Fly a pegasus toward an out-of- control helicopter. If Guido had been any less of a fancy flier, we would've been chopped to confetti.
I could hear Rachel screaming inside. For some reason, she hadn't fallen asleep, but I could see the pilot slumped over the controls, pitching back and forth as the helicopter wobbled toward the side of an office building.
"Ideas?" I asked Annabeth.
"You're going to have to take Guido and get out," she said. "What are you going to do?"
In response, she said, "Hyah!" and Guido went into a nosedive. "Duck!" Annabeth yelled.
We passed so close to the rotors I felt the force of the blades ripping at my hair. We zipped along the side of the helicopter, and Annabeth grabbed the door.
That's when things went wrong.
Guido's wing slammed against the helicopter. He plummeted straight down with me on his back, leaving Annabeth dangling from the side
of the aircraft. I was so terrified I could barely think, but as Guido spiraled I caught a glimpse of Rachel pulling Annabeth inside the copter.
"Hang in there!" I yelled at Guido.
My wing, he moaned. It's busted.
"You can do it!" I desperately tried to remember what Silena used to tell us in pegasus-riding lessons. "Just relax the wing. Extend it and glide."
We fell like a rock-straight toward the pavement three hundred feet below. At the last moment Guido extended his wings. I saw the faces of centaurs gaping up at us. Then we pulled out of our dive, sailed fifty feet, and tumbled onto the pavement-pegasus over demigod.
Ow! Guido moaned. My legs. My head. My wings.
Chiron galloped over with his medical pouch and began working on the pegasus.
I got to my feet. When I looked up, my heart crawled into my throat. The helicopter was only a few seconds away from slamming into the side of the building.
Then miraculously the helicopter righted itself. It spun in a circle and hovered. Very slowly, it began to descend.
It seemed to take forever, but finally the helicopter thudded to a landing in the middle of Fifth Avenue. I looked through the windshield and couldn't believe what I was seeing. Annabeth was at the controls.
I ran forward as the rotors spun to a stop. Rachel opened the side door and dragged out the pilot.
Rachel was still dressed like she was on vacation, in beach shorts, a T-shirt, and sandals. Her hair was tangled and her face was green
from the helicopter ride. Annabeth climbed out last.
I stared at her in awe. "I didn't know you could fly a helicopter."
"Neither did I," she said. "My dad's crazy into aviation. Plus, Daedalus had some notes on flying machines. I just took my best guess on the controls."
"You saved my life," Rachel said.
Annabeth flexed her bad shoulder. "Yeah, well . . . let's not make a habit of it. What are you doing here, Dare? Don't you know better than to fly into a war zone?"
"I-" Rachel glanced at me. "I had to be here. I knew Percy was in trouble."
"Got that right," Annabeth grumbled. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have some injured friends I've got to tend to. Glad you could stop by, Rachel."
'Annabeth-" I called. She stormed off.
Rachel plopped down on the curb and put her head in her hands. "I'm sorry, Percy. I didn't mean to . . . I always mess things up."
It was kind of hard to argue with her, though I was glad she was safe. I looked in the direction Annabeth had gone, but she'd disappeared into the crowd. I couldn't believe what she'd just done-saved Rachel's life, landed a helicopter, and walked away like it was no big deal.
"It's okay," I told Rachel, though my words sounded hollow. "So what's the message you wanted to deliver?"
She frowned. "How did you know about that?"
"A dream."
Rachel didn't look surprised. She tugged at her beach shorts. They were covered in drawings, which wasn't unusual for her, but these symbols I recognized: Greek letters, pictures from camp beads, sketches of monsters and faces of gods. I didn't understand how Rachel could have known about some of that. She'd never been to Olympus or Camp Half-Blood.
"I've been seeing things too," she muttered. "I mean, not just through the Mist. This is different. I've been drawing pictures, writing lines-"
"In Ancient Greek," I said. "Do you know what they say?"
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I was hoping . . . well, if you had gone with us on vacation, I was hoping you could have helped me figure out what's happening to me."
She looked at me pleadingly. Her face was sunburned from the beach. Her nose was peeling. I couldn't get over the shock that she was here in person. She'd forced her family to cut short their vacation, agreed to go to a horrible school, and flown a helicopter into a monster battle just to see me. In her own way, she was as brave as Annabeth.
But what was happening to her with these visions really freaked me out. Maybe it was something that happened to all mortals who could see through the Mist. But my mom had never talked about anything like that. And Hestia's words about Luke's mom kept coming back to me: May Castellan went too far. She tried to see too much.
"Rachel," I said, "I wish I knew. Maybe we should ask Chiron-"
She flinched like she'd gotten an electric shock. "Percy, something is about to happen. A trick that ends in death."
"What do you mean? Whose death?"
"I don't know." She looked around nervously. "Don't you feel it?" "Is that the message you wanted to tell me?"
"No." She hesitated. "I'm sorry. I'm not making sense, but that thought just came to me. The message I wrote on the beach was different. It had your name in it."
"Perseus," I remembered. "In Ancient Greek."
Rachel nodded. "I don't know its meaning. But I know it's important. You have to hear it. It said, Perseus, you are not the hero."
I stared at her like she'd just slapped me. "You came thousands of miles to tell me I'm not the hero?"
"It's important," she insisted. "It will affect what you do."
"Not the hero of the prophecy?" I asked. "Not the hero who defeats Kronos? What do you mean?"
"I'm . . . I'm sorry, Percy. That's all I know. I had to tell you because-"
"Well!" Chiron cantered over. "This must be Miss Dare."
I wanted to yell at him to go away, but of course I couldn't. I tried to get my emotions under control. I felt like I had another personal hurricane swirling around me. "Chiron, Rachel Dare," I said. "Rachel, this is my teacher Chiron."
"Hello," Rachel said glumly. She didn't look at all surprised that Chiron was a centaur.
"You are not asleep, Miss Dare," he noticed. "And yet you are mortal?"
"I'm mortal," she agreed, like it was a depressing thought. "The pilot fell asleep as soon as we passed the river. I don't know why I didn't. I just knew I had to be here, to warn Percy."
"Warn Percy?"
"She's been seeing things," I said. "Writing lines and making drawings."
Chiron raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? Tell me." She told him the same things she'd told me.
Chiron stroked his beard. "Miss Dare . . . perhaps we should talk."
"Chiron," I blurted. I had a sudden terrible image of Camp Half- Blood in the 1990s, and May Castellan's scream coming from that attic. "You . . . you'll help Rachel, right? I mean, you'll warn her that she's got to be careful with this stuff. Not go too far."
His tail flicked like it does when he's anxious. "Yes, Percy. I will do my best to understand what is happening and advise Miss Dare, but this may take some time. Meanwhile, you should rest. We've moved your parents' car to safety. The enemy seems to be staying put for now. We've set up bunks in the Empire State Building. Get some sleep."
"Everybody keeps telling me to sleep," I grumbled. "I don't need sleep."
Chiron managed a smile. "Have you looked at yourself recently, Percy?"
I glanced down at my clothes, which were scorched, burned, sliced, and tattered from my night of constant battles. "I look like death," I admitted. "But you think I can sleep after what just happened?"
"You may be invulnerable in combat," Chiron chided, "but that only makes your body tire faster. I remember Achilles. Whenever that lad wasn't fighting, he was sleeping. He must've taken twenty naps a day. You, Percy, need your rest. You may be our only hope."
I wanted to complain that I wasn't their only hope, According to
Rachel, I wasn't even the hero. But the look in Chiron's eyes made it clear he wasn't going to take no for an answer.
"Sure," I grumbled. "Talk."
I trudged toward the Empire State Building. When I glanced back, Rachel and Chiron were walking together in earnest conversation, like they were discussing funeral arrangements.
Inside the lobby, I found an empty bunk and collapsed, sure that I would never be able to sleep. A second later, my eyes closed.
In my dreams, I was back in Hades's garden. The lord of the dead paced up and down, holding his ears while Nico followed him, waving his arms.
"You have to!" Nico insisted.
Demeter and Persephone sat behind them at the breakfast table. Both of the goddesses looked bored. Demeter poured shredded wheat into four huge bowls. Persephone was magically changing the flower arrangement on the table, turning the blossoms from red to yellow to polka-dotted.
"I don't have to do anything!" Hades s eyes blazed. "I'm a god!"
"Father," Nico said, "if Olympus falls, your own palace's safety doesn't matter. You'll fade too."
"I am not an Olympian!" he growled. "My family has made that
quite clear."
"You are,'' Nico said. "Whether you like it or not."
"You saw what they did to your mother," Hades said. "Zeus killed her. And you would have me help them? They deserve what they get!"
Persephone sighed. She walked her fingers across the table, absently
turning the silverware into roses. "Could we please not talk about that woman?"
"You know what would help this boy?" Demeter mused. "Farming." Persephone rolled her eyes. "Mother-"
"Six months behind a plow. Excellent character building."
Nico stepped in front of his father, forcing Hades to face him. "My mother understood about family. That's why she didn't want to leave us. You can't just abandon your family because they did something horrible. You've done horrible things to them too."
"Maria died!" Hades reminded him.
"You can't just cut yourself off from the other gods!" "I've done very well at it for thousands of years."
"And has that made you feel any better?" Nico demanded. "Has that curse on the Oracle helped you at all? Holding grudges is a fatal flaw. Bianca warned me about that, and she was right."
"For demigods! I am immortal, all-powerful! I would not help the other gods if they begged me, if Percy Jackson himself pleaded-"
"You're just as much of an outcast as I am!" Nico yelled. "Stop being angry about it and do something helpful for once. That's the only way they'll respect you!"
Hades's palm filled with black fire.
"Go ahead," Nico said. "Blast me. That's just what the other gods would expect from you. Prove them right."
"Yes, please," Demeter complained. "Shut him up."
Persephone sighed. "Oh, I don't know. I would rather fight in the war than eat another bowl of cereal. This is boring."
Hades roared in anger. His fireball hit a silver tree right next to Nico,
melting it into a pool of liquid metal. And my dream changed.
I was standing outside the United Nations, about a mile northeast of the Empire State Building. The Titan army had set up camp all around the UN complex. The flagpoles were hung with horrible trophies-helmets and armor pieces from defeated campers. All along First Avenue, giants sharpened their axes. Telkhines repaired armor at makeshift forges.
Kronos himself paced at the top of the plaza, swinging his scythe so his dracaenae bodyguards stayed way back. Ethan Nakamura and Prometheus stood nearby, out of slicing range. Ethan was fidgeting with his shield straps, but Prometheus looked as calm and collected as ever in his tuxedo.
"I hate this place," Kronos growled. "United Nations. As if mankind could ever unite. Remind me to tear down this building after we destroy Olympus."
"Yes, lord." Prometheus smiled as if his master's anger amused him. "Shall we tear down the stables in Central Park too? I know how much horses can annoy you."
"Don't mock me, Prometheus! Those cursed centaurs will be sorry they interfered. I will feed them to the hellhounds, starting with that son of mine-that weakling Chiron."
Prometheus shrugged. "That weakling destroyed an entire legion of telkhines with his arrows."
Kronos swung his scythe and cut a flagpole in half. The national colors of Brazil toppled into the army, squashing a dracaena.
"We will destroy them!" Kronos roared. "It is time to unleash the drakon. Nakamura, you will do this."
"Y-yes, lord. At sunset?"
"No," Kronos said. "Immediately. The defenders of Olympus are badly wounded. They will not expect a quick attack. Besides, we know this drakon they cannot beat."
Ethan looked confused. "My lord?"
"Never you mind, Nakamura. Just do my bidding. I want Olympus in ruins by the time Typhon reaches New York. We will break the gods utterly!"
"But, my lord," Ethan said. "Your regeneration." Kronos pointed at Ethan, and the demigod froze.
"Does it seem," Kronos hissed, "that I need to regenerate?"
Ethan didn't respond. Kind of hard to do when you're immobilized in time.
Kronos snapped his fingers and Ethan collapsed.
"Soon," the Titan growled, "this form will be unnecessary. I will not rest with victory so close. Now, go!"
Ethan scrambled away.
"This is dangerous, my lord," Prometheus warned. "Do not be hasty."
"Hasty? After festering for three thousand years in the depths of Tartarus, you call me hasty? I will slice Percy Jackson into a thousand pieces."
"Thrice you've fought him," Prometheus pointed out. "And yet you've always said it is beneath the dignity of a Titan to fight a mere mortal. I wonder if your mortal host is influencing you, weakening your judgment."
Kronos turned his golden eyes on the other Titan. "You call me
weak?"
"No, my lord. I only meant-"
"Are your loyalties divided?" Kronos asked. "Perhaps you miss your old friends, the gods. Would you like to join them?"
Prometheus paled. "I misspoke, my lord. Your orders will be carried out." He turned to the armies and shouted, "PREPARE FOR BATTLE!"
The troops began to stir.
From somewhere behind the UN compound, an angry roar shook the city-the sound of a drakon waking. The noise was so horrible it woke me, and I realized I could still hear it from a mile away.
Grover stood next to me, looking nervous. "What was that?" "They're coming," I told him. "And we're in trouble."
The Hephaestus cabin was out of Greek fire. The Apollo cabin and the Hunters were scrounging for arrows. Most of us had already ingested so much ambrosia and nectar we didn't dare take any more.
We had sixteen campers, fifteen Hunters, and half a dozen satyrs left in fighting shape. The rest had taken refuge on Olympus. The Party Ponies tried to form ranks, but they staggered and giggled and they all smelled like root beer. The Texans were head-butting the Coloradoans. The Missouri branch was arguing with Illinois. The chances were pretty good the whole army would end up fighting each other rather than the enemy.
Chiron trotted up with Rachel on his back. I felt a twinge of annoyance because Chiron rarely gave anyone a ride, and never a mortal.
"Your friend here has some useful insights, Percy," he said.
Rachel blushed. "Just some things I saw in my head."
"A drakon," Chiron said. "A Lydian drakon, to be exact. The oldest and most dangerous kind."
I stared at her. "How did you know that?"
"I'm not sure," Rachel admitted. "But this drakon has a particular fate. It will be killed by a child of Ares."
Annabeth crossed her arms. "How can you possibly know that?" "I just saw it. I can't explain."
"Well, let's hope you're wrong," I said. "Because we're a little short on children of Ares. . . ." A horrible thought occurred to me, and I cursed in Ancient Greek.
"What?" Annabeth asked.
"The spy," I told her. "Kronos said, We know they cannot beat this drakon. The spy has been keeping him updated. Kronos knows the Ares cabin isn't with us. He intentionally picked a monster we can't kill."
Thalia scowled. "If I ever catch your spy, he's going to be very sorry. Maybe we could send another messenger to camp-"
"I've already done it," Chiron said. "Blackjack is on his way. But if Silena wasn't able to convince Clarisse, I doubt Blackjack will be able-"
A roar shook the ground. It sounded very close. "Rachel," I said, "get inside the building."
"I want to stay."
A shadow blotted out the sun. Across the street, the drakon slithered down the side of a skyscraper. It roared, and a thousand windows shattered.
"On second thought," Rachel said in a small voice, "I'll be inside."
* * *
Let me explain: there are dragons, and then there are drakons.
Drakons are several millennia older than dragons, and much larger. They look like giant serpents. Most don't have wings. Most don't breathe fire (though some do). All are poisonous. All are immensely strong, with scales harder than titanium. Their eyes can paralyze you; not the turn-you~to-stone Medusa-type paralysis, but the oh~my~gods-that~big~snake~is~going~to~eat~me type of paralysis, which is just as bad.
We have drakon-fighting classes at camp, but there is no way to prepare yourself for a two-hundred-foot-long serpent as thick as a school bus slithering down the side of a building, its yellow eyes like searchlights and its mouth full of razor-sharp teeth big enough to chew elephants.
It almost made me long for the flying pig.
Meanwhile, the enemy army advanced down Fifth Avenue. We'd done our best to push cars out of the way to keep the mortals safe, but that just made it easier for our enemies to approach. The Party Ponies swished their tails nervously. Chiron galloped up and down their ranks, shouting encouragement to stand tough and think about victory and root beer, but I figured any second they would panic and run.
"I'll take the drakon." My voice came out as a timid squeak. Then I yelled louder: "I'LL TAKE THE DRAKON! Everyone else, hold the line against the army!"
Annabeth stood next to me. She had pulled her owl helmet low over her face, but I could tell her eyes were red.
"Will you help me?" I asked.
"That's what I do," she said miserably. "I help my friends."
I felt like a complete jerk. I wanted to pull her aside and explain that I didn't mean for Rachel to be here, that it wasn't my idea, but we had no time.
"Go invisible," I said. "Look for weak links in its armor while I keep it busy. Just be careful."
I whistled. "Mrs. O'Leary, heel!"
"ROOOF!" My hellhound leaped over a line of centaurs and gave me a kiss that smelled suspiciously of pepperoni pizza.
I drew my sword and we charged the monster.
The drakon was three stories above us, slithering sideways along the building as it sized up our forces. Wherever it looked, centaurs froze in fear.
From the north, the enemy army crashed into the Party Ponies, and our lines broke. The drakon lashed out, swallowing three Californian centaurs in one gulp before I could even get close.
Mrs. O'Leary launched herself through the air-a deadly black shadow with teeth and claws. Normally, a pouncing hellhound is a terrifying sight, but next to the drakon, Mrs. O'Leary looked like a child's
night-night doll.
Her claws raked harmlessly off the drakon's scales. She bit the monster's throat but couldn't make a dent. Her weight, however, was enough to knock the drakon off the side of the building. It flailed awkwardly and crashed to the sidewalk, hellhound and serpent twisting and thrashing. The drakon tried to bite Mrs. O'Leary, but she was too close to the serpent's mouth. Poison spewed everywhere, melting centaurs into dust along with quite a few monsters, but Mrs.
O'Leary weaved around the serpent's head, scratching and biting.
"YAAAH!" I plunged Riptide deep into the monster's left eye. The spotlight went dark. The drakon hissed and reared back to strike, but I rolled aside.
It bit a swimming-pool-size chunk out of the pavement. It turned toward me with its good eye, and I focused on its teeth so I wouldn't get paralyzed. Mrs. O'Leary did her best to cause a distraction. She leaped onto the serpent's head and scratched and growled like a really angry black wig.
The rest of the battle wasn't going well. The centaurs had panicked under the onslaught of giants and demons. An occasional orange camp T-shirt appeared in the sea of fighting, but quickly disappeared. Arrows screamed. Fire exploded in waves across both armies, but the action was moving across the street to the entrance of the Empire State Building. We were losing ground.
Suddenly Annabeth materialized on the drakon's back. Her invisibility cap rolled off her head as she drove her bronze knife between a chink in the serpent's scales.
The drakon roared. It coiled around, knocking Annabeth off its back.
I reached her just as she hit the ground. I dragged her out of the way as the serpent rolled, crushing a lamppost right where she'd been.
"Thanks," she said.
"I told you to be careful!" "Yeah, well, DUCK!"
It was her turn to save me. She tackled me as the monster's teeth snapped above my head. Mrs. O'Leary body-slammed the drakon's face to get its attention, and we rolled out of the way.
Meanwhile our allies had retreated to the doors of the Empire State Building. The entire enemy army was surrounding them.
We were out of options. No more help was coming. Annabeth and I would have to retreat before we were cut off from Mount Olympus.
Then I heard a rumbling in the south. It wasn't a sound you hear much in New York, but I recognized it immediately: chariot wheels.
A girl's voice yelled, "ARES!"
And a dozen war chariots charged into battle. Each flew a red banner with the symbol of the wild boar's head. Each was pulled by a team of skeletal horses with manes of fire. A total of thirty fresh warriors, armor gleaming and eyes full of hate, lowered their lances as one- making a bristling wall of death.
"The children of Ares!" Annabeth said in amazement. "How did Rachel know?"
I didn't have an answer. But leading the charge was a girl in familiar red armor, her face covered by a boar's-head helm. She held aloft a spear that crackled with electricity. Clarisse herself had come to the rescue. While half her chariots charged the monster army, Clarisse led the other six straight for the drakon.
The serpent reared back and managed to throw off Mrs. O'Leary. My poor pet hit the side of the building with a yelp. I ran to help her, but the serpent had already zeroed in on the new threat. Even with only one eye, its glare was enough to paralyze two chariot drivers. They veered into a line of cars. The other four chariots kept charging. The monster bared its fangs to strike and got a mouthful of Celestial bronze javelins.
"EEESSSSS!!!!!" it screamed, which is probably drakon for
OWWWW!
"Ares, to me!" Clarisse screamed. Her voice sounded shriller than usual, but I guess that wasn't surprising given what she was fighting.
Across the street, the arrival of six chariots gave the Party Ponies new hope. They rallied at the doors of the Empire State Building, and the enemy army was momentarily thrown into confusion.
Meanwhile, Clarisse's chariots circled the drakon. Lances broke against the monster's skin. Skeletal horses breathed fire and whinnied. Two more chariots overturned, but the warriors simply leaped to their feet, drew their swords, and went to work. They hacked at chinks in the creature's scales. They dodged poison spray like they'd been training for this all their lives, which of course they had.
No one could say the Ares campers weren't brave. Clarisse was right there in front, stabbing her spear at the drakon's face, trying to put out its other eye. But as I watched, things started to go wrong. The drakon snapped up one Ares camper in a gulp. It knocked aside another and sprayed poison on a third, who retreated in a panic, his armor melting.
"We have to help," Annabeth said.
She was right. I'd just been standing there frozen in amazement. Mrs. O'Leary tried to get up but yelped again. One of her paws was bleeding.
"Stay back, girl," I told her. "You've done enough already."
Annabeth and I jumped onto the monster's back and ran toward its head, trying to draw its attention away from Clarisse.
Her cabinmates threw javelins, most of which broke, but some lodged in the monster's teeth. It snapped its jaws together until its mouth was a mess of green blood, yellow foamy poison, and splintered weapons.
"You can do it!" I screamed at Clarisse. "A child of Ares is destined to kill it!"
Through her war helmet, I could only see her eyes-but I could tell something was wrong. Her blue eyes shone with fear. Clarisse never looked like that. And she didn't have blue eyes.
"ARES!" she shouted, in that strangely shrill voice. She leveled her spear and charged the drakon.
"No," I muttered. "WAIT!"
But the monster looked down at her-almost in contempt-and spit poison directly in her face.
She screamed and fell.
"Clarisse!" Annabeth jumped off the monster's back and ran to help, while the other Ares campers tried to defend their fallen counselor. I drove Riptide between two of the creature's scales and managed to turn its attention on me.
I got thrown but I landed on my feet. "C'MON, you stupid worm! Look at me!"
For the next several minutes, all I saw were teeth. I retreated and dodged poison, but I couldn't hurt the thing.
At the edge of my vision, I saw a flying chariot land on Fifth Avenue.
Then someone ran toward us. A girl's voice, shaken with grief, cried, "NO! Curse you, WHY?"
I dared to glance over, but what I saw made no sense. Clarisse was lying on the ground where she'd fallen. Her armor smoked with poison. Annabeth and the Ares campers were trying to unfasten her helmet. And kneeling next to them, her face blotchy with tears, was a girl in camp clothes. It was . . . Clarisse.
My head spun. Why hadn't I noticed before? The girl in Clarisse's armor was much thinner, not as tall. But why would someone pretend to be Clarisse?
I was so stunned, the drakon almost snapped me in half. I dodged and the beast buried its head in a brick wall.
"WHY?" The real Clarisse demanded, holding the other girl in her arms while the campers struggled to remove the poison-corroded helmet.
Chris Rodriguez ran over from the flying chariot. He and Clarisse must've ridden it here from camp, chasing the Ares campers, who'd mistakenly been following the other girl, thinking she was Clarisse. But it still made no sense.
The drakon tugged its head from the brick wall and screamed in rage.
"Look out!" Chris warned.
Instead of turning toward me, the drakon whirled toward the sound of Chris's voice. It bared its fangs at the group of demigods.
The real Clarisse looked up at the drakon, her face filled with absolute hate. I'd seen a look that intense only once before. Her father, Ares, had worn the same expression when I'd fought him in single combat.
"YOU WANT DEATH?" Clarisse screamed at the drakon. "WELL, COME ON!"
She grabbed her spear from the fallen girl. With no armor or shield, she charged the drakon.
I tried to close the distance to help, but Clarisse was faster. She leaped aside as the monster struck, pulverizing the ground in front of her. Then she jumped onto the creature's head. As it reared up, she
drove her electric spear into its good eye with so much force it shattered the shaft, releasing all of the magic weapon's power.
Electricity arced across the creature's head, causing its whole body to shudder. Clarisse jumped free, rolling safely to the sidewalk as smoke boiled from the drakon's mouth. The drakon's flesh dissolved, and it collapsed into a hollow scaly tunnel of armor.
The rest of us stared at Clarisse in awe. I had never seen anyone take down such a huge monster single-handedly. But Clarisse didn't seem to care. She ran back to the wounded girl who'd stolen her armor.
Finally Annabeth managed to remove the girl's helmet. We all gathered around: the Ares campers, Chris, Clarisse, Annabeth, and me. The battle still raged along Fifth Avenue, but for that moment nothing existed except our small circle and the fallen girl.
Her features, once beautiful, were badly burned from poison. I could tell that no amount of nectar or ambrosia would save her.
Something is about to happen. Rachel's words rang in my ears. A trick that ends in death.
Now I knew what she meant, and I knew who had led the Ares cabin into battle.
I looked down at the dying face of Silena Beauregard.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN I SIT ON THE
HOT SEAT
"What were you thinking?" Clarisse cradled Silena's head in her lap. Silena tried to swallow, but her lips were dry and cracked. "Wouldn't
. . . listen. Cabin would . . . only follow you."
"So you stole my armor," Clarisse said in disbelief. "You waited until Chris and I went out on patrol; you stole my armor and pretended to be me." She glared at her siblings. "And NONE of you noticed?"
The Ares campers developed a sudden interest in their combat boots.
"Don't blame them," Silena said. "They wanted to . . . to believe I was you."
"You stupid Aphrodite girl," Clarisse sobbed. "You charged a drakon? Why?"
"All my fault," Silena said, a tear streaking the side of her face. "The drakon, Charlie's death . . . camp endangered-"
"Stop it!" Clarisse said. "That's not true."
Silena opened her hand. In her palm was a silver bracelet with a scythe charm, the mark of Kronos.
A cold fist closed around my heart. "You were the spy."
Silena tried to nod. "Before . . . before I liked Charlie, Luke was nice to me. He was so . . . charming. Handsome. Later, I wanted to stop helping him, but he threatened to tell. He promised . . . he promised I was saving lives. Fewer people would get hurt. He told me he wouldn't hurt . . . Charlie. He lied to me."
I met Annabeth's eyes. Her face was chalky. She looked like somebody had just yanked the world out from under her feet.
Behind us, the battle raged.
Clarisse scowled at her cabinmates. "Go, help the centaurs. Protect the doors. GO!"
They scrambled off to join the fight.
Silena took a heavy, painful breath. "Forgive me." "You're not dying," Clarisse insisted.
"Charlie . . ." Silena's eyes were a million miles away. "See Charlie . . ."
She didn't speak again.
Clarisse held her and wept. Chris put a hand on her shoulder. Finally Annabeth closed Silena's eyes.
"We have to fight." Annabeth's voice was brittle. "She gave her life to help us. We have to honor her."
Clarisse sniffled and wiped her nose. "She was a hero, understand? A hero."
I nodded. "Come on, Clarisse."
She picked up a sword from one of her fallen siblings. "Kronos is going to pay."
* * *
I'd like to say I drove the enemy away from the Empire State Building. The truth was Clarisse did all the work. Even without her armor or spear, she was a demon. She rode her chariot straight into the Titan's army and crushed everything in her path.
She was so inspiring, even the panicked centaurs started to rally. The Hunters scrounged arrows from the fallen and launched volley after volley into the enemy. The Ares cabin slashed and hacked, which was their favorite thing. The monsters retreated toward 35th Street.
Clarisse drove to the drakon's carcass and looped a grappling line through its eye sockets. She lashed her horses and took off, dragging the drakon behind the chariot like a Chinese New Year dragon. She charged after the enemy, yelling insults and daring them to cross her. As she rode, I realized she was literally glowing. An aura of red fire flickered around her.
"The blessing of Ares," Thalia said. "I've never seen it in person before."
For the moment, Clarisse was as invincible as I was. The enemy threw spears and arrows, but nothing hit her.
"I AM CLARISSE, DRAKON-SLAYER!" she yelled. "I will
kill you ALL! Where is Kronos? Bring him out! Is he a coward?" "Clarisse!" I yelled. "Stop it. Withdraw!"
"What's the matter, Titan lord?" she yelled. "BRING IT ON!"
There was no answer from the enemy. Slowly, they began to fall back behind a dracaenae shield wall, while Clarisse drove in circles around Fifth Avenue, daring anyone to cross her path. The two- hundred-foot-long drakon carcass made a hollow scraping noise against the pavement, like a thousand knives.
Meanwhile, we tended our wounded, bringing them inside the
lobby. Long after the enemy had retreated from sight, Clarisse kept riding up and down the avenue with her horrible trophy, demanding that Kronos meet her battle.
Chris said, "I'll watch her. She'll get tired eventually. I'll make sure she comes inside."
"What about the camp?" I asked. "Is anybody left there?"
Chris shook his head. "Only Argus and the nature spirits. Peleus the dragon is still guarding the tree."
"They won't last long," I said. "But I'm glad you came."
Chris nodded sadly. "I'm sorry it took so long. I tried to reason with Clarisse. I said there's no point in defending camp if you guys die. All our friends are here. I'm sorry it took Silena . . ."
"My Hunters will help you stand guard," Thalia said. "Annabeth and Percy, you should go to Olympus. I have a feeling they'll need you up there-to set up the final defense."
The doorman had disappeared from the lobby. His book was facedown on the desk and his chair was empty. The rest of the lobby, however, was jam-packed with wounded campers, Hunters, and satyrs.
Connor and Travis Stoll met us by the elevators. "Is it true?" Connor asked. "About Silena?"
I nodded. "She died a hero."
Travis shifted uncomfortably. "Um, I also heard-" "That's it," I insisted. "End of story."
"Right," Travis mumbled. "Listen, we figure the Titan's army will have trouble getting up the elevator. They'll have to go up a few at a time. And the giants won't be able to fit at all."
"That's our biggest advantage," I said. "Any way to disable the elevator?"
"It's magic," Travis said. "Usually you need a key card, but the doorman vanished. That means the defenses are crumbling. Anyone can walk into the elevator now and head straight up."
"Then we have to keep them away from the doors," I said. "We'll bottle them up in the lobby."
"We need reinforcements," Travis said. "They'll just keep coming. Eventually they'll overwhelm us."
"There are no reinforcements," Connor complained.
I looked outside at Mrs. O'Leary, who was breathing against the glass doors and smearing them with hellhound drool.
"Maybe that's not true," I said.
I went outside and put a hand on Mrs. O'Leary s muzzle. Chiron had bandaged her paw, but she was still limping. Her fur was matted with mud, leaves, pizza slices, and dried monster blood.
"Hey, girl." I tried to sound upbeat. "I know you're tired, but I've got one more big favor to ask you." I leaned next to her and whispered in her ear.
After Mrs. O'Leary shadow-traveled away, I rejoined Annabeth in the lobby. On the way to the elevator, we spotted Grover kneeling over a fat wounded satyr.
"Leneus!" I said.
The old satyr looked terrible. His lips were blue. There was a broken spear in his belly, and his furry goat legs were twisted at a painful angle.
He tried to focus on us, but I don't think he saw us.
"Grover?" he murmured.
"I'm here, Leneus." Grover was blinking back tears, despite all the horrible things Leneus had said about him.
"Did . . . did we win?"
"Um . . . yes," Grover lied. "Thanks to you, Leneus. We drove the enemy away."
"Told you," the old satyr mumbled. "True leader. True . . ." He closed his eyes for the last time.
Grover gulped. He put his hand on Leneus's forehead and spoke an ancient blessing. The old satyr's body melted, until all that was left was a tiny sapling m a pile of fresh soil.
"A laurel," Grover said in awe. "Oh, that lucky old goat."
He gathered up the sapling in his hands. "I . . . I should plant him. In Olympus, in the gardens."
"We're going that way," I said. "Come on."
Easy-listening music played as the elevator rose. I thought about the first time I'd visited Mount Olympus, back when I was twelve.
Annabeth and Grover hadn't been with me then. I was glad they were with me now. I had a feeling it might be our last adventure together.
"Percy," Annabeth said quietly. "You were right about Luke." It was the first time she'd spoken since Silena Beauregard's death. She kept her eyes fixed on the elevator floors as they blinked into the magical numbers: 400, 450, 500.
Grover and I exchanged glances. "Annabeth," I said. "I'm sorry-"
"You tried to tell me." Her voice was shaky. "Luke is no good. I didn't believe you until . . . until I heard how he'd used Silena. Now I
know. I hope you're happy." "That doesn't make me happy."
She put her head against the elevator wall and wouldn't look at me.
Grover cradled his laurel sapling in his hands. "Well . . . sure good to be together again. Arguing. Almost dying. Abject terror. Oh, look.
It's our floor."
The doors dinged and we stepped onto the aerial walkway.
Depressing is not a word that usually describes Mount Olympus, but it looked that way now. No fires lit the braziers. The windows were dark. The streets were deserted and the doors were barred. The only movement was in the parks, which had been set up as field hospitals. Will Solace and the other Apollo campers scrambled around, caring for the wounded. Naiads and dryads tried to help, using nature magic songs to heal burns and poison.
As Grover planted the laurel sapling, Annabeth and I went around trying to cheer up the wounded. I passed a satyr with a broken leg, a demigod who was bandaged from head to toe, and a body covered in the golden burial shroud of Apollo's cabin. I didn't know who was underneath. I didn't want to find out.
My heart felt like lead, but we tried to find positive things to say. "You'll be up and fighting Titans in no time!" I told one camper. "You look great," Annabeth told another camper.
"Leneus turned into a shrub!" Grover told a groaning satyr.
I found Dionysus's son Pollux propped up against a tree. He had a broken arm, but otherwise he was okay.
"I can still fight with the other hand," he said, gritting his teeth. "No," I said. "You've done enough. I want you to stay here and help
with the wounded." "But-"
"Promise me to stay safe," I said. "Okay? Personal favor."
He frowned uncertainly. It wasn't like we were good friends or anything, but I wasn't going to tell him it was a request from his dad. That would just embarrass him. Finally he promised, and when he sat back down, I could tell he was kind of relieved.
Annabeth, Grover, and I kept walking toward the palace. That's
where Kronos would head. As soon as he made it up the elevator-
and I had no doubt he would, one way or another-he would destroy the throne room, the center of the gods' power.
The bronze doors creaked open. Our footsteps echoed on the marble floor. The constellations twinkled coldly on the ceiling of the great hall. The hearth was down to a dull red glow. Hestia, in the form of a little girl in brown robes, hunched at its edge, shivering. The Ophiotaurus swam sadly in his sphere of water. He let out a half- hearted moo when he saw me.
In the firelight, the thrones cast evil-looking shadows, like grasping hands.
Standing at the foot of Zeus's throne, looking up at the stars, was Rachel Elizabeth Dare. She was holding a Greek ceramic vase.
"Rachel?" I said. "Um, what are you doing with that?"
She focused on me as if she were coming out of a dream. "I found it. It's Pandora's jar, isn't it?"
Her eyes were brighter than usual, and I had a bad flashback of moldy sandwiches and burned cookies.
"Please put down the jar," I said.
"I can see Hope inside it." Rachel ran her fingers over the ceramic designs. "So fragile."
"Rachel."
My voice seemed to bring her back to reality. She held out the jar, and I took it. The clay felt as cold as ice.
"Grover," Annabeth mumbled. "Let's scout around the palace. Maybe we can find some extra Greek fire or Hephaestus traps."
"But-"
Annabeth elbowed him.
"Right!" he yelped. "I love traps!"
She dragged him out of the throne room.
Over by the fire, Hestia was huddled in her robes, rocking back and forth.
"Come on," I told Rachel. "I want you to meet someone." We sat next to the goddess.
"Lady Hestia," I said.
"Hello, Percy Jackson," the goddess murmured. "Getting colder. Harder to keep the fire going."
"I know," I said. "The Titans are near."
Hestia focused on Rachel. "Hello, my dear. You've come to our hearth at last."
Rachel blinked. "You've been expecting me?"
Hestia held out her hands, and the coals glowed. I saw images in the fire: My mother, Paul, and I eating Thanksgiving dinner at the kitchen table; my friends and me around the campfire at Camp Half- Blood, singing songs and roasting marshmallows; Rachel and me
driving along the beach in Paul's Prius.
I didn't know if Rachel saw the same images, but the tension went out of her shoulders. The warmth of the fire seemed to spread across her.
"To claim your place at the hearth," Hestia told her, "you must let go of your distractions. It is the only way you will survive."
Rachel nodded. "I . . . I understand." "Wait," I said. "What is she talking about?"
Rachel took a shaky breath. "Percy, when I came here . . . I thought I was coming for you. But I wasn't. You and me . . ." She shook her head.
"Wait. Now I'm a distraction? Is this because I'm 'not the hero' or whatever?"
"I'm not sure I can put it into words," she said. "I was drawn to you because . . . because you opened the door to all of this." She gestured at the throne room. "I needed to understand my true sight. But you and me, that wasn't part of it. Our fates aren't intertwined. I think you've always known that, deep down."
I stared at her. Maybe I wasn't the brightest guy in the world when it came to girls, but I was pretty sure Rachel had just dumped me, which was lame considering we'd never even been together.
"So . . . what," I said. '"Thanks for bringing me to Olympus. See ya.' Is that what you're saying?"
Rachel stared at the fire.
"Percy Jackson," Hestia said. "Rachel has told you all she can. Her moment is coming, but your decision approaches even more rapidly. Are you prepared?"
I wanted to complain that no, I wasn't even close to prepared.
I looked at Pandora's jar, and for the first time I had an urge to open it. Hope seemed pretty useless to me right now. So many of my friends were dead. Rachel was cutting me off. Annabeth was angry with me. My parents were asleep down in the streets somewhere while a monster army surrounded the building. Olympus was on the verge of failing, and I'd seen so many cruel things the gods had done: Zeus destroying Maria diAngelo, Hades cursing the last Oracle, Hermes turning his back on Luke even when he knew his son would become evil.
Surrender, Prometheus's voice whispered in my ear. Otherwise your home will be destroyed. Your precious camp will burn.
Then I looked at Hestia. Her red eyes glowed warmly. I remembered the images I'd seen in her hearth-friends and family, everyone I cared about.
I remembered something Chris Rodriguez had said: There's no point in defending camp if you guys die. All our friends are here. And Nico, standing up to his father, Hades: If Olympus falls, he said, your own palace's safety doesn't matter.
I heard footsteps. Annabeth and Grover came back into the throne room and stopped when they saw us. I probably had a pretty strange look on my face.
"Percy?" Annabeth didn't sound angry anymore-just concerned. "Should we, um, leave again?"
Suddenly I felt like someone had injected me with steel. I understood what to do.
Ilooked at Rachel. "You're not going to do anything stupid, are you? I mean . . . you talked to Chiron, right?"
She managed a faint smile. "You're worried about me doing something stupid?"
"But I mean . . . will you be okay?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "That kind of depends on whether you save the world, hero."
I picked up Pandora's jar. The spirit of Hope fluttered inside, trying to warm the cold container.
"Hestia," I said, "I give this to you as an offering."
The goddess tilted her head. "I am the least of the gods. Why would you trust me with this?"
"You're the last Olympian," I said. "And the most important." "And why is that, Percy Jackson?"
"Because Hope survives best at the hearth," I said. "Guard it for me, and I won't be tempted to give up again."
The goddess smiled. She took the jar in her hands and it began to glow. The hearth fire burned a little brighter.
"Well done, Percy Jackson," she said. "May the gods bless you."
"We're about to find out." I looked at Annabeth and Grover. "Come on, guys."
I marched toward my father's throne.
The seat of Poseidon stood just to the right of Zeus's, but it wasn't nearly as grand. The molded black leather seat was attached to a swivel pedestal, with a couple of iron rings on the side for fastening a fishing pole (or a trident). Basically it looked like a chair on a deep-sea boat, that you would sit in if you wanted to hunt shark or marlin or sea monsters.
Gods in their natural state are about twenty feet tall, so I could just
reach the edge of the seat if I stretched my arms. "Help me up," I told Annabeth and Grover. "'Are you crazy?" Annabeth asked.
"Probably," I admitted.
"Percy," Grover said, "the gods really don't appreciate people sitting in their thrones. I mean like turn-you-into-a-pile-of-ashes don't appreciate it."
"I need to get his attention," I said. "It's the only way." They exchanged uneasy looks.
"Well," Annabeth said, "this'll get his attention."
They linked their arms to make a step, then boosted me onto the throne. I felt like a baby with my feet so high off the ground. I looked around at the other gloomy, empty thrones, and I could imagine what it would be like sitting on the Olympian Council-so much power but so much arguing, always eleven other gods trying to get their way. It would be easy to get paranoid, to look out only for my own interest, especially if I were Poseidon. Sitting in his throne, I felt like I had the entire sea at my command-vast cubic miles of ocean churning with power and mystery. Why should Poseidon listen to anyone? Why shouldn't he be the greatest of the twelve?
Then I shook my head. Concentrate.
The throne rumbled. A wave of gale-force anger slammed into my mind:
WHO DARES-
The voice stopped abruptly. The anger retreated, which was a good thing, because just those two words had almost blasted my mind to shreds.
Percy. My father's voice was still angry but more controlled. What- exactly-are you doing on my throne?
"I'm sorry, Father," I said. "I needed to get your attention."
This was a very dangerous thing to do. Even for you. If I hadn't looked before I blasted, you would now be a puddle of seawater.
"I'm sorry," I said again. "Listen, things are rough up here." I told him what was happening. Then I told him my plan.
His voice was silent for a long time.
Percy, what you ask is impossible. My palace-
"Dad, Kronos sent an army against you on purpose. He wants to divide you from the other gods because he knows you could tip the scales."
Be that as it may, he attacks my home.
"I'm at your home," I said. "Olympus."
The floor shook. A wave of anger washed over my mind. I thought I'd gone too far, but then the trembling eased. In the background of my mental link, I heard underwater explosions and the sound of battle cries: Cyclopes bellowing, mermen shouting.
"Is Tyson okay?" I asked.
The question seemed to take my dad by surprise. He's fine. Doing much better than I expected. Though "peanut butter" is a strange battle cry.
"You let him fight?"
Stop changing the subject! You realize what you are asking me to do? My palace will be destroyed.
"And Olympus might be saved."
Do you have any idea how long I've worked on remodeling this palace? The game room alone took six hundred years.
"Dad-"
Very well! It shall be as you say. But my son, pray this works.
"I am praying. I'm talking to you, right?"
Oh . . . yes. Good point. Amphitrite-incoming!
The sound of a large explosion shattered our connection. I slipped down from the throne.
Grover studied me nervously. "Are you okay? You turned pale and . .
. you started smoking."
"I did not!" Then I looked at my arms. Steam was curling off my shirtsleeves. The hair on my arms was singed.
"If you'd sat there any longer," Annabeth said, "you would've spontaneously combusted. I hope the conversation was worth it?"
Moo, said the Ophiotaurus in his sphere of water. "We'll find out soon," I said.
Just then the doors of the throne room swung open. Thalia marched in. Her bow was snapped in half and her quiver was empty.
"You've got to get down there," she told us. "The enemy is advancing. And Kronos is leading them."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN MY PARENTS GO
COMMANDO
By the time we got to the street, it was too late.
Campers and Hunters lay wounded on the ground. Clarisse must've lost a fight with a Hyperborean giant, because she and her chariot were frozen in a block of ice. The centaurs were nowhere to be seen. Either they'd panicked and ran or they'd been disintegrated.
The Titan army ringed the building, standing maybe twenty feet from the doors. Kronos's vanguard was in the lead: Ethan Nakamura, the dracaena queen in her green armor, and two Hyperboreans. I didn't see Prometheus. The slimy weasel was probably hiding back at their headquarters. But Kronos himself stood right in front with his scythe in hand.
The only thing standing in his way was . . . "Chiron," Annabeth said, her voice trembling.
If Chiron heard us, he didn't answer. He had an arrow notched, aimed straight at Kronos's face.
As soon as Kronos saw me, his gold eyes flared. Every muscle in my body froze. Then the Titan lord turned his attention back to Chiron. "Step aside, little son."
Hearing Luke call Chiron his son was weird enough, but Kronos put contempt in his voice, like son was the worst word he
could think of.
"I'm afraid not." Chiron's tone was steely calm, the way he gets when he's really angry.
I tried to move, but my feet felt like concrete. Annabeth, Grover, and Thalia were straining too, like they were just as stuck.
"Chiron!" Annabeth said. "Look out!"
The dracaena queen became impatient and charged. Chiron's arrow flew straight between her eyes and she vaporized on the spot, her empty armor clattering to the asphalt.
Chiron reached for another arrow, but his quiver was empty. He dropped the bow and drew his sword. I knew he hated fighting with a sword. It was never his favorite weapon.
Kronos chuckled. He advanced a step, and Chiron's horse-half skittered nervously. His tail flicked back and forth.
"You're a teacher," Kronos sneered. "Not a hero."
"Luke was a hero," Chiron said. "He was a good one, until you
corrupted him."
"FOOL!" Kronos's voice shook the city. "You filled his head with empty promises. You said the gods cared about me!"
"Me," Chiron noticed. "You said me."
Kronos looked confused, and in that moment, Chiron struck. It was a good maneuver-a feint followed by a strike to the face. I couldn't have done better myself, but Kronos was quick. He had all of Luke's fighting skill, which was a lot. He knocked aside Chiron's blade and yelled, "BACK!"
Ablinding white light exploded between the Titan and the centaur. Chiron flew into the side of the building with such force the
wall crumbled and collapsed on top of him.
"No!" Annabeth wailed. The freezing spell broke. We ran toward our teacher, but there was no sign of him. Thalia and I pulled helplessly at the bricks while a ripple of ugly laughter ran through the Titan's army.
"YOU!" Annabeth turned on Luke. "To think that I . . . that I thought-"
She drew her knife.
"Annabeth, don't." I tried to take her arm, but she shook me off.
She attacked Kronos, and his smug smile faded. Perhaps some part of Luke remembered that he used to like this girl, used to take care of her when she was little. She plunged her knife between the straps of his armor, right at his collar bone. The blade should've sunk into his chest. Instead it bounced off. Annabeth doubled over, clutching her arm to her stomach. The jolt might've been enough to dislocate her bad shoulder.
I yanked her back as Kronos swung his scythe, slicing the air where she'd been standing.
She fought me and screamed, "I HATE you!" I wasn't sure who she was talking to-me or Luke or Kronos. Tears streaked the dust on her face.
"I have to fight him," I told her. "It's my fight too, Percy!"
Kronos laughed. "So much spirit. I can see why Luke wanted to spare you. Unfortunately, that won't be possible."
He raised his scythe. I got ready to defend, but before Kronos could strike, a dog's howl pierced the air somewhere behind the Titan's army. "Arroooooooo!"
It was too much to hope, but I called, "Mrs. O'Leary?"
The enemy forces stirred uneasily. Then the strangest thing happened. They began to part, clearing a path through the street like something behind them was forcing them to.
Soon there was a free aisle down the center of Fifth Avenue. Standing at the end of the block was my giant dog, and a small figure in black armor.
"Nico?" I called.
"ROWWF!" Mrs. O'Leary bounded toward me, ignoring the growling monsters on either side. Nico strode forward. The enemy army fell back before him like he radiated death, which of course he did.
Through the face guard of his skull-shaped helmet, he smiled. "Got your message. Is it too late to join the party?"
"Son of Hades." Kronos spit on the ground. "Do you love death so much you wish to experience it?"
"Your death," Nico said, "would be great for me."
"I'm immortal, you fool! I have escaped Tartarus. You have no business here, and no chance to live."
Nico drew his sword-three feet of wicked sharp Stygian iron, black as a nightmare. "I don't agree."
The ground rumbled. Cracks appeared m the road, the sidewalks, the sides of the buildings. Skeletal hands grasped the air as the dead clawed their way into the world of the living. There were thousands of them, and as they emerged, the Titan's monsters got jumpy and started to back up.
"HOLD YOUR GROUND!" Kronos demanded. "The dead are no match for us."
The sky turned dark and cold. Shadows thickened. A harsh war horn sounded, and as the dead soldiers formed up ranks with their guns and swords and spears, an enormous chariot roared down Fifth Avenue. It came to a stop next to Nico. The horses were living shadows, fashioned from darkness. The chariot was inlaid with obsidian and gold, decorated with scenes of painful death. Holding the reins was Hades himself, Lord of the Dead, with Demeter and Persephone riding behind him.
Hades wore black armor and a cloak the color of fresh blood. On top of his pale head was the helm of darkness: a crown that radiated pure terror. It changed shape as I watched-from a dragon's head to a circle of black flames to a wreath of human bones. But that wasn't the scary part. The helm reached into my mind and ignited my worst nightmares, my most secret fears. I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide, and I could tell the enemy army felt the same way. Only Kronos's power and authority kept his ranks from fleeing.
Hades smiled coldly. "Hello, Father. You're looking . . . young."
"Hades," Kronos growled. "I hope you and the ladies have come to pledge your allegiance."
"I'm afraid not." Hades sighed. "My son here convinced me that perhaps I should prioritize my list of enemies." He glanced at me with distaste. "As much as I dislike certain upstart demigods, it would not do for Olympus to fall. I would miss bickering with my siblings. And if there is one thing we agree on-it is that you were a TERRIBLE father."
"True," muttered Demeter. "No appreciation of agriculture." "Mother!" Persephone complained.
Hades drew his sword, a double-edged Stygian blade etched with silver. "Now fight me! For today the House of Hades will be called
the saviors of Olympus."
"I don't have time for this," Kronos snarled.
He struck the ground with his scythe. A crack spread in both directions, circling the Empire State Building. A wall of force shimmered along the fissure line, separating Kronos's vanguard, my friends, and me from the bulk of the two armies.
"What's he doing?" I muttered.
"Sealing us in," Thalia said. "He's collapsing the magic barriers around Manhattan-cutting off just the building, and us."
Sure enough, outside the barrier, car engines revved to life. Pedestrians woke up and stared uncomprehendingly at the monsters and zombies all around them. No telling what they saw through the Mist, but I'm sure it was plenty scary. Car doors opened. And at the end of the block, Paul Blofis and my mom got out of their Prius.
"No," I said. "Don't . . ."
My mother could see through the Mist. I could tell from her expression that she understood how serious things were. I hoped she would have the sense to run. But she locked eyes with me, said something to Paul, and they ran straight toward us.
I couldn't call out. The last thing I wanted to do was bring her to Kronos's attention.
Fortunately, Hades caused a distraction. He charged at the wall of force, but his chariot crashed against it and overturned. He got to his feet, cursing, and blasted the wall with black energy. The barrier held.
"ATTACK!" he roared.
The armies of the dead clashed with the Titan's monsters. Fifth Avenue exploded into absolute chaos. Mortals screamed and ran for
cover. Demeter waved her hand and an entire column of giants turned into a wheat field. Persephone changed the dracaenae's spears into sunflowers. Nico slashed and hacked his way through the enemy, trying to protect the pedestrians as best he could. My parents ran toward me, dodging monsters and zombies, but there was nothing I could do to help them.
"Nakamura," Kronos said. "Attend me. Giants-deal with them." He pointed at my friends and me. Then he ducked into the lobby.
For a second I was stunned. I'd been expecting a fight, but Kronos completely ignored me like I wasn't worth the trouble. That made me mad.
The first Hyperborean giant smashed at me with his club. I rolled between his legs and stabbed Riptide into his backside. He shattered into a pile of ice shards. The second giant breathed frost at Annabeth, who was barely able to stand, but Grover pulled her out of the way while Thalia went to work. She sprinted up the giant's back like a gazelle, sliced her hunting knives across his monstrous blue neck, and created the world's largest headless ice sculpture.
I glanced outside the magic barrier. Nico was fighting his way toward my mom and Paul, but they weren't waiting for help. Paul grabbed a sword from a fallen hero and dida pretty fine job keeping a dracaena busy. He stabbed her in the gut, and she disintegrated.
"Paul?" I said in amazement.
He turned toward me and grinned. "I hope that was a monster I just killed. I was a Shakespearian actor in college! Picked up a little swordplay!"
I liked him even better for that, but then a Laistrygonian giant charged toward my mom. She was rummaging around in an abandoned police car-maybe looking for the emergency radio-and
her back was turned. "Mom!" I yelled.
She whirled when the monster was almost on top of her. I thought the thing in her hands was an umbrella until she cranked the pump and the shotgun blast blew the giant twenty feet backward, right into Nico's sword.
"Nice one," Paul said.
"When did you learn to fire a shotgun?" I demanded.
My mom blew the hair out of her face. "About two seconds ago. Percy, we'll be fine. Go!"
"Yes," Nico agreed, "we'll handle the army. You have to get Kronos!"
"Come on, Seaweed Brain!" Annabeth said. I nodded. Then I looked at the rubble pile on the side of the building. My heart twisted. I'd forgotten about Chiron. How could I do that?
"Mrs. O'Leary," I said. "Please, Chiron's under there. If anyone can dig him out, you can. Find him! Help him!"
I'm not sure how much she understood, but she bounded to the pile and started to dig. Annabeth, Thalia, Grover, and I raced for the elevators.
CHAPTER NINETEEN WE TRASH THE ETERNAL CITY
The bridge to Olympus was dissolving. We stepped out of the elevator onto the white marble walkway, and immediately cracks appeared at our feet.
"Jump!" Grover said, which was easy for him since he's part mountain goat.
He sprang to the next slab of stone while ours tilted sickeningly.
"Gods, I hate heights!" Thalia yelled as she and I leaped. But Annabeth was in no shape for jumping. She stumbled and yelled, "Percy!"
I caught her hand as the pavement fell, crumbling into dust. For a second I thought she was going to pull us both over. Her feet dangled in the open air. Her hand started to slip until I was holding her only by her fingers. Then Grover and Thalia grabbed my legs, and I found extra strength. Annabeth was not going to fall.
I pulled her up and we lay trembling on the pavement. I didn't realize we had our arms around each other until she suddenly tensed.
"Um, thanks," she muttered.
I tried to say Don't mention it, but it came out as, "Uh duh." "Keep moving!" Grover tugged my shoulder. We untangled
ourselves and sprinted across the sky bridge as more stones disintegrated and fell into oblivion. We made it to the edge of the mountain just as the final section collapsed.
Annabeth looked back at the elevator, which was now completely out of reach-a polished set of metal doors hanging in space, attached to nothing, six hundred stories above Manhattan.
"We're marooned," she said. "On our own."
"Blah-ha-ha!" Grover said. "The connection between Olympus and America is dissolving. If it fails-"
"The gods won't move on to another country this time," Thalia said. "This will be the end of Olympus. The final end."
We ran through streets. Mansions were burning. Statues had been hacked down. Trees in the parks were blasted to splinters. It looked like someone had attacked the city with a giant Weedwacker.
"Kronos's scythe," I said.
We followed the winding path toward the palace of the gods. I didn't remember the road being so long. Maybe Kronos was making time go slower, or maybe it was just dread slowing me down. The whole mountaintop was in ruins-so many beautiful buildings and gardens gone.
A few minor gods and nature spirits had tried to stop Kronos. What remained of them was strewn about the road: shattered armor, ripped clothing, swords and spears broken in half.
Somewhere ahead of us, Kronos's voice roared: "Brick by brick! That was my promise. Tear it down BRICK BY BRICK!"
A white marble temple with a gold dome suddenly exploded. The dome shot up like the lid of a teapot and shattered into a billion pieces, raining rubble over the city.
"That was a shrine to Artemis," Thalia grumbled. "He'll pay for that."
We were running under the marble archway with the huge statues of Zeus and Hera when the entire mountain groaned, rocking sideways like a boat in a storm.
"Look out!" Grover yelped. The archway crumbled. I looked up in time to see a twenty-ton scowling Hera topple over on us. Annabeth and I would've been flattened, but Thalia shoved us from behind and we landed just out of danger.
"Thalia!" Grover cried.
When the dust cleared and the mountain stopped rocking, we found her still alive, but her legs were pinned under the statue.
We tried desperately to move it, but it would've taken several Cyclopes. When we tried to pull Thalia out from under it, she yelled in pain.
"I survive all those battles," she growled, "and I get defeated by a stupid chunk of rock!"
"It's Hera," Annabeth said in outrage. "She's had it in for me all year. Her statue would've killed me if you hadn't pushed us away."
Thalia grimaced. "Well, don't just stand there! I'll be fine. Go!"
We didn't want to leave her, but I could hear Kronos laughing as he approached the hall of the gods. More buildings exploded.
"We'll be back," I promised.
"I'm not going anywhere," Thalia groaned.
A fireball erupted on the side of the mountain, right near the gates of the palace.
"We've got to run," I said.
"I don't suppose you mean away," Grover murmured hopefully. I sprinted toward the palace, Annabeth right behind me.
"I was afraid of that," Grover sighed, and clip-clopped after us.
The doors of the palace were big enough to steer a cruise ship through, but they'd been ripped off their hinges and smashed like they weighed nothing. We had to climb over a huge pile of broken stone and twisted metal to get inside.
Kronos stood in the middle of the throne room, his arms wide, staring at the starry ceiling as if taking it all in. His laughter echoed even louder than it had from the pit of Tartarus.
"Finally!" he bellowed. "The Olympian Council-so proud and mighty. Which seat of power shall I destroy first?"
Ethan Nakamura stood to one side, trying to stay out of the way of his master's scythe. The hearth was almost dead, just a few coals glowing deep in the ashes. Hestia was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Rachel. I hoped she was okay, but I'd seen so much destruction I was afraid to think about it. The Ophiotaurus swam in his water sphere in the far corner of the room, wisely not making a sound, but it wouldn't be long before Kronos noticed him.
Annabeth, Grover, and I stepped forward into the torchlight. Ethan saw us first.
"My lord," he warned.
Kronos turned and smiled through Luke's face. Except for the golden eyes, he looked just the same as he had four years ago when he'd welcomed me into the Hermes cabin. Annabeth made a painful sound in the back of her throat, like someone had just sucker punched her.
"Shall I destroy you first, Jackson?" Kronos asked. "Is that the
choice you will make-to fight me and die instead of bowing down? Prophecies never end well, you know."
"Luke would fight with a sword," I said. "But I suppose you don't have his skill."
Kronos sneered. His scythe began to change, until he held Luke's old weapon, Backbiter, with its half-steel, half-Celestial bronze blade.
Next to me, Annabeth gasped like she'd suddenly had an idea. "Percy, the blade!" She unsheathed her knife. "The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap."
I didn't understand why she was reminding me of that prophecy line right now. It wasn't exactly a morale booster, but before I could say anything, Kronos raised his sword.
"Wait!" Annabeth yelled.
Kronos came at me like a whirlwind.
My instincts took over. I dodged and slashed and rolled, but I felt like I was fighting a hundred swordsmen. Ethan ducked to one side, trying to get behind me until Annabeth intercepted him. They started to fight, but I couldn't focus on how she was doing. I was vaguely aware of Grover playing his reed pipes. The sound filled me with warmth and courage-thoughts of sunlight and a blue sky and a calm meadow, somewhere far away from the war.
Kronos backed me up against the throne of Hephaestus-a huge mechanical La-Z-Boy type thing covered with bronze and silver gears. Kronos slashed, and I managed to jump straight up onto the seat. The throne whirred and hummed with secret mechanisms.
Defense mode, it warned. Defense mode.
That couldn't be good. I jumped straight over Kronos's head as the throne shot tendrils of electricity in all directions. One hit Kronos in
the face, arcing down his body and up his sword.
"ARG!" He crumpled to his knees and dropped Backbiter.
Annabeth saw her chance. She kicked Ethan out of the way and charged Kronos. "Luke, listen!"
I wanted to shout at her, to tell her she was crazy for trying to reason with Kronos, but there was no time. Kronos flicked his hand.
Annabeth flew backward, slamming into the throne of her mother and crumpling to the floor.
"Annabeth!" I screamed.
Ethan Nakamura got to his feet. He now stood between Annabeth and me. I couldn't fight him without turning my back on Kronos.
Grover's music took on a more urgent tune. He moved toward Annabeth, but he couldn't go any faster and keep up the song. Grass grew on the floor of the throne room. Tiny roots crept up between the cracks of the marble stones.
Kronos rose to one knee. His hair smoldered. His face was covered with electrical burns. He reached for his sword, but this time it didn't fly into his hands.
"Nakamura!" he groaned. "Time to prove yourself. You know Jackson's secret weakness. Kill him, and you will have rewards beyond measure."
Ethan's eyes dropped to my midsection, and I was sure that he knew. Even if he couldn't kill me himself, all he had to do was tell Kronos. There was no way I could defend myself forever.
"Look around you, Ethan," I said. "The end of the world. Is this the reward you want? Do you really want everything destroyed-the good with the bad? Everything?"
Grover was almost to Annabeth now. The grass thickened on the
floor. The roots were almost a foot long, like a stubble of whiskers.
"There is no throne to Nemesis," Ethan muttered. "No throne to my mother."
"That's right!" Kronos tried to get up, but stumbled. Above his left ear, a patch of blond hair still smoldered. "Strike them down! They deserve to suffer."
"You said your mom is the goddess of balance," I reminded him. "The minor gods deserve better, Ethan, but total destruction isn't balance. Kronos doesn't build. He only destroys."
Ethan looked at the sizzling throne of Hephaestus. Grover's music kept playing, and Ethan swayed to it, as if the song were filling him with nostalgia-a wish to see a beautiful day, to be anywhere but here. His good eye blinked.
Then he charged . . . but not at me.
While Kronos was still on his knees, Ethan brought down his sword on the Titan lord's neck. It should have killed him instantly, but the blade shattered. Ethan fell back, grasping his stomach. A shard of his own blade had ricocheted and pierced his armor.
Kronos rose unsteadily, towering over his servant. "Treason," he snarled.
Grover's music kept playing, and grass grew around Ethan's body. Ethan stared at me, his face tight with pain.
"Deserve better," he gasped. "If they just . . . had thrones-"
Kronos stomped his foot, and the floor ruptured around Ethan Nakamura. The son of Nemesis fell through a fissure that went straight through the heart of the mountain-straight into open air.
"So much for him." Kronos picked up his sword. "And now for the rest of you."
My only thought was to keep him away from Annabeth.
Grover was at her side now. He'd stopped playing and was feeding her ambrosia.
Everywhere Kronos stepped, the roots wrapped around his feet, but Grover had stopped his magic too early. The roots weren't thick or strong enough to do much more than annoy the Titan.
We fought through the hearth, kicking up coals and sparks. Kronos slashed an armrest off the throne of Ares, which was okay by me, but then he backed me up to my dad's throne.
"Oh, yes," Kronos said. "This one will make fine kindling for my new hearth!"
Our blades clashed in a shower of sparks. He was stronger than me, but for the moment I felt the power of the ocean in my arms. I pushed him back and struck again-slashing Riptide across his breastplate so hard I cut a gash in the Celestial bronze.
He stamped his foot again and time slowed. I tried to attack but I was moving at the speed of a glacier. Kronos backed up leisurely, catching his breath. He examined the gash in his armor while I struggled forward, silently cursing him. He could take all the time- outs he wanted. He could freeze me in place at will. My only hope was that the effort was draining him. If I could wear him down . . .
"It's too late, Percy Jackson," he said. "Behold."
He pointed to the hearth, and the coals glowed. A sheet of white smoke poured from the fire, forming images like an Iris-message. I saw Nico and my parents down on Fifth Avenue, fighting a hopeless battle, ringed in enemies. In the background Hades fought from his black chariot, summoning wave after wave of zombies out of the ground, but the forces of the Titan's army seemed just as endless.
Meanwhile, Manhattan was being destroyed. Mortals, now fully
awake, were running in terror. Cars swerved and crashed. The scene shifted, and I saw something even more terrifying.
A column of storm was approaching the Hudson River, moving rapidly over the Jersey shore. Chariots circled it, locked in combat with the creature in the cloud.
The gods attacked. Lightning flashed. Arrows of gold and silver streaked into the cloud like rocket tracers and exploded. Slowly, the cloud ripped apart, and I saw Typhon clearly for the first time.
I knew as long as I lived (which might not be that long) I would never be able to get the image out of my mind. Typhon's head shifted constantly. Every moment he was a different monster, each more horrible than the last. Looking at his face would've driven me insane, so I focused on his body, which wasn't much better. He was humanoid, but his skin reminded me of a meat loaf sandwich that had been in someone's locker all year. He was mottled green, with blisters the size of buildings, and blackened patches from eons of being stuck under a volcano. His hands were human, but with talons like an eagle's. His legs were scaly and reptilian.
"The Olympians are giving their final effort." Kronos laughed. "How pathetic."
Zeus threw a thunderbolt from his chariot. The blast lit up the world. I could feel the shock even here on Olympus, but when the dust cleared, Typhon was still standing. He staggered a bit, with a smoking crater on top of his misshapen head, but he roared in anger and kept advancing.
My limbs began to loosen up. Kronos didn't seem to notice. His attention was focused on the fight and his final victory. If I could hold out a few more seconds, and if my dad kept his word . . .
Typhon stepped into the Hudson River and barely sank to midcalf.
Now, I thought, imploring the image in the smoke. Please, it has to happen now.
Like a miracle, a conch horn sounded from the smoky picture. The call of the ocean. The call of Poseidon.
All around Typhon, the Hudson River erupted, churning with forty- foot waves. Out of the water burst a new chariot-this one pulled by massive hippocampi, who swam in air as easily as in water. My father, glowing with a blue aura of power, rode a defiant circle around the giant's legs. Poseidon was no longer an old man. He looked like himself again-tan and strong with a black beard. As he swung his trident, the river responded, making a funnel cloud around the monster.
"No!" Kronos bellowed after a moment of stunned silence. "NO!"
"NOW, MY BRETHREN!" Poseidon's voice was so loud I wasn't sure if I was hearing it from the smoke image or from all the way across town. "STRIKE FOR OLYMPUS!"
Warriors burst out of the river, riding the waves on huge sharks and dragons and sea horses. It was a legion of Cyclopes, and leading them into battle was . . .
"Tyson!" I yelled.
I knew he couldn't hear me, but I stared at him in amazement. He'd magically grown in size. He had to be thirty feet tall, as big as any of his older cousins, and for the first time he was wearing full battle armor. Riding behind him was Briares, the Hundred-Handed One.
All the Cyclopes held huge lengths of black iron chains-big enough to anchor a battleship-with grappling hooks at the ends. They swung them like lassos and began to ensnare Typhon, throwing lines around the creature's legs and arms, using the tide to keep circling, slowly tangling him. Typhon shook and roared and yanked at the chains,
pulling some of the Cyclopes off their mounts; but there were too many chains. The sheer weight of the Cyclops battalion began to weigh Typhon down. Poseidon threw his trident and impaled the monster in the throat. Golden blood, immortal ichor, spewed from the wound, making a waterfall taller than a skyscraper. The trident flew back to Poseidon's hand.
The other gods struck with renewed force. Ares rode in and stabbed Typhon in the nose. Artemis shot the monster in the eye with a dozen silver arrows. Apollo shot a blazing volley of arrows and set the monster's loincloth on fire. And Zeus kept pounding the giant with lightning, until finally, slowly, the water rose, wrapping Typhon like a cocoon, and he began to sink under the weight of the chains.
Typhon bellowed in agony, thrashing with such force that waves sloshed the Jersey shore, soaking five-story buildings and splashing over the George Washington Bridge-but down he went as my dad opened a special tunnel for him at the bottom of the river-an endless waterslide that would take him straight to Tartarus. The giant's head went under in a seething whirlpool, and he was gone.
"BAH!" Kronos screamed. He slashed his sword through the smoke, tearing the image to shreds.
"They're on their way," I said. "You've lost." "I haven't even started."
He advanced with blinding speed. Grover-brave, stupid satyr that he was-tried to protect me, but Kronos tossed him aside like a rag doll.
I sidestepped and jabbed under Kronos's guard. It was a good trick. Unfortunately, Luke knew it. He countered the strike and disarmed me using one of the first moves he'd ever taught me. My sword skittered across the ground and fell straight into the open fissure.
"STOP!" Annabeth came from nowhere.
Kronos whirled to face her and slashed with Backbiter, but somehow Annabeth caught the strike on her dagger hilt. It was a move only the quickest and most skilled knife fighter could've managed. Don't ask me where she found the strength, but she stepped in closer for leverage, their blades crossed, and for a moment she stood face-to- face with the Titan lord, holding him at a standstill.
"Luke," she said, gritting her teeth, "I understand now. You have to trust me."
Kronos roared in outrage. "Luke Castellan is dead! His body will burn away as I assume my true form!"
I tried to move, but my body was frozen again. How could Annabeth, battered and half dead with exhaustion, have the strength to fight a Titan like Kronos?
Kronos pushed against her, trying to dislodge his blade, but she held him in check, her arms trembling as he forced his sword down toward her neck.
"Your mother," Annabeth grunted. "She saw your fate." "Service to Kronos!" the Titan roared. "This is my fate."
"No!" Annabeth insisted. Her eyes were tearing up, but I didn't know if it was from sadness or pain. "That's not the end, Luke. The prophecy: she saw what you would do. It applies to you!"
"I will crush you, child!" Kronos bellowed.
"You won't," Annabeth said. "You promised. You're holding Kronos back even now."
"LIES!" Kronos pushed again, and this time Annabeth lost her balance. With his free hand, Kronos struck her face, and she slid backward.
I summoned all my will. I managed to rise, but it was like holding
the weight of the sky again.
Kronos loomed over Annabeth, his sword raised.
Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. She croaked, "Family, Luke. You promised."
I took a painful step forward. Grover was back on his feet, over by the throne of Hera, but he seemed to be struggling to move as well. Before either of us could get anywhere close to Annabeth, Kronos staggered.
He stared at the knife in Annabeth's hand, the blood on her face.
"Promise."
Then he gasped like he couldn't get air. "Annabeth . . ." But it wasn't the Titan's voice. It was Luke's. He stumbled forward like he couldn't control his own body. "You're bleeding. "
"My knife." Annabeth tried to raise her dagger, but it clattered out of her hand. Her arm was bent at a funny angle. She looked at me, imploring, "Percy, please "
I could move again.
I surged forward and scooped up her knife. I knocked Backbiter out of Luke's hand, and it spun into the hearth. Luke hardly paid me any attention. He stepped toward Annabeth, but I put myself between him and her.
"Don't touch her," I said.
Anger rippled across his face. Kronos's voice growled: "Jackson "
Was it my imagination, or was his whole body glowing, turning gold?
He gasped again. Luke's voice: "He's changing. Help. He's he's
almost ready. He won't need my body anymore. Please-"
"NO!" Kronos bellowed. He looked around for his sword, but it was in the hearth, glowing among the coals.
He stumbled toward it. I tried to stop him, but he pushed me out of the way with such force I landed next to Annabeth and cracked my head on the base of Athena's throne.
"The knife, Percy," Annabeth muttered. Her breath was shallow. "Hero . . . cursed blade . . ."
When my vision came back into focus, I saw Kronos grasping his sword. Then he bellowed in pain and dropped it. His hands were smoking and seared. The hearth fire had grown red-hot, like the scythe wasn't compatible with it. I saw an image of Hestia flickering in the ashes, frowning at Kronos with disapproval.
Luke turned and collapsed, clutching his ruined hands. "Please, Percy . . ."
I struggled to my feet. I moved toward him with the knife. I should kill him. That was the plan.
Luke seemed to know what I was thinking. He moistened his lips. "You can't . . . can't do it yourself. He'll break my control. He'll defend himself. Only my hand. I know where. I can . . . can keep him controlled."
He was definitely glowing now, his skin starting to smoke.
I raised the knife to strike. Then I looked at Annabeth, at Grover cradling her in his arms, trying to shield her. And I finally understood what she'd been trying to tell me.
You are not the hero, Rachel had said. It will affect what you do.
"Please," Luke groaned. "No time."
If Kronos evolved into his true form, there would be no stopping him. He would make Typhon look like a playground bully.
The line from the great prophecy echoed in my head: A hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap. My whole world tipped upside down, and I gave the knife to Luke.
Grover yelped. "Percy? Are you . . . um . . ." Crazy. Insane. Off my rocker. Probably.
But I watched as Luke grasped the hilt. I stood before him-defenseless.
He unlatched the side straps of his armor, exposing a small bit of his skin just under his left arm, a place that would be very hard to hit.
With difficulty, he stabbed himself.
It wasn't a deep cut, but Luke howled. His eyes glowed like lava. The throne room shook, throwing me off my feet. An aura of energy surrounded Luke, growing brighter and brighter. I shut my eyes and felt a force like a nuclear explosion blister my skin and crack my lips.
It was silent for a long time.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Luke sprawled at the hearth. On the floor around him was a blackened circle of ash. Kronos's scythe had liquefied into molten metal and was trickling into the coals of the hearth, which now glowed like a blacksmith's furnace.
Luke's left side was bloody. His eyes were open-blue eyes, the way they used to be. His breath was a deep rattle.
"Good . . . blade," he croaked.
I knelt next to him. Annabeth limped over with Grover's support. They both had tears in their eyes.
Luke gazed at Annabeth. "You knew. I almost killed you, but you knew . . ."
"Shhh." Her voice trembled. "You were a hero at the end, Luke. You'll go to Elysium."
He shook his head weakly. "Think . . . rebirth. Try for three times. Isles of the Blest."
Annabeth sniffled. "You always pushed yourself too hard." He held up his charred hand. Annabeth touched his fingertips.
"Did you . . ." Luke coughed and his lips glistened red. "Did you love me?"
Annabeth wiped her tears away. "There was a time I thought . . . well, I thought . . ." She looked at me, like she was drinking in the fact that I was still here. And I realized I was doing the same thing. The world was collapsing, and the only thing that really mattered to me was that she was alive.
"You were like a brother to me, Luke," she said softly. "But I didn't love you."
He nodded, as if he'd expected it. He winced in pain. "We can get ambrosia," Grover said. "We can-"
"Grover," Luke gulped. "You're the bravest satyr I ever knew. But no. There's no healing. . . ." Another cough.
He gripped my sleeve, and I could feel the heat of his skin like a fire. "Ethan. Me. All the unclaimed. Don't let it . . . Don't let it happen again."
His eyes were angry, but pleading too. "I won't," I said. "I promise."
Luke nodded, and his hand went slack.
The gods arrived a few minutes later in their full war regalia, thundering into the throne room and expecting a battle.
What they found were Annabeth, Grover, and me standing over the body of a broken half-blood, in the dim warm light of the hearth.
"Percy," my father called, awe in his voice. "What . . . what is this?" I turned and faced the Olympians.
"We need a shroud," I announced, my voice cracking. "A shroud for the son of Hermes."
CHAPTER TWENTY WE WIN FABULOUS
PRIZES
The Three Fates themselves took Luke's body.
I hadn't seen the old ladies in years, since I'd witnessed them snip a life thread at a roadside fruit stand when I was twelve. They'd scared me then, and they scared me now-three ghoulish grandmothers with bags of knitting needles and yarn.
One of them looked at me, and even though she didn't say anything, my life literally flashed before my eyes. Suddenly I was twenty.
Then I was a middle-aged man. Then I turned old and withered. All the strength left my body, and I saw my own tombstone and an open grave, a coffin being lowered into the ground. All this happened in less than a second.
It is done, she said.
The Fate held up the snippet of blue yarn-and I knew it was the same one I'd seen four years ago, the lifeline I'd watched them snip. I had thought it was my life. Now I realized it was Luke's. They'd been showing me the life that would have to be sacrificed to set things right.
They gathered up Luke's body, now wrapped in a white-and-green shroud, and began carrying it out of the throne room.
"Wait," Hermes said.
The messenger god was dressed in his classic outfit of white Greek robes, sandals, and helmet. The wings of his helm fluttered as he walked. The snakes George and Martha curled around his caduceus, murmuring, Luke, poor Luke.
I thought about May Castellan, alone in her kitchen, baking cookies and making sandwiches for a son who would never come home.
Hermes unwrapped Luke's face and kissed his forehead. He murmured some words in Ancient Greek-a final blessing.
"Farewell," he whispered. Then he nodded and allowed the Fates to carry away his son's body.
As they left, I thought about the Great Prophecy. The lines now made sense to me. The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap. The hero was Luke. The cursed blade was the knife he'd given Annabeth long ago-cursed because Luke had broken his promise and betrayed his friends. A single choice shall end his days. My choice, to give him the knife, and to believe, as Annabeth had, that he was still capable of setting things right. Olympus to preserve or raze. By sacrificing himself, he had saved Olympus. Rachel was right. In the end, I wasn't really the hero. Luke was.
And I understood something else: When Luke had descended into the River Styx, he would've had to focus on something important that would hold him to his mortal life. Otherwise he would've dissolved. I had seen Annabeth, and I had a feeling he had too. He had pictured that scene Hestia showed me-of himself in the good old days with Thalia and Annabeth, when he promised they would be a family. Hurting Annabeth in battle had shocked him into remembering that promise. It had allowed his mortal conscience to take over again, and defeat Kronos. His weak spot-his Achilles heel- had saved us all.
Next to me, Annabeth's knees buckled. I caught her, but she cried out in pain, and I realized I'd grabbed her broken arm.
"Oh gods," I said. "Annabeth, I'm sorry."
"It's all right," she said as she passed out in my arms. "She needs help!" I yelled.
"I've got this." Apollo stepped forward. His fiery armor was so bright it was hard to look at, and his matching Ray-Bans and perfect smile made him look like a male model for battle gear. "God of medicine, at your service."
He passed his hand over Annabeth's face and spoke an incantation. Immediately the bruises faded. Her cuts and scars disappeared. Her arm straightened, and she sighed in her sleep.
Apollo grinned. "She'll be fine in a few minutes. Just enough time for me to compose a poem about our victory: 'Apollo and his friends save Olympus.' Good, eh?"
"Thanks, Apollo," I said. "I'll, um, let you handle the poetry."
The next few hours were a blur. I remembered my promise to my mother. Zeus didn't even blink an eye when I told him my strange request. He snapped his fingers and informed me that the top of the Empire State Building was now lit up blue. Most mortals would just have to wonder what it meant, but my mom would know: I had survived, Olympus was saved.
The gods set about repairing the throne room, which went surprisingly fast with twelve superpowerful beings at work. Grover and I cared for the wounded, and once the sky bridge re-formed, we greeted our friends who had survived. The Cyclopes had saved Thalia from the fallen statue. She was on crutches, but otherwise she was okay. Connor and Travis Stoll had made it through with only
minor injuries. They promised me they hadn't even looted the city much. They told me my parents were fine, though they weren't allowed into Mount Olympus. Mrs. O'Leary had dug Chiron out of the rubble and rushed him off to camp. The Stolls looked kind of worried about the old centaur, but at least he was alive. Katie Gardner reported that she'd seen Rachel Elizabeth Dare run out of the Empire State Building at the end of the battle. Rachel had looked unharmed, but nobody knew where she'd gone, which also troubled me.
Nico di Angelo came into Olympus to a hero's welcome, his father right behind him, despite the fact that Hades was only supposed to visit Olympus on winter solstice. The god of the dead looked stunned when his relatives clapped him on the back. I doubt he'd ever gotten such an enthusiastic welcome before.
Clarisse marched in, still shivering from her time in the ice block, and Ares bellowed, "There's my girl!"
The god of war ruffled her hair and pounded her on the back, calling her the best warrior he'd ever seen. "That drakon-slaying? THAT'S what I'm talking about!"
She looked pretty overwhelmed. All she could do was nod and blink, like she was afraid he'd start hitting her, but eventually she began to smile.
Hera and Hephaestus passed me, and while Hephaestus was a little grumpy about my jumping on his throne, he thought I'd done "a pretty bang-up job, mostly."
Hera sniffed in disdain. "I suppose I won't destroy you and that little girl now."
"Annabeth saved Olympus," I told her. "She convinced Luke to stop Kronos."
"Hmm," Hera whirled away in a huff, but I figured our lives would be safe, at least for a little while.
Dionysus's head was still wrapped in a bandage. He looked me up and down and said, "Well, Percy Jackson. I see Pollux made it through, so I suppose you aren't completely inept. It's all thanks to my training, I suppose."
"Urn, yes, sir," I said.
Mr. D nodded. "As thanks for my bravery, Zeus has cut my probation at that miserable camp in half. I now have only fifty years left instead of one hundred."
"Fifty years, huh?" I tried to imagine putting up with Dionysus until I was an old man, assuming I lived that long.
"Don't get so excited, Jackson," he said, and I realized he was saying my name correctly. "I still plan on making your life miserable."
I couldn't help smiling. "Naturally."
"Just so we understand each other." He turned and began repairing his grapevine throne, which had been singed by fire.
Grover stayed at my side. From time to time he would break down in tears. "So many nature spirits dead, Percy. So many."
I put my arm around his shoulders and gave him a rag to blow his nose. "You did a great job, G-man. We will come back from this. We'll plant new trees. We'll clean up the parks. Your friends will be reincarnated into a better world."
He sniffled dejectedly. "I . . . I suppose. But it was hard enough to rally them before. I'm still an outcast. I could barely get anyone to listen to me about Pan. Now will they ever listen to me again? I led them into a slaughter."
"They will listen," I promised. "Because you care about them. You
care about the Wild more than anyone."
He tried for a smile. "Thanks, Percy. I hope . . . I hope you know I'm really proud to be your friend."
I patted his arm. "Luke was right about one thing, G-man. You're the bravest satyr I ever met."
He blushed, but before he could say anything, conch horns blew. The army of Poseidon marched into the throne room.
"Percy!" Tyson yelled. He charged toward me with his arms open. Fortunately he'd shrunk back to normal size, so his hug was like getting hit by a tractor, not the entire farm.
"You are not dead!" he said. "Yeah!" I agreed. "Amazing, huh?"
He clapped his hands and laughed happily. "I am not dead either. Yay! We chained Typhon. It was fun!"
Behind him, fifty other armored Cyclopes laughed and nodded and gave each other high fives.
"Tyson led us," one rumbled. "He is brave!" "Bravest of the Cyclopes!" another bellowed. Tyson blushed. "Was nothing."
"I saw you!" I said. "You were incredible!"
I thought poor Grover would pass out. He's deathly afraid of Cyclopes. But he steeled his nerves and said, "Yes. Um . . . three cheers for Tyson!"
"YAAARRRRR!" the Cyclopes roared.
"Please don't eat me," Grover muttered, but I don't think anyone heard him.
The conch horns blasted again. The Cyclopes parted, and my father strode into the throne room in his battle armor, his trident glowing in his hands.
"Tyson!" he roared. "Well done, my son. And Percy-" His face turned stern. He wagged his finger at me, and for a second I was afraid he was going to zap me. "I even forgive you for sitting on my throne. You have saved Olympus!"
He held out his arms and gave me a hug. I realized, a little embarrassed, that I'd never actually hugged my dad before. He was warm-like a regular human-and he smelled of a salty beach and fresh sea air.
When he pulled away, he smiled kindly at me. I felt so good, I'll admit I teared up a little. I guess until that moment I hadn't allowed myself to realize just how terrified I had been the last few days.
"Dad-"
"Shhh," he said. "No hero is above fear, Percy. And you have risen above every hero. Not even Hercules-"
"POSEIDON!" a voice roared.
Zeus had taken his throne. He glared across the room at my dad while all the other gods filed in and took their seats. Even Hades was present, sitting on a simple stone guest chair at the foot of the hearth. Nico sat cross-legged on the ground at his dad's feet.
"Well, Poseidon?" Zeus grumped. "Are you too proud to join us in council, my brother?"
I thought Poseidon was going to get mad, but he just looked at me and winked. "I would be honored, Lord Zeus."
I guess miracles do happen. Poseidon strode over to his fishing seat, and the Olympian Council convened.
While Zeus was talking-some long speech about the bravery of the gods, etc.-Annabeth walked in and stood next to me. She looked good for someone who'd recently passed out.
"Miss much?" she whispered.
"Nobody's planning to kill us, so far," I whispered back. "First time today."
I cracked up, but Grover nudged me because Hera was giving us a dirty look.
"As for my brothers," Zeus said, "we are thankful"-he cleared his throat like the words were hard to get out-"erm, thankful for the aid of Hades."
The lord of the dead nodded. He had a smug look on his face, but I figure he'd earned the right. He patted his son Nico on the shoulders, and Nico looked happier than I'd ever seen him.
"And, of course," Zeus continued, though he looked like his pants were smoldering, "we must . . . um . . . thank Poseidon."
"I'm sorry, brother," Poseidon said. "What was that?"
"We must thank Poseidon," Zeus growled. "Without whom . . . it would've been difficult-"
"Difficult?" Poseidon asked innocently.
"Impossible," Zeus said. "Impossible to defeat Typhon."
The gods murmured agreement and pounded their weapons in approval.
"Which leaves us," Zeus said, "only the matter of thanking our young demigod heroes, who defended Olympus so well-even if there are a few dents in my throne."
He called Thalia forward first, since she was his daughter, and
promised her help in filling the Hunters' ranks.
Artemis smiled. "You have done well, my lieutenant. You have made me proud, and all those Hunters who perished in my service will never be forgotten. They willachieve Elysium, I am sure."
She glared pointedly at Hades. He shrugged. "Probably."
Artemis glared at him some more.
"Okay," Hades grumbled. "I'll streamline their application process."
Thalia beamed with pride. "Thank you, my lady." She bowed to the gods, even Hades, and then limped over to stand by Artemis's side.
"Tyson, son of Poseidon!" Zeus called. Tyson looked nervous, but he went to stand in the middle of the Council, and Zeus grunted.
"Doesn't miss many meals, does he?" Zeus muttered. "Tyson, for your bravery in the war, and for leading the Cyclopes, you are appointed a general in the armies of Olympus. You shall henceforth lead your brethren into war whenever required by the gods. And you shall have a new . . . um . . . what kind of weapon would you like? A sword? An axe?"
"Stick!" Tyson said, showing his broken club.
"Very well," Zeus said. "We will grant you a new, er, stick. The best stick that may be found."
"Hooray!" Tyson cried, and all the Cyclopes cheered and pounded him on the back as he rejoined them.
"Grover Underwood of the satyrs!" Dionysus called. Grover came forward nervously.
"Oh, stop chewing your shirt," Dionysus chided. "Honestly, I'm not going to blast you. For your bravery and sacrifice, blah, blah, blah,
and since we have an unfortunate vacancy, the gods have seen fit to name you a member of the Council of Cloven Elders."
Grover collapsed on the spot.
"Oh, wonderful," Dionysus sighed, as several naiads came forward to help Grover. "Well, when he wakes up, someone tell him that he will no longer be an outcast, and that all satyrs, naiads, and other spirits of nature will henceforth treat him as a lord of the Wild, with all rights, privileges, and honors, blah, blah, blah. Now please, drag him off before he wakes up and starts groveling."
"FOOOOOD," Grover moaned, as the nature spirits carried him away.
I figured he'd be okay. He would wake up as a lord of the Wild with a bunch of beautiful naiads taking care of him. Life could be worse.
Athena called, "Annabeth Chase, my own daughter."
Annabeth squeezed my arm, then walked forward and knelt at her mother's feet.
Athena smiled. "You, my daughter, have exceeded all expectations. You have used your wits, your strength, and your courage to defend this city, and our seat of power. It has come to our attention that Olympus is . . . well, trashed. The Titan lord did much damage that will have to be repaired. We could rebuild it by magic, of course, and make it just as it was. But the gods feel that the city could be improved. We will take this as an opportunity. And you, my daughter, will design these improvements."
Annabeth looked up, stunned. "My . . . my lady?"
Athena smiled wryly. "You are an architect, are you not? You have studied the techniques of Daedalus himself. Who better to redesign Olympus and make it a monument that will last for another eon?"
"You mean . . . I can design whatever I want?"
"As your heart desires," the goddess said. "Make us a city for the ages."
"As long as you have plenty of statues of me," Apollo added. "And me," Aphrodite agreed.
"Hey, and me!" Ares said. "Big statues with huge wicked swords and-"
"All right!" Athena interrupted. "She gets the point. Rise, my daughter, official architect of Olympus."
Annabeth rose in a trance and walked back toward me. "Way to go," I told her, grinning.
For once she was at a loss for words. "I'll . . . I'll have to start planning . . . Drafting paper, and, um, pencils-"
"PERCY JACKSON!" Poseidon announced. My name echoed around the chamber.
All talking died down. The room was silent except for the crackle of the hearth fire. Everyone's eyes were on me-all the gods, the demigods, the Cyclopes, the spirits. I walked into the middle of the throne room. Hestia smiled at me reassuringly. She was in the form of a girl now, and she seemed happy and content to be sitting by her fire again. Her smile gave me courage to keep walking.
First I bowed to Zeus. Then I knelt at my father's feet. "Rise, my son," Poseidon said.
I stood uneasily.
"A great hero must be rewarded," Poseidon said. "Is there anyone here who would deny that my son is deserving?"
I waited for someone to pipe up. The gods never agreed on anything,
and many of them still didn't like me, but not a single one protested.
"The Council agrees," Zeus said. "Percy Jackson, you will have one gift from the gods."
I hesitated. "Any gift?"
Zeus nodded grimly. "I know what you will ask. The greatest gift of all. Yes, if you want it, it shall be yours. The gods have not bestowed this gift on a mortal hero in many centuries, but, Perseus Jackson-if you wish it-you shall be made a god. Immortal. Undying. You shall serve as your father's lieutenant for all time."
I stared at him, stunned. "Um . . . a god?"
Zeus rolled his eyes. "A dimwitted god, apparently. But yes. With the consensus of the entire Council, I can make you immortal. Then I will have to put up with you forever."
"Hmm," Ares mused. "That means I can smash him to a pulp as often as I want, and he'll just keep coming back for more. I like this idea."
"I approve as well," Athena said, though she was looking at Annabeth.
I glanced back. Annabeth was trying not to meet my eyes. Her face was pale. I flashed back to two years ago, when I'd thought she was going to take the pledge to Artemis and become a Hunter. I'd been on the edge of a panic attack, thinking that I'd lose her. Now, she looked pretty much the same way.
I thought about the Three Fates, and the way I'd seen my life flash by. I could avoid all that. No aging, no death, no body in the grave. I could be a teenager forever, in top condition, powerful, and immortal, serving my father. I could have power and eternal life.
Who could refuse that?
Then I looked at Annabeth again. I thought about my friends from camp: Charles Beckendorf, Michael Yew, Silena Beauregard, so many others who were now dead. I thought about Ethan Nakamura and Luke.
And I knew what to do. "No," I said.
The Council was silent. The gods frowned at each other like they must have misheard.
"No?" Zeus said. "You are . . . turning down our generous gift?"
There was a dangerous edge to his voice, like a thunderstorm about to erupt.
"I'm honored and everything," I said. "Don't get me wrong. It's just . . . I've got a lot of life left to live. I'd hate to peak in my sophomore year."
The gods were glaring at me, but Annabeth had her hands over her mouth. Her eyes were shining. And that kind of made up for it.
"I do want a gift, though," I said. "Do you promise to grant my wish?"
Zeus thought about this. "If it is within our power."
"It is," I said. "And it's not even difficult. But I need your promise on the River Styx."
"What?" Dionysus cried. "You don't trust us?"
"Someone once told me," I said, looking at Hades, "you should always get a solemn oath."
Hades shrugged. "Guilty."
"Very well!" Zeus growled. "In the name of the Council, we swear by the River Styx to grant your reasonable request as long as it is
within our power."
The other gods muttered assent. Thunder boomed, shaking the throne room. The deal was made.
"From now on, I want to you properly recognize the children of the gods," I said. "All the children . . . of all the gods."
The Olympians shifted uncomfortably.
"Percy," my father said, "what exactly do you mean?"
"Kronos couldn't have risen if it hadn't been for a lot of demigods who felt abandoned by their parents," I said. "They felt angry, resentful, and unloved, and they had a good reason."
Zeus's royal nostrils flared. "You dare accuse-"
"No more undetermined children," I said. "I want you to promise to claim your children-all your demigod children-by the time they turn thirteen. They won't be left out in the world on their own at the mercy of monsters. I want them claimed and brought to camp so they can be trained right, and survive."
"Now, wait just a moment," Apollo said, but I was on a roll.
"And the minor gods," I said. "Nemesis, Hecate, Morpheus, Janus, Hebe--they all deserve a general amnesty and a place at Camp Half- Blood. Their children shouldn't be ignored. Calypso and the other peaceful Titan-kind should be pardoned too. And Hades-"
"Are you calling me a minor god?" Hades bellowed.
"No, my lord," I said quickly. "But your children should not be left out. They should have a cabin at camp. Nico has proven that. No unclaimed demigods will be crammed into the Hermes cabin anymore, wondering who their parents are. They'll have their own cabins, for all the gods. And no more pact of the Big Three. That didn't work anyway. You've got to stop trying to get rid of powerful
demigods. We're going to train them and accept them instead. All children of the gods will be welcome and treated with respect. That is my wish."
Zeus snorted. "Is that all?"
"Percy," Poseidon said, "you ask much. You presume much." "I hold you to your oath," I said. "All of you."
I got a lot of steely looks. Strangely, it was Athena who spoke up: "The boy is correct. We have been unwise to ignore our children. It proved a strategic weakness in this war and almost caused our destruction. Percy Jackson, I have had my doubts about you, but perhaps"-she glanced at Annabeth, and then spoke as if the words had a sour taste-"perhaps I was mistaken. I move that we accept the boy's plan."
"Humph," Zeus said. "Being told what to do by a mere child. But I suppose . . ."
"All in favor," Hermes said. All the gods raised their hands. "Um, thanks," I said.
I turned, but before I could leave, Poseidon called, "Honor guard!"
Immediately the Cyclopes came forward and made two lines from the thrones to the door-an aisle for me to walk through. They came to attention.
"All hail, Perseus Jackson," Tyson said. "Hero of Olympus . . . and my big brother!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE BLACKJACK GETS
JACKED
Annabeth and I were on our way out when I spotted Hermes in a side courtyard of the palace. He was staring at an Iris-message in the mist of a fountain.
I glanced at Annabeth. "I'll meet you at the elevator."
"You sure?" Then she studied my face. "Yeah, you're sure."
Hermes didn't seem to notice me approach. The Iris-message images were going so fast I could hardly understand them. Mortal newscasts from all over the country flashed by: scenes of Typhon's destruction, the wreckage our battle had left across Manhattan, the president doing a news conference, the mayor of New York, some army vehicles riding down the Avenue of the Americas.
"Amazing," Hermes murmured. He turned toward me. "Three thousand years, and I will never get over the power of the Mist . . . and mortal ignorance."
"Thanks, I guess."
"Oh, not you. Although, I suppose I should wonder, turning down immortality."
"It was the right choice."
Hermes looked at me curiously, then returned his attention to the Iris-message. "Look at them. They've already decided Typhon was a
freak series of storms. Don't I wish. They haven't figured out how all the statues in Lower Manhattan got removed from their pedestals and hacked to pieces. They keep showing a shot of Susan B. Anthony strangling Frederick Douglass. But I imagine they'll even come up with a logical explanation for that."
"How bad is the city?"
Hermes shrugged. "Surprisingly, not too bad. The mortals are shaken, of course. But this is New York. I've never seen such a resilient bunch of humans. I imagine they'll be back to normal in a few weeks; and of course I'll be helping."
"You?"
"I'm the messenger of the gods. It's my job to monitor what the mortals are saying, and if necessary, help them make sense of what's happened. I'll reassure them. Trust me, they'll put this down to a freak earthquake or a solar flare. Anything but the truth."
He sounded bitter. George and Martha curled around his caduceus, but they were silent, which made me think that Hermes was really really angry. I probably should've kept quiet, but I said, "I owe you an apology."
Hermes gave me a cautious look. "And why is that?"
"I thought you were a bad father," I admitted. "I thought you abandoned Luke because you knew his future and didn't do anything to stop it."
"I did know his future," Hermes said miserably.
"But you knew more than just the bad stuff-that he'd turn evil. You understood what he would do in the end. You knew he'd make the right choice. But you couldn't tell him, could you?"
Hermes stared at the fountain. "No one can tamper with fate, Percy,
not even a god. If I had warned him what was to come, or tried to influence his choices, I would've made things even worse. Staying silent, staying away from him . . . that was the hardest thing I've ever done."
"You had to let him find his own path," I said, "and play his part in saving Olympus."
Hermes sighed. "I should not have gotten mad at Annabeth. When Luke visited her in San Francisco . . . well, I knew she would have a part to play in his fate. I foresaw that much. I thought perhaps she could do what I could not and save him. When she refused to go with him, I could barely contain my rage. I should have known better. I was really angry with myself."
"Annabeth did save him," I said. "Luke died a hero. He sacrificed himself to kill Kronos."
"I appreciate your words, Percy. But Kronos isn't dead. You can't kill a Titan."
"Then-"
"I don't know," Hermes grumbled. "None of us do. Blown to dust. Scattered to the wind. With luck, he's spread so thin that he'll never be able to form a consciousness again, much less a body. But don't mistake him for dead, Percy."
My stomach did a queasy somersault. "What about the other Titans?"
"In hiding," Hermes said. "Prometheus sent Zeus a message with a bunch of excuses for supporting Kronos. 'I was just trying to minimize the damage,' blah, blah. He'll keep his head low for a few centuries if he's smart. Krios has fled, and Mount Othrys has crumbled into ruins. Oceanus slipped back into the deep ocean when it was clear Kronos had lost. Meanwhile, my son Luke is dead. He died believing I didn't care about him. I will never forgive myself."
Hermes slashed his caduceus through the mist. The Iris-picture disappeared.
"A long time ago," I said, "you told me the hardest thing about being a god was not being able to help your children. You also told me that you couldn't give up on your family, no matter how tempting they made it."
"And now you know I'm a hypocrite?"
"No, you were right, Luke loved you. At the end, he realized his fate. I think he realized why you couldn't help him. He remembered what was important."
"Too late for him and me."
"You have other children. Honor Luke by recognizing them. All the gods can do that."
Hermes's shoulders sagged. "They'll try, Percy. Oh, we'll all try to keep our promise. And maybe for a while things will get better. But we gods have never been good at keeping oaths. You were born because of a broken promise, eh? Eventually we'll become forgetful. We always do."
"You can change."
Hermes laughed. "After three thousand years, you think the gods can change their nature?"
"Yeah," I said. "I do."
Hermes seemed surprised by that. "You think . . . Luke actually loved me? After all that happened?"
"I'm sure of it."
Hermes stared at the fountain. "I'll give you a list of my children. There's a boy in Wisconsin. Two girls in Los Angeles. A few others.
Will you see that they get to camp?"
"I promise," I said. "And I won't forget."
George and Martha twirled around the caduceus. I know snakes can't smile, but they seemed to be trying.
"Percy Jackson," Hermes said, "you might just teach us a thing or two."
Another god was waiting for me on the way out of Olympus. Athena stood in the middle of the road with her arms crossed and a look on her face that made me think Uh-oh. She'd changed out of her armor, into jeans and a white blouse, but she didn't look any less warlike.
Her gray eyes blazed.
"Well, Percy," she said. "You will stay mortal." "Um, yes, ma'am."
"I would know your reasons."
"I want to be a regular guy. I want to grow up. Have, you know, a regular high school experience."
"And my daughter?"
"I couldn't leave her," I admitted, my throat dry. "Or Grover," I added quickly. "Or-"
"Spare me." Athena stepped close to me, and I could feel her aura of power making my skin itch. "I once warned you, Percy Jackson, that to save a friend you would destroy the world. Perhaps I was mistaken. You seem to have saved both your friends and the world.
But think very carefully about how you proceed from here. I have given you the benefit of the doubt. Don't mess up."
Just to prove her point, she erupted in a column of flame, charring the front of my shirt.
Annabeth was waiting for me at the elevator. "Why do you smell like smoke?"
"Long story," I said. Together we made our way down to the street level. Neither of us said a word. The music was awful-Neil Diamond or something. I should've made that part of my gift from the gods: better elevator tunes.
When we got into the lobby, I found my mother and Paul arguing with the bald security guy, who'd returned to his post.
"I'm telling you," my mom yelled, "we have to go up! My son-" Then she saw me and her eyes widened. "Percy!"
She hugged the breath right out of me.
"We saw the building lit up blue," she said. "But then you didn't come down. You went up hours ago!"
"She was getting a bit anxious," Paul said drily.
"I'm all right," I promised as my mom hugged Annabeth. "Everything's okay now."
"Mr. Blofis," Annabeth said, "that was wicked sword work."
Paul shrugged. "It seemed like the thing to do. But Percy, is this really . . . I mean, this story about the six hundredth floor?"
"Olympus," I said. "Yeah."
Paul looked at the ceiling with a dreamy expression. "I'd like to see that."
"Paul," my mom chided. "It's not for mortals. Anyway, the important thing is we're safe. All of us."
I was about to relax. Everything felt perfect. Annabeth and I were okay. My mom and Paul had survived. Olympus was saved.
But the life of a demigod is never so easy. Just then Nico ran in from
the street, and his face told me something was wrong.
"It's Rachel," he said. "I just ran into her down on 32nd Street." Annabeth frowned. "What's she done this time?"
"It's where she's gone," Nico said. "I told her she would die if she tried, but she insisted. She just took Blackjack and-"
"She took my pegasus?" I demanded.
Nico nodded. "She's heading to Half-Blood Hill. She said she had to get to camp."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO I AM DUMPED
Nobody steals my pegasus. Not even Rachel. I wasn't sure if I was more angry or amazed or worried.
"What was she thinking?" Annabeth said as we ran for the river. Unfortunately, I had a pretty good idea, and it filled me with dread.
The traffic was horrible. Everybody was out on the streets gawking at the war zone damage. Police sirens wailed on every block. There was no possibility of catching a cab, and the pegasi had flown away. I would've settled for some Party Ponies, but they had disappeared along with most of the root beer in Midtown. So we ran, pushing through mobs of dazed mortals that clogged the sidewalks.
"She'll never get through the defenses," Annabeth said. "Peleus will eat her."
I hadn't considered that. The Mist wouldn't fool Rachel like it would most people. She'd be able to find the camp no problem, but I'd been hoping the magical boundaries would just keep her out like a force field. It hadn't occurred to me that Peleus might attack.
"We've got to hurry." I glanced at Nico. "I don't suppose you could conjure up some skeleton horses."
He wheezed as he ran. "So tired . . . couldn't summon a dog bone."
Finally we scrambled over the embankment to the shore, and I let out a loud whistle. I hated doing it. Even with the sand dollar I'd
given the East River for a magic cleaning, the water here was pretty polluted. I didn't want to make any sea animals sick, but they came to my call.
Three wake lines appeared in the gray water, and a pod of hippocampi broke the surface. They whinnied unhappily, shaking the river muck from their manes. They were beautiful creatures, with multicolored fish tails, and the heads and forelegs of white stallions. The hippocampus in front was much bigger than the others-a ride fit for a Cyclops.
"Rainbow!" I called. "How's it going, buddy?" He neighed a complaint.
"Yeah, I'm sorry," I said. "But it's an emergency. We need to get to camp."
He snorted.
"Tyson?" I said. "Tyson is fine! I'm sorry he's not here. He's a big general now in the Cyclops army."
"NEEEEIGGGGH!"
"Yeah, I'm sure he'll still bring you apples. Now, about that ride . . ."
In no time, Annabeth, Nico, and I were zipping up the East River faster than Jet Skis. We sped under the Throgs Neck Bridge and headed for Long Island Sound.
It seemed like forever until we saw the beach at camp. We thanked the hippocampi and waded ashore, only to find Argus waiting for us. He stood in the sand with his arms crossed, his hundred eyes glaring at us.
"Is she here?" I asked. He nodded grimly.
"Is everything okay?" Annabeth said. Argus shook his head.
We followed him up the trail. It was surreal being back at camp, because everything looked so peaceful: no burning buildings, no wounded fighters. The cabins were bright in the sunshine, and the fields glittered with dew. But the place was mostly empty.
Up at the Big House, something was definitely wrong. Green light was shooting out all the windows, just like I'd seen in my dream about May Castellan. Mist-the magical kind-swirled around the yard. Chiron lay on a horse-size stretcher by the volleyball pit, a bunch of satyrs standing around him. Blackjack cantered nervously in the grass.
Don't blame me, boss! he pleaded when he saw me. The weird girl made me do it!
Rachel Elizabeth Dare stood at the bottom of the porch steps. Her arms were raised like she was waiting for someone inside the house to throw her a ball.
"What's she doing?" Annabeth demanded. "How did she get past the barriers?"
"She flew," one of the satyrs said, looking accusingly at Blackjack. "Right past the dragon, right through the magic boundaries."
"Rachel!" I called, but the satyrs stopped me when I tried to go any closer.
"Percy, don't," Chiron warned. He winced as he tried to move. His left arm was in a sling, his two back legs were in splints, and his head was wrapped in bandages. "You can't interrupt."
"I thought you explained things to her!" "I did. And I invited her here."
I stared at him in disbelief. "You said you'd never let anyone try again! You said-"
"I know what I said, Percy. But I was wrong. Rachel had a vision about the curse of Hades. She believes it may be lifted now. She convinced me she deserves a chance."
"And if the curse isn't lifted? If Hades hasn't gotten to that yet, she'll go crazy!"
The Mist swirled around Rachel. She shivered like she was going into shock.
"Hey!" I shouted. "Stop!"
I ran toward her, ignoring the satyrs. I got within ten feet and hit something like an invisible beach ball. I bounced back and landed in the grass.
Rachel opened her eyes and turned. She looked like she was sleepwalking-like she could see me, but only in a dream.
"It's all right." Her voice sounded far away. "This is why I've come." "You'll be destroyed!"
She shook her head. "This is where I belong, Percy. I finally understand why."
It sounded too much like what May Castellan had said. I had to stop her, but I couldn't even get to my feet.
The house rumbled. The door flew open and green light poured out. I recognized the warm musty smell of snakes.
Mist curled into a hundred smoky serpents, slithering up the porch columns, curling around the house. Then the Oracle appeared in the doorway.
The withered mummy shuffled forward in her rainbow dress. She
looked even worse than usual, which is saying a lot. Her hair was falling out in clumps. Her leathery skin was cracking like the seat of a worn-out bus. Her glassy eyes stared blankly into space, but I got the creepiest feeling she was being drawn straight toward Rachel.
Rachel held out her arms. She didn't look scared.
"You've waited too long," Rachel said. "But I'm here now."
The sun blazed more brightly. A man appeared above the porch, floating in the air-a blond dude in a white toga, with sunglasses and a cocky smile.
"Apollo," I said.
He winked at me but held up his finger to his lips.
"Rachel Elizabeth Dare," he said. "You have the gift of prophecy. But it is also a curse. Are you sure you want this?"
Rachel nodded. "It's my destiny." "Do you accept the risks?"
"I do."
"Then proceed," the god said.
Rachel closed her eyes. "I accept this role. I pledge myself to Apollo, God of Oracles. I open my eyes to the future and embrace the past. I accept the spirit of Delphi, Voice of the Gods, Speaker of Riddles, Seer of Fate."
I didn't know where she was getting the words, but they flowed out of her as the Mist thickened. A green column of smoke, like a huge python, uncoiled from the mummy's mouth and slithered down the stairs, curling affectionately around Rachel's feet. The Oracle's mummy crumbled, falling away until it was nothing but a pile of dust in an old tie-dyed dress. Mist enveloped Rachel in a column.
For a moment I couldn't see her at all. Then the smoke cleared.
Rachel collapsed and curled into the fetal position. Annabeth, Nico, and I rushed forward, but Apollo said, "Stop! This is the most delicate part."
"What's going on?" I demanded. "What do you mean?"
Apollo studied Rachel with concern. "Either the spirit takes hold, or it doesn't."
"And if it doesn't?" Annabeth asked.
"Five syllables," Apollo said, counting them on his fingers. "That would be real bad."
Despite Apollo's warning, I ran forward and knelt over Rachel. The smell of the attic was gone. The Mist sank into the ground and the green light faded. But Rachel was still pale. She was barely breathing.
Then her eyes fluttered open. She focused on me with difficulty. "Percy."
"Are you okay?"
She tried to sit up. "Ow." She pressed her hands to her temples. "Rachel," Nico said, "your life aura almost faded completely. I could
see you dying."
"I'm all right," she murmured. "Please, help me up. The visions- they're a little disorienting."
"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked.
Apollo drifted down from the porch. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce the new Oracle of Delphi."
"You're kidding," Annabeth said.
Rachel managed a weak smile. "It's a little surprising to me too, but
this is my fate. I saw it when I was in New York. I know why I was born with true sight. I was meant to become the Oracle."
I blinked. "You mean you can tell the future now?"
"Not all the time," she said. "But there are visions, images, words in my mind. When someone asks me a question, I . . . Oh no-"
"It's starting," Apollo announced.
Rachel doubled over like someone had punched her. Then she stood up straight and her eyes glowed serpent green.
When she spoke, her voice sounded tripled-like three Rachels were talking at once:
"Seven half-bloods shall answer the call. To storm or fire, the world must fall.
An oath to keep with a final breath,
And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death."
At the last word, Rachel collapsed. Nico and I caught her and helped her to the porch. Her skin was feverish.
"I'm all right," she said, her voice returning to normal. "What was that?" I asked.
She shook her head, confused. "What was what?"
"I believe," Apollo said, "that we just heard the next Great Prophecy."
"What does it mean?" I demanded.
Rachel frowned. "I don't even remember what I said."
"No," Apollo mused. "The spirit will only speak through you occasionally. The rest of the time, our Rachel will be much as she's always been. There's no point in grilling her, even if she has just
issued the next big prediction for the future of the world." "What?" I said. "But-"
"Percy," Apollo said, "I wouldn't worry too much. The last Great Prophecy about you took almost seventy years to complete. This one may not even happen in your lifetime."
I thought about the lines Rachel had spoken in that creepy voice: about storm and fire and the Doors of Death. "Maybe," I said, "but it didn't sound so good."
"No," said Apollo cheerfully. "It certainly didn't. She's going to make a wonderful Oracle!"
It was hard to drop the subject, but Apollo insisted that Rachel needed to rest, and she did look pretty disoriented.
"I'm sorry, Percy," she said. "Back on Olympus, I didn't explain everything to you, but the calling frightened me. I didn't think you'd understand."
"I still don't," I admitted. "But I guess I'm happy for you."
Rachel smiled. "Happy probably isn't the right word. Seeing the future isn't going to be easy, but it's my destiny. I only hope my family . . ."
She didn't finish her thought.
"Will you still go to Clarion Academy?" I asked.
"I made a promise to my father. I guess I'll try to be a normal kid during the school year, but-"
"But right now you need sleep," Apollo scolded. "Chiron, I don't think the attic is the proper place for our new Oracle, do you?"
"No, indeed." Chiron looked a lot better now that Apollo had worked some medical magic on him. "Rachel may use a guest room in the
Big House for now, until we give the matter more thought."
"I'm thinking a cave in the hills," Apollo mused. "With torches and a big purple curtain over the entrance . . . really mysterious. But inside, a totally decked-out pad with a game room and one of those home theater systems."
Chiron cleared his throat loudly. "What?" Apollo demanded.
Rachel kissed me on the cheek. "Good-bye, Percy," she whispered. "And I don't have to see the future to tell you what to do now, do I?"
Her eyes seemed more piercing than before. I blushed. "No."
"Good," she said. Then she turned and followed Apollo into the Big House.
The rest of the day was as strange as the beginning. Campers trickled in from New York by car, pegasus, and chariot. The wounded were cared for. The dead were given proper funeral rites at the campfire.
Silena's shroud was hot pink, but embroidered with an electric spear. The Ares and Aphrodite cabins both claimed her as a hero, and lit the shroud together. No one mentioned the word spy. That secret burned to ashes as the designer perfume smoke drifted into the sky.
Even Ethan Nakamura was given a shroud-black silk with a logo of swords crossed under a set of scales. As his shroud went up in flames, I hoped Ethan knew he had made a difference in the end.
He'd paid a lot more than an eye, but the minor gods would finally get the respect they deserved.
Dinner at the pavilion was low-key. The only highlight was Juniper the tree nymph, who screamed, "Grover!" and gave her boyfriend a flying tackle hug, making everybody cheer. They went down to the
beach to take a moonlit walk, and I was happy for them, though the scene reminded me of Silena and Beckendorf, which made me sad.
Mrs. O'Leary romped around happily, eating everybody's table scraps. Nico sat at the main table with Chiron and Mr. D, and nobody seemed to think this was out of place. Everybody was patting Nico on the back, complimenting him on his fighting. Even the Ares kids seemed to think he was pretty cool. Hey, show up with an army of undead warriors to save the day, and suddenly you're everybody's best friend.
Slowly, the dinner crowd trickled away. Some went to the campfire for a sing-along. Others went to bed. I sat at the Poseidon table by myself and watched the moonlight on Long Island Sound. I could see Grover and Juniper at the beach, holding hands and talking. It was peaceful.
"Hey." Annabeth slid next to me on the bench. "Happy birthday." She was holding a huge misshapen cupcake with blue icing.
I stared at her. "What?"
"It's August 18th," she said. "Your birthday, right?"
I was stunned. It hadn't even occurred to me, but she was right. I had turned sixteen this morning-the same morning I'd made the choice to give Luke the knife. The prophecy had come true right on schedule, and I hadn't even thought about the fact that it was my birthday.
"Make a wish," she said.
"Did you bake this yourself?" I asked. "Tyson helped."
"That explains why it looks like a chocolate brick," I said. "With extra blue cement."
Annabeth laughed.
I thought for a second, then blew out the candle.
We cut it in half and shared, eating with our fingers. Annabeth sat next to me, and we watched the ocean. Crickets and monsters were making noise in the woods, but otherwise it was quiet.
"You saved the world," she said. "We saved the world."
"And Rachel is the new Oracle, which means she won't be dating anybody."
"You don't sound disappointed," I noticed. Annabeth shrugged. "Oh, I don't care." "Uh-huh."
She raised an eyebrow. "You got something to say to me, Seaweed Brain?"
"You'd probably kick my butt." "You know I'd kick your butt."
I brushed the cake off my hands. "When I was at the River Styx, turning invulnerable . . . Nico said I had to concentrate on one thing that kept me anchored to the world, that made me want to stay mortal."
Annabeth kept her eyes on the horizon. "Yeah?"
"Then up on Olympus," I said, "when they wanted to make me a god and stuff, I kept thinking-"
"Oh, you so wanted to."
"Well, maybe a little. But I didn't, because I thought-I didn't want things to stay the same for eternity, because things could always get
better. And I was thinking . . ." My throat felt really dry. "Anyone in particular?" Annabeth asked, her voice soft. I looked over and saw that she was trying not to smile. "You're laughing at me," I complained.
"I am not!"
"You are so not making this easy."
Then she laughed for real, and she put her hands around my neck. "I am never, ever going to make things easy for you, Seaweed Brain.
Get used to it."
When she kissed me, I had the feeling my brain was melting right through my body.
I could've stayed that way forever, except a voice behind us growled, "Well, it's about time!"
Suddenly the pavilion was filled with torchlight and campers. Clarisse led the way as the eavesdroppers charged and hoisted us both onto their shoulders.
"Oh, come on!" I complained. "Is there no privacy?" "The lovebirds need to cool off!" Clarisse said with glee. "The canoe lake!" Connor Stoll shouted.
With a huge cheer, they carried us down the hill, but they kept us close enough to hold hands. Annabeth was laughing, and I couldn't help laughing too, even though my face was completely red.
We held hands right up to the moment they dumped us in the water.
Afterward, I had the last laugh. I made an air bubble at the bottom of the lake. Our friends kept waiting for us to come up, but hey-when you're the son of Poseidon, you don't have to hurry.
And it was pretty much the best underwater kiss of all time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE WE SAY GOOD-BYE,
SORT OF
Camp went late that summer. It lasted two more weeks, right up to the start of a new school year, and I have to admit they were the best two weeks of my life.
Of course, Annabeth would kill me if I said anything different, but there was a lot of other great stuff going on too. Grover had taken over the satyr seekers and was sending them out across the world to find unclaimed half-bloods. So far, the gods had kept their promise. New demigods were popping up all over the place-not just in America, but in a lot of other countries as well.
"We can hardly keep up," Grover admitted one afternoon as we were taking a break at the canoe lake. "We're going to need a bigger travel budget, and I could use a hundred more satyrs."
"Yeah, but the satyrs you have are working super hard," I said. "I think they're scared of you."
Grover blushed. "That's silly. I'm not scary."
"You're a lord of the Wild, dude. The chosen one of Pan. A member of the Council of-"
"Stop it!" Grover protested. "You're as bad as Juniper. I think
she wants me to run for president next."
He chewed on a tin can as we stared across the pond at the line of new cabins under construction. The U-shape would soon be a complete rectangle, and the demigods had really taken to the new task with gusto.
Nico had some undead builders working on the Hades cabin.
Even though he was still the only kid in it, it was going to look pretty cool: solid obsidian walls with a skull over the door and torches that burned with green fire twenty-four hours a day. Next to that were the cabins of Iris, Nemesis, Hecate, and several others I didn't recognize. They kept adding new ones to the blueprints every day. It was going so well, Annabeth and Chiron were talking about adding an entirely new wing of cabins just so they could have enough room.
The Hermes cabin was a lot less crowded now, because most of the unclaimed kids had received signs from their godly parents. It happened almost every night, and every night more demigods straggled over the property line with the satyr guides, usually with some nasty monsters pursuing them, but almost all of them made it through.
"It's going to be a lot different next summer," I said. "Chiron's expecting we'll have twice as many campers."
"Yeah," Grover agreed, "but it'll be the same old place." He sighed contentedly.
I watched as Tyson led a group of Cyclops builders. They were hoisting huge stones in place for the Hecate cabin, and I knew it was a delicate job. Each stone was engraved with magical writing, and if they dropped one, it would either explode or turn everyone within half a mile into a tree. I figured nobody but Grover would like that.
"I'll be traveling a lot," Grover warned, "between protecting nature and finding half-bloods. I may not see you as much."
"Won't change anything," I said. "You're still my best friend." He grinned. "Except for Annabeth."
"That's different."
"Yeah," he agreed. "It sure is."
In the late afternoon, I was taking one last walk along the beach when a familiar voice said, "Good day for fishing."
My dad, Poseidon, was standing knee-deep in the surf, wearing his typical Bermuda shorts, beat-up cap, and a real subtle pink-and- green Tommy Bahama shirt. He had a deep-sea fishing rod in his hands, and when he cast it the line went way out-like halfway across Long Island Sound.
"Hey, Dad," I said. "What brings you here?"
He winked. "Never really got to talk in private on Olympus. I wanted to thank you."
"Thank me? You came to the rescue."
"Yes, and I got my palace destroyed in the process, but you know-palaces can be rebuilt. I've gotten so many thank-you cards from the other gods. Even Ares wrote one, though I think Hera forced him to. It's rather gratifying. So, thank you. I suppose even the gods can learn new tricks."
The Sound began to boil. At the end of my dad's line, a huge green sea serpent erupted from the water. It thrashed and fought, but Poseidon just sighed. Holding his fishing pole with one hand, he whipped out his knife and cut the line. The monster sank below the surface.
"Not eating size," he complained. "I have to release the little ones or the game wardens will be all over me."
"Little ones?"
He grinned. "You're doing well with those new cabins, by the way. I suppose this means I can claim all those other sons and daughters of mine and send you some siblings next summer."
"Ha-ha."
Poseidon reeled in his empty line.
I shifted my feet. "Um, you were kidding, right?"
Poseidon gave me one of his inside-joke winks, and I still didn't know whether he was serious or not. "I'll see you soon, Percy. And remember, know which fish are big enough to land, eh?"
With that he dissolved in the sea breeze, leaving a fishing pole lying in the sand.
That evening was the last night of camp-the bead ceremony.
The Hephaestus cabin had designed the bead this year. It showed the Empire State Building, and etched in tiny Greek letters, spiraling around the image, were the names of all the heroes who had died defending Olympus. There were too many names, but I was proud to wear the bead. I put it on my camp necklace-four beads now. I felt like an old-timer. I thought about the first campfire I'd ever attended, back when I was twelve, and how I'd felt so at home. That at least hadn't changed.
"Never forget this summer!" Chiron told us. He had healed remarkably well, but he still trotted in front of the fire with a slight limp. "We have discovered bravery and friendship and courage this summer. We have upheld the honor of the camp."
He smiled at me, and everybody cheered. As I looked at the
fire, I saw a little girl in a brown dress tending the flames. She winked at me with red glowing eyes. No one else seemed to notice her, but I realized maybe she preferred it that way.
"And now," Chiron said, "early to bed! Remember, you must vacate your cabins by noon tomorrow unless you've made arrangements to stay the year with us. The cleaning harpies will eat any stragglers, and I'd hate to end the summer on a sour note!"
The next morning, Annabeth and I stood at the top of Half- Blood Hill. We watched the buses and vans pull away, taking most of the campers back to the real world. A few old-timers would be staying behind, and a few of the newcomers, but I was heading back to Goode High School for my sophomore year-the first time in my life I'd ever done two years at the same school.
"Good-bye," Rachel said to us as she shouldered her bag. She looked pretty nervous, but she was keeping a promise to her father and attending Clarion Academy in New Hampshire. It would be next summer before we got our Oracle back.
"You'll do great." Annabeth hugged her. Funny, she seemed to get along fine with Rachel these days.
Rachel bit her lip. "I hope you're right. I'm a little worried. What if somebody asks what's on the next math test and I start spouting a prophecy in the middle of geometry class? The Pythagorean theorem shall be problem two. . . . Gods, that would be embarrassing."
Annabeth laughed, and to my relief, it made Rachel smile. "Well," she said, "you two be good to each other." Go figure,
but she looked at me like I was some kind of troublemaker. Before I could protest, Rachel wished us well and ran down the hill to catch her ride.
Annabeth, thank goodness, would be staying in New York.
She'd gotten permission from her parents to attend a boarding school in the city so she could be close to Olympus and oversee the rebuilding efforts.
"And close to me?" I asked.
"Well, someone's got a big sense of his own importance." But she laced her fingers through mine. I remembered what she'd told me in New York, about building something permanent, and I thought- just maybe-we were off to a good start.
The guard dragon Peleus curled contentedly around the pine tree underneath the Golden Fleece and began to snore, blowing steam with every breath.
"You've been thinking about Rachel's prophecy?" I asked Annabeth.
She frowned. "How did you know?" "Because I know you."
She bumped me with her shoulder. "Okay, so I have. Seven half-bloods shall answer the call. I wonder who they'll be. We're going to have so many new faces next summer."
"Yep," I agreed. "And all that stuff about the world falling in storm or fire."
She pursed her lips. "And foes at the Doors of Death. I don't know, Percy, but I don't like it. I thought . . . well, maybe we'd get some peace for a change."
"Wouldn't be Camp Half-Blood if it was peaceful," I said.
"I guess you're right . . . Or maybe the prophecy won't happen for years."
"Could be a problem for another generation of demigods," I
agreed. "Then we can kick back and enjoy."
She nodded, though she still seemed uneasy. I didn't blame her, but it was hard to feel too upset on a nice day, with her next to me, knowing that I wasn't really saying good-bye. We had lots of time.
"Race you to the road?" I said.
"You are so going to lose." She took off down Half-Blood Hill and I sprinted after her.
For once, I didn't look back.
👁 :1
Chapter One.
Thursday, September 10, 1992
8:00 P.M. The 727 was lost in a sea of cumulus clouds that tossed the
plane around like a giant silver feather. The pilot's worried voice
came over the speaker.
"Is your seat belt fastened, Miss Cameron?" There was no response.
"Miss Cameron... Miss Cameron She was shaken out of a deep reverie.
"Yes." Her thoughts had been drifting to happier times, happier
places.
"Are you all right? We should be out of this storm soon." "I'm fine, Roger."
Maybe we'll get lucky and crash, Lara Cameron thought. It would be a
fitting end. Somewhere, somehow, it had all gone wrong. It's the
Fates, Lara thought. You can't fight the Fates. In the past year her
life had spun wildly out of control. She was in danger of losing
everything. At least nothing else can go wrong, she thought wryly.
There is nothing else.
The door of the cockpit opened, and the pilot came into the cabin. He
paused for a moment to admire his passenger. The woman was beautiful,
with shiny black hair swept up in a crown, a flawless complexion,
intelligent eyes, cat-gray. She had changed clothes after they had
taken off from Reno, and she was wearing a white, off-the-shoulder
Scaasi evening gown that accented a slender, seductive figure. Around
her throat was a diamond and ruby necklace. How can she look so damn
calm with her world collapsing around her? he wondered.
The
newspapers had been mercilessly attacking her for the past month.
"Is the phone working yet, Roger?"
"I'm afraid not, Miss Cameron. There's a lot of interference because
of the storm. We're going to be about an hour late getting into La
Guardia. I'm sorry."
I'm going to be late for my birthday party, Lara thought.
Everyone is
going to be there. Two hundred guests, including the Vice President of
the United States, the governor of New York, the mayor,
Hollywood
celebrities, famous athletes, and financiers from half a.dozen
countries. She had approved the guest list herself.
She could visualize the Grand Ballroom of the Cameron Plaza, where the
party was being held. Baccarat crystal chandeliers would hang from the
ceiling, prisms of light reflecting a dazzling diamondlike
brilliance.
There would be place settings for two hundred guests, at twenty
tables.
The finest linens, china, silver, and stemware would adorn each place
setting, and in the center of each table would be a floral display of
white orchids mixed with white freesias.
Bar service would have been set up at both ends of the large reception
hall outside. In the middle of the hall would be a long buffet with an
ice carving of a swan, and surrounding it, Beluga caviar, gravlax,
shrimp, lobster, and crab, while buckets of champagne were being
iced.
A ten-her birthday cake would be in the kitchen waiting.
Waiters, captains, and security guards would all be in position by
now.
In the ballroom a society orchestra would be on the bandstand, ready to
tempt the guests to dance the night away in celebration of her fortieth
birthday. Everything would be in readiness.
The dinner was going to be delicious. She had chosen the menu
herself.
Foie gras to begin with, followed by a cream of mushroom soup under a
delicate crust, fillets of John Dory, and then the main course: lamb
with rosemary and pommes soulfles with French beans and a mesclun salad
with hazelnut oil. Cheese and grapes would be next, followed by the
birthday cake and coffee.
It was going to be a spectacular party. She would hold her head high
and face her guests as though nothing were wrong. She was Lara
Cameron.
When the private jet finally landed at La Guardia, it was an hour and a
half late.
Lara turned to the pilot. "We'll be flying back to Reno later tonight,
Roger."
"I'll be here, Miss Cameron."
Her limousine and driver were waiting for her at the ramp. "I was getting worried about you, Miss Cameron."
"We ran into some weather, Max. Let's get to the Plaza as fast as
possible." "Yes, ma'am."
Lara reached for the car phone and dialed Jerry Townsend's number. He
had made all the arrangements for the party. Lara wanted to make sure
that her guests were being looked after. There was no answer. He's
probably in the ballroom, Lara thought. "Hurry, Max."
"Yes, Miss Cameron."
The sight of the huge Cameron Plaza Hotel never failed to give Lara a
glow of satisfaction at what she had created, but on this evening she
was in too much of a hurry to think about it. Everyone would be
waiting for her in the Grand Ballroom.
She pushed through the revolving door and hurried across the large
spectacular lobby. Carlos, the assistant manager, saw her and came
running to her side. "Miss Cameron..."
"Later," Lara said. She kept walking. She reached the closed door of
the Grand Ballroom and stopped to take a deep breath. I'm ready to
face them, Lara thought. She flung open the door, a smile on her face,
and stopped in shock. The room was in total darkness.
Were they
planning some kind of surprise? She reached for the switch behind the
door and flicked it up. The huge room was flooded with incandescent
light. There was no one there.
Not one single person. Lara stood there, stunned.
What in the world could have happened to two hundred guests? The
invitations had read eight o'clock.
It was now almost ten o'clock. How could that many people disappear
into thin air? It was eerie. She looked around the enormous empty
ballroom and shivered. Last year, at her birthday party, this same
room had been filled with her friends, filled with music and
laughter.
She remembered that day so well. ... Chapter Two.
The year earlier Lara Cameron's appointment schedule for the day had
been routine. September 10,1991
5:00 A.M. Workout with trainer 7:00 A.M. Appearance on Good Morning
America 7:45 A.M. Meeting with Japanese bankers 9:30 A.M. Jerry
Townsend 10:30 A.M. Executive Planning Committee 11:00
A.M. Faxes,
overseas calls, mail 11:30 A.M. Construction meeting 12:30
P.M. S&L
meeting 1:00 P.M. LunchFortune magazine interviewHugh Thompson 2:30
P.M. Metropolitan Union bankers 4:00 P.M. City Planning Commission
5:00
P.M. Meeting with mayorGracie Mansion 6:15 P.M. Architects meeting
6:30
P.M. Housing Department 7:30 P.M. Cocktails with Dallas investment
group 8:00 P.M. Birthday party at Grand BallroomCameron Plaza She had
been in her workout clothes impatiently waiting when Ken, her trainer,
arrived. "You're late."
"Sorry, Miss Cameron. My alarm didn't go off and..." "I have a busy day. Let's get started."
"Right."
They did stretches for half an hour and then switched to energetic
aerobics.
She's got the body of a twenty-one-year-old, Ken thought.
I'd sure
love to get that into my bed. He enjoyed coming here every morning
just to look at her, to be near her. People constantly asked him what
Lara Cameron was like. He would answer, "The lady's a ten."
Lara went through the strenuous routine easily, but her mind was not on
it this morning.
When the session was finally over, Ken said, "I'm going to watch you on
Good Morning America."
"What?" For a moment Lara had forgotten about it.
She had been thinking about the meeting with the Japanese bankers.
"See you tomorrow, Miss Cameron." "Don't be late again, Ken."
Lara showered and changed and had breakfast alone on the terrace of the
penthouse, a breakfast of grapefruit, cereal, and green tea. When she
had finished, she went into her study.
Lara buzzed her secretary. "I'll do the overseas calls from the
office," Lara said. "I have to be at ABC at seven. Have Max bring the car around."
* * The segment on Good Morning America went well.
Joan Lunden did the interview and was gracious, as always.
"The last time you were on this program," Joan Lunden said, "you had
just broken ground for the tallest skyscraper in the world. That was
almost four years ago."
Lara nodded. "That's right. Cameron Towers will be finished next
year."
"How does it feel to be in your position-to have accomplished all the
incredible things you've done and to still be so young and beautiful?
You're a role model for so many women."
"You're very flattering," Lara laughed. "I don't have time to think
about myself as a role model. I'm much too busy."
"You're one of the most successful real estate developers in a business
that's usually considered a man's domain. How do you operate? How do
you decide, for instance, where to put up a building?"
"I don't choose the site," Lara said. "The site chooses me. I'll be
driving along and I'll pass a vacant field-but that's not what I see.
I see a beautiful office building or a lovely apartment building filled
with people living comfortably in a nice atmosphere. I dream."
"And you make those dreams come true. We'll be right back after this
commercial."
The Japanese bankers were due at seven forty-five.
They had arrived from Tokyo the evening before, and Lara had arranged
the meeting at that early-morning hour so they would still be
jet-lagged after their twelvehour and ten-minute flight.
When they had
protested, Lara had said, "I'm so sorry, gentlemen, but I'm afraid it's
the only time I have. I'm leaving for South America immediately after
our meeting."
And they had reluctantly agreed. There were four of them, diminutive
and polite, with minds as sharp as the edges of samurai swords. In an
earlier decade the financial community had wildly underestimated the
Japanese.
It no longer made that mistake.
The meeting was held at Cameron Center on Avenue of the Americas. The
men were there to invest a hundred million dollars in a new hotel
complex Lara was developing. They were ushered into the large
conference room.
Each of the men carried a gift. Lara thanked them and in turn gave
each of them a gift. She had instructed her secretary to make certain
the presents were wrapped in plain brown or gray paper. White, to the
Japanese, represented death, and gaudy wrapping paper was unacceptable.
Lara's assistant, Tricia, brought in tea for the Japanese and coffee
for Lara. The Japanese would have preferred coffee, but
they were too
polite to say so. When they had finished their tea, Lara made sure
their cups were replenished.
Howard Keller, Lara's associate, came into the room.
He was in his fifties, pale and thin, with sandy hair, wearing a
rumpled suit and managing to look as though he had just gotten out of
bed. Lara made the introductions. Keller passed around copies of the
investment proposal.
"As you can see, gentlemen," Lara said, "we already have a first
mortgage commitment. The complex will contain seven hundred and twenty
guest units, approximately thirty thousand square feet of meeting
space, and a one-thousand-car parking garage. "
Lara's voice was charged with energy. The Japanese bankers were
studying the investment proposal, fighting to stay awake.
The meeting was over in less than two hours, and it was a complete
success. Lara had learned long ago that it was easier to make a
hundred-million-dollar deal than it was to try to borrow fifty thousand
dollars.
As soon as the Japanese delegation left, Lara had her meeting with
Jerry Townsend. The tall, hyper exHollywood publicity man was in
charge of public relations for Cameron Enterprises.
"That was a great interview on Good MorningAmerica this morning. I've
been getting a lot of calls."
"What about Forbes?"
"All set. People has you on the cover next week. Did you see The New
Yorker article on you? Wasn't it great?" Lara walked over to her desk. "Not bad."
"The Fortune interview is set for this afternoon." "I changed it."
He looked surprised. "Why?"
"I'm having their reporter here for lunch." "Soften him up a little?"
Lara pressed down the intercom button. "Come in, Kathy." A disembodied voice said, "Yes, Miss Cameron."
Lara Cameron looked up. "That's all, Jerry. I want you and your staff
to concentrate on Cameron Towers." "We're already doing..."
"Let's do more. I want it written about in every newspaper and
magazine there is. For God's sake, it's going to be the tallest
building in the world. In the world! I want people talking about
it.
By the time we open, I want people to be begging to get into those
apartments and shops."
Jerry Townsend got to his feet. "Right."
Kathy, Lara's executive assistant, came into the office.
She was an
attractive, neatly dressed black woman in her early thirties.
"Did you find out what he likes to eat?"
"The man's a gourmet. He likes French food. I called Le Cirque and
asked Sino to cater a lunch here for two." "Good. We'll eat in my private dining room."
"Do you know how long the interview will take? You have a two-thirty
with the Metropolitan bankers downtown."
"Push it to three o'clock, and have them come here."
Kathy made a note. "Do you want me to read you your messages?"
"Go ahead."
"The Children's Foundation wants you to be their guest of honor on the
twenty-eighth."
"No. Tell them I'm flattered. Send them a check."
"Your meeting has been arranged in Tulsa for Tuesday at..."
"Cancel it."
"You're invited to a luncheon next Friday for a Manhattan Women's
Group."
"No. If they're asking for money, send them a check."
"The Coalition for Literacy would like you to speak at a luncheon on
the fourth."
"See if we can work it out."
"There's an invitation to be guest of honor at a fund raiser for
muscular dystrophy, but there's a conflict in dates. You'll be in San
Francisco."
"Send them a check."
"The Srbs are giving a dinner party next Saturday."
"I'll try to make that," Lara said. Kristian and Deborah Srb were
amusing, and good friends, and she enjoyed being with them.
"Kathy, how many of me do you see?" "What?"
"Take a good look."
Kathy looked at her. "One of you, Miss Cameron."
"That's right. There's only one of me. How did you expect me to meet
with the bankers from Metropolitan at two-thirty today, the City
Planning Commission at four, then meet with the mayor at five, the
architects at six-fifteen, the Housing Department at six-thirty, have a
cocktail party at seven-thirty and my birthday dinner at eight? The
next time you make up a schedule, try using your brain." "I'm sorry. You wanted me to..."
"I wanted you to think. I don't need stupid people around me.
Reschedule the appointments with the architects and the Housing
Department."
"Right," Kathy said stiffly. "How's the baby?"
The question caught the secretary by surprise. "David? He's... he's fine."
"He must be getting big by now." "He's almost two."
"Have you thought about a school for him?" "Not yet. It's too early to .
"You're wrong. If you want to get him into a decent school in New
York, you start before he's born."
Lara made a note on a desk pad. "I know the principal at Dalton. I'll
arrange to have David registered there." "I... thank you."
Lara did not bother to look up. "That's all."
"Yes, ma'am." Kathy walked out of the office not knowing whether to
love her boss or hate her. When Kathy had first come to work at
Cameron Enterprises, she had been warned about Lara Cameron. "The Iron
Butterfly is a bitch on wheels," she had been told. "Her secretaries
don't figure their employment there by the calendar-they use
stopwatches. She'll eat you alive."
Kathy remembered her first interview with her. She had seen pictures
of Lara Cameron in half a dozen magazines, but none of them had done
her justice. In person, the woman was breathtakingly beautiful.
Lara Cameron had been reading Kathy's resume.
She looked up and said, "Sit down, Kathy." Her voice was husky and
vibrant. There was an energy about her that was almost overpowering.
"This is quite a resume." "Thank you."
"How much of it is real?" "I'm sorry?"
"Most of the ones that come across my desk are fiction.
Are you good
at what you do?"
"I'm very good at what I do, Miss ) "Two of my secretaries just quit.
Everything's snowballing around here. Can you handle pressure?"
"I think so."
"This isn't a guessing contest. Can you handle pressure or can't
you?"
At that moment Kathy was not sure she wanted the job. "Yes, I can."
"Good. You're on a one-week trial. You'll have to sign a form saying
that at no time will you discuss me or your work here at Cameron
Enterprises. That means no interviews, no books, nothing.
Everything
that happens here is confidential." "I understand."
"Fine."
That was how it had begun five years earlier. During that time Kathy
had learned to love, hate, admire, and despise her boss.
In the
beginning Kathy's husband had asked, "What is the legend like?"
It was a difficult question. "She's larger than life,"
Kathy had said.
"She's drop-dead beautiful. She works harder than anyone I've ever
known. God only knows when she sleeps. She's a perfectionist, so she
makes everyone around her miserable. In her own way, she's a genius.
She can be petty and vengeful and incredibly generous." Her husband had smiled. "In other words, she's a woman."
Kathy had looked at him and said, unsmiling, "I don't know what she
is.
Sometimes she scares me."
"Come on, honey, you're exaggerating."
"No. I honestly believe that if someone stood in Lara Cameron's
way...
she would kill."
When Lara finished with the faxes and overseas calls, she
buzzed
Charlie Hunter, an ambitious young man in charge of accounting. "Come
in, Charlie."
"Yes, Miss Cameron."
A minute later he entered her office. "Yes, Miss Cameron?"
"I read the interview you gave in The New York Times this morning,"
Lara said.
He brightened. "I haven't seen it yet. How was it?"
"You talked about Cameron Enterprises and about some of the problems
we're having."
He frowned. "Well, you know, that reporter fellow probably misquoted
some of my..." "You're fired."
"What? Why? "When you were hired, you signed a paper agreeing not
to give any interviews. I'll expect you out of here this morning."
"I... you can't do that. Who would take my place?" "I've already arranged that," Lara told him.
The luncheon was almost over. The Fortune reporter, Hugh Thompson, was
an intense, intellectual-looking man with sharp brown eyes behind black
horn-rimmed glasses.
"It was a great lunch," he said. "All my favorite dishes. Thanks."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"You really didn't have to go to all that trouble for me."
"No trouble at all." Lara smiled. "My father always told me that the
way to a man's heart was through his stomach."
"And you wanted to get to my heart before we started the interview?"
Lara smiled. "Exactly."
"How much trouble is your company really in?" Lara's smile faded. "I beg your pardon?"
"Come on. You can't keep a thing like that quiet. The word on the
street is that some of your properties are on the verge of collapse
because of the principal payments due on your junk bonds.
You've done
a lot of leveraging, and with the market down, Cameron Enterprises has
to be pretty overextended."
Lara laughed. "Is that what the street says? Believe me, Mr.
Thompson, you'd be wise not to listen to silly rumors.
I'll tell you
what I'll do. I'll send you a copy of my financials to set the record
straight. Fair enough?"
"Fair enough. By the way, I didn't see your husband at the opening of
the new hotel."
Lara sighed. "Philip wanted so much to be there, but unfortunately he
had to be away on a concert tour."
"I went to one of his recitals once about three years ago.
He's
brilliant. You have been married a year now, haven't you?"
"The happiest year of my life. I'm a very lucky woman. I travel a
lot, and so does Philip, but when I'm away from him, I can listen to
his recordings wherever I am."
Thompson smiled. "And he can see your buildings wherever he" Lara
laughed. "You flatter me."
"It's pretty true, isn't it? You've put up buildings all over this
fair country of ours. You own apartment buildings, office buildings, a
hotel chain... How do you do it?" She smiled. "With mirrors." "You're a puzzle."
"Am I? Why?"
"At this moment you're arguably the most successful builder in New
York. Your name is plastered on half the real estate in this town.
You're putting up the world's tallest skyscraper. Your competitors
call you the Iron Butterfly. You've made it big in a business
traditionally dominated by men." "Does that bother you, Mr. Thompson?"
"No. What bothers me, Miss Cameron, is that I can't figure out who you
are. When I ask two people about you, I get three opinions. Everyone
grants that you're a brilliant businesswoman. I mean... you didn't
fall off a hay wagon and become a success. I know a lot about
construction crews-they're a rough, tough bunch of men.
How does a
woman like you keep them in line?"
She smiled. "There are no women like me. Seriously, I simply hire the
best people for the job, and I pay them well."
Too simplistic, Thompson thought. Much too simplistic.
The real story
is what she's not telling me. He decided to change the direction of
the interview.
"Every magazine on the stands has written about how successful you
are.
I'd like to do a more personal story. There's been very little printed
about your background."
"I'm very proud of my background."
"Good. Let's talk about that. How did you get started in the real
estate business?"
Lara smiled, and he could see that her smile was genuine.
She suddenly
looked like a little girl. "Genes."
"Your genes?"
"My father's." She pointed to a portrait on a wall behind her. It
showed a handsome-looking man with a leonine head of silver hair.
"That's my father-James Hugh Cameron." Her voice was soft. "He's
responsible for my success. I'm an only child. My mother died when I
was very young, and my father brought me up. My family left Scotland a
long time ago, Mr. Thompson, and emigrated to Nova Scotia-New
Scotland, Glace Bay." "Glace Bay?"
"It's a fishing village in the northeast part of Cape Breton, on the
Atlantic shore. It was named by early French explorers.
It means 'ice
bay'. More coffee?" "No, thanks."
"My grandfather owned a great deal of land in Scotland, and my father
acquired more. He was a very wealthy man. We still have our castle
there near Loch Morlich. When I was eight years old, I had my own
horse, my dresses were bought in London, we lived in an enormous house
with a lot of servants. It was a fairy tale life for a little girl."
Her voice was alive with echoes of long-ago memories.
"We would go ice skating in the winter, and watch hockey games, and go
swimming at Big Glace Bay Lake in the summer. And there were dances at
the Forum and the Venetian Gardens." The reporter was busily making notes.
"My father put up buildings in Edmonton, and Calgary, and Ontario.
Real estate was like a game to him, and he loved it. When I was very
young, he taught me the game, and I learned to love it, too."
Her voice was filled with passion. "You must understand something, Mr.
Thompson. What I do has nothing to do with the money or the bricks and
steel that make a building. It's the people who matter.
I'm able to
give them a comfortable place to work or to live, a place where they
can raise families and have decent lives.
That's what was important to my father, and it became important to
me."
Hugh Thompson looked up. "Do you remember your first real estate
venture?"
Lara leaned forward. "Of course. On my eighteenth birthday my father
asked me what I would like as a gift.
A lot of newcomers were arriving in Glace Bay, and it was getting
crowded. I felt the town needed more places for them to live. I told
my father I wanted to build a small apartment house. He gave me the
money as a present, but two years later I was able to pay him back.
Then I borrowed money from a bank to put up a second building.
By the time I was twenty-one, I owned three buildings, and they were
all successful."
"Your father must have been very proud of you."
There was that warm smile again. "He was. He named me Lara. It's an
old Scottish name that comes from the Latin. It means 'well known' or
'famous." From the time I was a little girl, my father always told me
I would be famous one day." Her smile faded. "He died of a heart
attack, much too young." She paused. "I go to Scotland to visit his
grave every year. I... I found it very difficult to stay on in the
house without him. I decided to move to Chicago. I had an idea for
small boutique hotels, and I persuaded a banker there to finance me.
The hotels were a success." She shrugged. "And the rest, as the
cliche goes, is history. I suppose that a psychiatrist would say that
I haven't created this empire just for myself. In a way, it's a
tribute to my father. James Cameron was the most wonderful man I've
ever known."
"You must have loved him a lot."
"I did. And he loved me a lot." A smile touched her lips. "I've
heard that on the day I was born, my father bought every man in Glace
Bay a drink."
"So, really," Thompson said, "everything started in Glace Bay."
"That's right," Lara said softly, "everything started in Glace Bay.
That's where it all began, almost forty years ago. "
Chapter Three.
Glace Bay, Nova Scotia September 10, 1952 ames Cameron was in a
whorehouse, drunk, the night his daughter and son were born. He was in
bed, sandwiched in between the Scandinavian twins, when Kirstie, the
madam of the brothel, pounded on the door.
"James!" she called out. She pushed open the door and walked in.
"Och, ye auld hell!" James yelled out indignantly. "Can't a mon have any privacy even here?"
"Sorry to interrupt your pleasure, James. It's about your wife."
"Fuck my wife," Cameron roared.
"You did," Kirstie retorted, "and she's having your baby." "So? Let her have it. That's what you women are guid
for, nae?"
"The doctor just called. He's been trying desperately to find you.
Your wife is bad off. You'd better hurry."
James Cameron sat up and slid to the edge of the bed, bleary-eyed,
trying to clear his head. "Damned woman. She niver leaves me in
peace." He looked up at the madam. "All right, I'll go."
He glanced
at the naked girls in the bed. "But I'll nae pay for these two."
"Never mind that now. You'd just better get back to the boardinghouse." She turned to the girls. "You two come
along with me."
James Cameron was a once-handsome man whose face reflected fulfilled
sins. He appeared to be in his early fifties. He was thirty years old
and the manager of one of the boardinghouses owned by Sean MacAllister,
the town banker. For the past five years James Cameron and his wife,
Peggy, had divided the chores: Peggy did the cleaning and cooking for
the two dozen boarders, and James did the drinking. Every Friday it
was his responsibility to collect the rents from the four other
boardinghouses in Glace Bay owned by MacAllister. It was another
reason, if he needed one, to go out and get drunk.
James Cameron was a bitter man, who reveled in his bitterness. He was
a failure, and he was convinced that everyone else was to blame. Over
the years he had come to enjoy his failure. It made him feel like a
martyr. When James was a year old, his family had emigrated to Glace
Bay from Scotland with nothing but the few possessions they could
carry, and they had struggled to survive. His father had put James to
work in the coal mines when the boy was fourteen. James had suffered a
slight back injury in a mining accident when he was sixteen, and had
promptly quit the mine. One year later his parents were killed in a
train disaster. So it was that James Cameron had decided that he was
not responsible for his adversity-it.was the Fates that were against
him. But he had two great assets: He was extraordinarily
handsome, and
when he wished to, he could be charming. One weekend in Sydney, a town
near Glace Bay, he met an impressionable young American girl named
Peggy Maxwell, who was there on vacation with her family.
She was not
attractive, but the Maxwells were very wealthy, and James Cameron was
very poor. He swept Peggy Maxwell off her feet, and against the advice
of her father, she married him.
"I'm giving Peggy a dowry of five thousand dollars," her father told
James. "The money will give you a chance to make something of
yourself. You can invest it in real estate, and in five years it will
double. I'll help you."
But James was not interested in waiting five years.
Without consulting anyone, he invested the money in a wildcat oil
venture with a friend, and sixty days later he was broke.
His
father-in-law, furious, refused to help him any further. "You're a
fool, James, and I will not throw good money after bad."
The marriage that was going to be James Cameron's salvation turned out
to be a disaster, for he now had a wife to support, and no job.
It was Sean MacAllister who had come to his rescue.
The town banker was a man in his mid-fifties, a stumpy, pompous man, a
pound short of being obese, given to wearing vests adorned with a heavy
gold watch chain.
He had come to Glace Bay twenty years earlier and had immediately seen
the possibilities there. Miners and lumbermen were pouring into the
town and were unable to find adequate housing.
MacAllister could have
financed homes for them, but he had a better plan. He decided it would
be cheaper to herd the men together in boardinghouses.
Within two
years he had built a hotel and five boardinghouses, and they were
always full.
Finding managers was a difficult task because the work was exhausting.
The manager's job was to keep all the rooms rented, supervise the
cooking, handle the meals, and see that the premises were kept
reasonably clean. As far as salaries were concerned, Sean MacAllister
was not a man to throw away his money.
The manager of one of his boardinghouses had just quit, and MacAllister
decided that James Cameron was a likely candidate.
Cameron had
borrowed small amounts of money from the bank from time to time, and
payment on a loan was overdue. MacAllister sent for the young man.
"I have a job for you," MacAllister said. "You have?"
"You're in luck. I have a splendid position that's just opened up."
"Working at the bank, is it?" James Cameron asked. The idea of working in a bank appealed to him. Where
there was a lot
of money, there was always a possibility of having some stick to one's
fingers.
"Not at the bank," MacAllister told him. "You're a very personable
young man, James, and I think you would be very good at dealing with
people. I'd like you to run my boardinghouse on Cablehead Avenue."
"A boardinghouse, you say?" There was contempt in the young man's
voice.
"You need a roof over your head," MacAllister pointed out. "You and
your wife will have free room and board and a small salary."
"How's ma?"
"I'll be generous with you, James. Twenty-five dollars a week."
"Twenty-fi...?"
"Take it or leave it. I have others waiting."
In the end James Cameron had no choice. "I'll tach it."
"Good. By the way, every Friday I'll also expect you to collect the
rents from my other boardinghouses and deliver the money to me on
Saturday."
When James Cameron broke the news to Peggy, she was dismayed. "We
don't know anything about running a boardinghouse, James." "We'll learn. We'll share the work."
And she had believed him. "All right. We'll manage," she said.
And in their own fashion they had managed.
Over the years, several opportunities had come along for James Cameron
to get better jobs, employment that would give him dignity and more
money, but he was enjoying his failure too much to leave it.
"Why bother?" he would grumble. "When Fate's agin you, naething guid
can happen."
And now, on this September night, he thought, They won't even let me
enjoy my whores in peace. God damn my wife.
When he stepped out of Madam Kirstie's establishment, a chilly
September wind was blowing.
I'd best fortify myself for the troubles aheid, James Cameron
decided.
He stopped in at the Ancient Mariner.
One hour later he wandered toward the boardinghouse in New Aberdeen,
the poorest section of Glace Bay.
When he finally arrived, half a dozen boarders were anxiously waiting
for him.
"The doctor is in wi' Peggy," one of the men said. "You'd better hurry, mon."
James staggered into the tiny, dreary back bedroom he and his wife
shared. From another room he could hear the whimpering of a newborn
baby. Peggy lay on the bed, motionless. Dr. Patrick Duncan was
leaning over her. He turned as he heard James enter. "Wass going' on here?" James asked.
The doctor straightened up and looked at James with distaste. "You
should have had your wife come to see me," he said.
"And throw guid money away? She's only haein' a baby.
Wass the big...?"
"Peggy's dead. I did everything I could. She had twins.
I couldn't save the boy."
"Oh, Jesus," James Cameron whimpered. "It's the Fates agin."
"What?"
"The Fates. They've. always been agin me. Now they've taine my hairn
frae me. I dinna .
A nurse walked in, carrying a tiny baby wrapped in a blanket. "This is
your daughter, Mr. Cameron."
"A daughter? Wha' the hell will I dae wi' a daughter?" His speech was becoming more slurred.
"You disgust me, mon," Dr. Duncan said.
The nurse turned to James. "I'll stay until tomorrow and show you how
to take care of her."
James Cameron looked at the tiny, wrinkled bundle in the
blanket and
thought, hopefully: Maybe she'll die, too.
For the first three weeks no one was sure whether the baby would live
or not. A wet nurse came in to tend to her. And finally, the day came
when the doctor was able to say, "Your daughter is going to live."
And he looked at James Cameron and said under his breath, "God have
mercy on the poor child."
The wet nurse said, "Mr. Cameron, you must give the child a name."
"I dinna care wha' the hell ye call it. Ye gie her a name."
"Why don't we name her Lara? That's such a pretty..." "Suit your bloody self."
And so she was christened Lara.
There was no one in Lara's life to care for her or nurture her. The
boardinghouse was filled with men too busy with their own lives to pay
attention to the baby.
The only woman around was Bertha, the huge Swede who was hired to do
the cooking and handle the chores.
James Cameron was determined to have nothing to do with his daughter.
The damned Fates had betrayed him once again by letting her live. At
night he would sit in the living room with his bottle of whiskey and
complain. "The hairn murdered my wife and my son."
"You shouldn't say that, James."
"Weel, it's sae. My son would hae grown up to be a big strapping
mon.
He would hae been smart and rich and taine good care of his father in
his auld age."
And the boarders let him ramble on.
James Cameron tried several times to get in touch with Maxwell, his
father-in-law, hoping he would take the child off his hands, but the
old man had disappeared.
It would be just my luck the auld fool's daid, he thought.
Glace Bay was a town of transients who moved in and out of the
boardinghouses. They came from France and China and the Ukraine. They
were Italian and Irish and Greek, carpenters and tailors and plumbers
and shoemakers. They swarmed into lower Main Street, Bell Street,
North Street, and Water Street, near the waterfront area.
They came to
work the mines and cut timber and fish the seas. Glace Bay was a
frontier town, primitive and rugged. The weather was an abomination.
The winters were harsh with heavy snowfalls that lasted until April,
and because of the heavy ice in the harbor, even April and May were
cold and windy, and from July to October it rained.
There were eighteen boardinghouses in town, some of them accommodating
as many as seventy-two guests.
At the boardinghouse managed by James Cameron, there were twenty-four
boarders, most of them Scotsmen.
Lara was hungry for affection, without knowing what the hunger was.
She had no toys or dolls to cherish nor any playmates.
She had no one
except her father. She made childish little gifts for him, desperate
to please him, but he either ignored or ridiculed them.
When Lara was five years old, she overheard her father say to one of
the boarders, "The wrong child died, ye ken. My son is the one who
should hae lived."
That night Lara cried herself to sleep. She loved her father so
much.
And she hated him so much.
When Lara was six, she resembled a Keane painting, enormous eyes in a
pale, thin face. That year a new boarder moved in. His name was Mungo
McSween, and he was a huge bear of a man. He felt an instant affection
for the little girl.
"What's your name, wee lassie?" "Lara."
"Ah. 'Tis a braw name for a braw hairn. Dae ye gan to school then?"
"School? No."
"And why not?" "I don't know."
"Weel, we maun find out."
And he went to find James Cameron. "I'm tauld your hairn daes nae gae
to school."
"And why should she? She's only a girl. She dinna need no school."
"You're wrong, mon. She maun have an education. She maun be gien a chance in life."
"Forget it," James said. "It wad be a waste."
But McSween was insistent, and finally, to shut him up,
James Cameron
agreed. It would keep the brat out of his sight for a few hours.
Lara was terrified by the idea of going to school. She had lived in a
world of adults all her short life, and had had almost no contact with
other children.
The following Monday Big Bertha dropped her off at St. Anne's Grammar
School, and Lara was taken to the principal's office. "This is Lara Cameron."
The principal, Mrs. Cummings, was a middle-aged gray-haired widow with
three children of her own. She studied the shabbily dressed little
girl standing before her. "Lara. What a pretty name," she said,
smiling. "How old are you, dear?"
"Six." She was fighting back tears.
The child is terrified, Mrs. Cummings thought. "Well, we're very glad
to have you here, Lara. You'll have a good time, and you're going to
learn a lot."
"I can't stay," Lara blurted out. "Oh? Why not?"
"My papa misses me too much." She was fiercely determined not to
cry.
"Well, we'll only keep you here for a few hours a day."
Lara allowed herself to be taken into a classroom filled with children,
and she was shown to a seat near the back of the room.
Miss Terkel, the teacher, was busily writing letters on a blackboard.
"A is for apple," she said. "B is for boy. Does anyone know what & is
for?"
A tiny hand was raised. "Candy." "Very good! And I)?"
"Dog."
"And E?"
"Eat."
"Excellent. Can anyone think of a word beginning with I,'?"
Lara spoke up. "Fuck."
Lara was the youngest one in her class, but it seemed to Miss Terkel
that in many ways she was the oldest.
There was a disquieting maturity about her.
"She's a small adult, waiting to grow taller," her teacher told Mrs.
Cummings.
The first day at lunch, the other children took out their colorful
little lunch pails and pulled out apples and cookies and sandwiches
wrapped in wax paper.
No one had thought to pack a lunch for Lara. "Where is your lunch, Lara?" Miss Terkel asked.
"I'm not hungry," Lara said stubbornly. "I had a big breakfast."
Most of the girls at school were nicely dressed in clean skirts and
blouses. Lara had outgrown her few faded plaid dresses and threadbare
blouses. She had gone to her father.
"I need some clothes for school," Lara said.
"Dae ye now? Weel, I'm nae made of money. Get yourself something frae
the Salvation Army Citadel." "That's charity, Papa."
And her father had slapped her hard across the face.
The children at school were familiar with games Lara had never even
heard of. The girls had dolls and toys, and some of them were willing
to share them with Lara, but she was painfully aware that
nothing
belonged to her.
And there was something more. Over the next few years Lara got a
glimpse of a different world, a world where children had mothers and
fathers who gave them presents and birthday parties and loved them and
held them and kissed them. And for the first time Lara began to
realize how much was missing in her life. It only made her feel
lonelier.
The boardinghouse was a different kind of school. It was an
international microcosm. Lara learned to tell where the boarders came
from by their names. Mac was from Scotland... Hodder and Pyke were
from Newfoundland... Chiasson and Aucoin were from France... Dudash and
Kosick from Poland. The boarders were lumbermen, fishermen, miners,
and tradesmen. They would gather in the large dining room in the
morning for breakfast and in the evening for supper, and their talk was
fascinating to Lara. Each group seemed to have its own mysterious
language.
There were thousands of lumbermen in Nova Scotia, scattered around the
peninsula. The lumbermen at the boardinghouse smelled of sawdust and
burnt bark, and they spoke of arcane things like chippers and edging
and trim.
"We should get out almost two hundred million board feet this year,"
one of them announced at supper.
"How can feet be bored?" Lara asked.
There was a roar of laughter. "Child, board foot is a piece of lumber
a foot square by an inch thick. When you grow up and get married, if
you want to build a five-room, all-wood house, it will take twelve
thousand board feet."
"I'm not going to get married," Lara swore.
The fishermen were another breed. They returned to the boardinghouse
stinking of the sea, and they talked about the new experiment of
growing oysters on the Bras d'Or Lake and bragged to one another of
their catches of cod and herring and mackerel and haddock.
But the boarders who fascinated Lara the most were the miners. There
were thirty-five hundred miners in Cape Breton, working the collieries
at Lingan and Prince and Phalen. Lara loved the names of the mines.
There was the Jubilee and the Last Chance and the Black Diamond and the
Lucky Lady.
She was fascinated by their discussion of the day's work. "What's this I hear about Mike?"
"It's true. The poor bastard was traveling inbye in a man-rake, and a
box jumped the track and crushed his leg. The son of a bitch of a
foreman said it was Mike's fault for not getting' out of the way fast
enough, and he's having his lamp stopped."
Lara was baffled. "What does that mean?"
One of the miners explained. "It means Mike was on his way to
work-going inbye-in a man-rake-that's a car that takes you down to your
working level. A boxthat's a coal train-jumped the track and hit
him."
"And stopped his lamp?" Lara asked.
The miner laughed. "When you've had your lamp stopped, it means you've
been suspended."
When Lara was fifteen, she entered St. Michael's High School. She was
gangly and awkward, with long legs, stringy black hair, and intelligent
gray eyes still too large for her pale, thin face. No one quite knew
how she was going to turn out. She was on the verge of womanhood, and
her looks were in a stage of metamorphosis. She could have become ugly or beautiful.
To James Cameron, his daughter was ugly. "Ye hae best marry the first
mon fool enough to ask ye," he told her. "Ye'll nae hae the looks to
make a guid bargain."
Lara stood there, saying nothing.
"And tell the poor mon nae to expect a dowry frae me."
Mungo McSween had walked into the room. He stood there listening,
furious.
"That's all, girl," James Cameron said. "Gae back to the kitchen."
Lara fled.
"Why dae ye dae that to your daughter?" McSween demanded.
James Cameron looked up, his eyes bleary. "Nane of your business."
"You're drunk."
"Aye. And what else is there? If it isn't women, it's the whiskey,
isn't it?"
McSween went into the kitchen, where Lara was washing dishes at the
sink. Her eyes were hot with tears.
McSween put his arms around her. "Niver ye mind, lassie," he said.
"He dinna mean it." "He hates me." "Nae, he doesna."
"He's never given me one kind word. Never once. Never!"
There was nothing McSween could say.
In the summer the tourists would arrive at Glace Bay.
They came in
their expensive cars, wearing beautiful clothes and shopped along
Castle Street and dined at the Cedar House and at Jasper's, and they
visited Ingonish Beach and Cape Smoky and the Bird Islands. They were
superior beings from another world, and Lara envied them and longed to
escape with them when they left at the end of summer. But
how?
Lara had heard stories about Grandfather Maxwell.
"The auld bastard tried to keep me frae marryin' his precious
daughter," James Cameron would complain to any of the boarders who
would listen. "He was filthy rich, but do ye think he wad gie me
aught? Nae. But I took guid care of his Peggy anyway. "
And Lara would fantasize that one day her grandfather would come to
take her away to glamorous cities she had read about:
London and Rome
and Paris. And I'll have beautiful clothes to wear.
Hundreds of
dresses and new shoes.
But as the months and the years went by, and there was no word, Lara
finally came to realize that she would never see her grandfather. She
was doomed to spend the rest of her life in Glace Bay. Chapter Four.
here were myriad activities for a teenager growing up in Glace Bay:
There were football games and hockey games, skating rinks and bowling,
and in the summer, swimming and fishing.
Carl's Drug Store was the popular after-school hangout.
There were two movie theaters, and for dancing, the Venetian Gardens.
Lara had no chance to enjoy any of those things. She rose at five
every morning to help Bertha prepare breakfast for the boarders and
make up the beds before she left for school. In the afternoon she
would hurry home to begin preparing supper. She helped Bertha serve,
and after supper Lara cleared the table and washed and dried the
dishes.
The boardinghouse served some favorite Scottish dishes: howtowdie and
hairst bree, cabbieclaw and skirlie.
Black Bun was a favorite, a spicy mixture encased in a short paste
jacket made from half a pound of flour.
The conversation of the Scotsmen at supper made the Highlands of
Scotland come alive for Lara. Her ancestors had come from the
Highlands, and the stories about them gave Lara the only sense of
belonging that she had. The boarders talked of the Great Glen
containing Loch Ness, Lochy, and Linnhe and of the rugged islands off
the coast.
There was a battered piano in the sitting room, and sometimes at night,
after supper, half a dozen boarders would gather around and sing the
songs of home: "Annie Laurie," and "Comin' Through the Rye," and "The
Hills of Home," and "The Bonnie Banks O'Loch Lomond."
Once a year there was a parade in town, and all the Scotsmen in Glace
Bay would proudly put on their kilts or tartans and march through the
streets to the raucous accompaniment of bagpipes.
"Why do the men wear skirts?" Lara asked Mungo McSween.
He frowned. "It's nae a skirt, lass. It's a kilt.. Our ancestors
invented it long ago. In the Highlands a plaid covered a mon's body
agin the bitter cold but kept his legs free sae he could race across
the heather and peat and escape his enemies. And at night, if he was
in the open, the great length of the cloth was both bed and tent for
him."
The names of the Scottish places were poetry to Lara.
There was Breadalbane, Glenfinnan, and Kilbride, Kilninver, and
Kilmichael. Lara learned that "kil" referred to a monk's cell of
medieval times. If a name began with "inver" or "aber," it meant the
village was at the mouth of a stream. If it began with "strath," it
was in a valley.
"Bad" meant the village was in a grove.
There were fierce arguments every night at the supper table. The
Scotsmen argued about everything. Their ancestors had belonged to
proud clans, and they were still fiercely protective of their
history.
"The House of Bruce produced cowards. They lay down for the English
like groveling dogs."
"You dinna ken wha' you're talking aboot, as usual, Ian. 'Twas the
great Bruce himself who stood up to the English. 'Twas the House of
Stuart that groveled."
"Och, you're a fool, and your clan comes from a long line of fools."
The argument would grow more heated.
"You ken wha' Scotland needed? Mair leaders like Robert the Second.
Now, there was a great mon. He sired twenty-one hairns?" "Aye, and half of them were bastards!"
And another argument would start.
Lara could not believe that they were fighting over events that had
happened more than six hundred years earlier.
Mungo McSween said to Lara, "Dinna let it bother ye, lassie. A
Scotsman wi' start a fight in an empty house."
It was a poem by Sir Walter Scott that set Lara's imagination on fire:
Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west: Through all the wide
Border his steed was the best; And save his good broadsword he weapon
had none; He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight
like the young Lochinvar.
And the glorious poem went on to tell how Lochinvar risked his life to
rescue his beloved, who was being forced to marry another man.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of
gallant like young Lochinvar?
Someday, Lara thought, a handsome Lochinvar will come and
rescue me.
One day Lara was working in the kitchen when she came across an
advertisement in a magazine, and her breath caught in her throat. It
showed a tall, handsome man, blond, elegantly dressed in tails and
white tie. He had blue eyes and a warm smile, and he looked every inch
a prince. That's what my Lochinvar will look like, Lara thought. He's
out there somewhere, looking for me. He'll come and rescue me from
here. I'll be at the sink washing dishes, and he'll come up behind me,
put his arms around me, and whisper, "Can I help you?"
And I'll turn
and look into his eyes. And I'll say, "Do you dry dishes?"
Bertha's voice said, "Do I what?"
Lara whirled around. Bertha was standing behind her.
Lara had not
realized she had spoken aloud. "Nothing." Lara blushed.
To Lara, the most fascinating dinner conversations revolved around the
stories of the notorious Highland clearances. She had heard them told
over and over but could never get enough of it.
"Tell me again," she would ask. And Mungo McSween was eager to
oblige....
"Weel, it began in the year 1792, and it went on for more than sixty
years. At first they called it Bliadhna nan Co-arach-The Year of the
Sheep. The landowners in the Highlands had decided that
their land
would be more profitable with sheep than with tenant farmers, so they
brought flocks of sheep into the Highlands and found that they could
survive the cold winters. That was when the clearances began.
"The cry became Mo thruaighe ort a thir, that'n caoraich mhor a'
teachd!
'Woe to thee, oh, land, the great sheep is coming." First there were a
hundred sheep, then a thousand, then ten thousand. It was a bloody
invasion.
"The lairds saw riches beyond their dreams, but they maun first get rid
of the tenants, who worked their wee patches of land.
They had little
enough to begin with, God knows. They lived in sma stone houses with
nae chimneys and nae windows. But the lairds forced them out."
The young girl was wide-eyed. "How?"
"The government regiments were ordered to attack the villages and evict
the tenants. The soldiers wad come to a little village and gie the
tenants six hours to remove their cattle and furniture and get out.
They maun leave their crops behind. Then the soldiers burned their
huts to the ground. More than a quarter of a million men, women, and
children were forced frae their holdings and driven to the shores of
the sea."
"But how could they drive them from their own land?"
"Ah, they niver owned the land, you see. They had the use of an acre
or two frae a laird, but it was niver theirs. They paid a fee in goods
or labor in order to till the land and grow some tatties and raise a
few cattle."
"What happened if the people wouldn't move?" Lara asked breathlessly.
"The old folk that didn't get out in time were burned in their huts.
The government was ruthless. Och, it was a terrible time.
The people
had naething to eat. Cholera struck, and diseases spread like
wildfire."
"How awful," Lara said.
"Aye, lassie. Our people lived on tatties and bread and porridge, when
they could git it. But there's one thing the government could nae take
away frae the Highlanders-their pride. They fought back as best they
could.
For days after the burning was o'er, the homeless people remained in
the glen, trying to salvage what they could frae the ruins. They put
canvas over their heids for protection agin the night rain. My
great-greatgrandfather and my great-great-grandmother were there and
suffered through it all. It's part of our history, and it's been
burned into our very souls."
Lara could visualize the thousands of desperate, forlorn people robbed
of everything they possessed, stunned by what had happened to them.
She could hear the crying of the mourners and the screams of the
terrified children.
"What finally happened to the people?" Lara asked.
"They left for other lands on ships that were deathtraps.
The crowded
passengers died of fever or frae dysentery. Sometimes the ship would
hit storms that delayed them for weeks, sae they ran out of food. Only
the strong were still alive when the ships landed in Canada. But once
they landed here, they were able to hae something' they niver had
before."
"Their own land," Lara said. "That's right, lass."
Someday, Lara thought fiercely, I will have my own land, and no one-no
one-will ever take it away from me.
On an evening in early July, James Cameron was in bed with one of the
whores at Kirstie's bawdy house when he suffered a heart attack. He
was quite drunk, and when he suddenly toppled over, his playmate
assumed he had simply fallen asleep.
"Oh, no, you don't! I have other customers waitin' for me. Wake up,
James! Wake up!"
He was gasping for breath and clutching his chest.
"For Gude's sake," he moaned, "git me a doctor."
An ambulance took him to the little hospital on Quarry Street. Dr.
Duncan sent for Lara. She walked into the hospital, her heart
pounding. Duncan was waiting for her.
"What happened?" Lara asked urgently. "Is my father dead?"
"No, Lara, but I'm afraid he's had a heart attack."
She stood there, frozen. "Is he... is he going to live?"
"I don't know. We're doing everything we can for "Can I see him?"
"It would be better if you came back in the morning, lass."
She walked home, numb with fear. Please don't let him die, God. He's
all I have.
When Lara reached the boardinghouse, Bertha was waiting for her. "What
happened?" Lara told her.
"Oh, God!" Bertha said. "And today is Friday." "What?"
"Friday. The day the rents have to be collected. If I know Sean
MacAllister, he'll use this as an excuse to throw us all out into the
streets."
At least a dozen times in the past when James Cameron had been too
drunk to handle it himself, he had sent Lara around to collect the
rents from the other boardinghouses that Sean MacAllister owned. Lara
had given the money to her father, and the next day he had taken it to
the banker.
"What are we going to do?" Bertha moaned. And suddenly Lara knew what had to be done.
"Don't worry," she said. "I'll take care of it."
In the middle of supper that evening Lara said, "Gentlemen, would you
listen to me, please?" The conversations stopped. They were all
watching her. "My father has had a... a little dizzy spell. He's in
the hospital.
They want to keep him under observation for a bit. So, until he comes
back, I'll be collecting the rents. After supper I'll wait for you in
the parlor."
"Is he going to be all right?" one of the boarders asked.
"Oh, yes," Lara said with a forced smile. "It's nothing serious."
After supper the men came into the parlor and handed Lara their week's
rent.
"I hope your father recovers soon, child..." "If there's anything I can do, let me know..."
"You're a braw lassie to do this for your father..." "What about the other boardinghouses?" Bertha asked Lara.
"He has to
collect from four more."
"I know," Lara said. "If you'll take care of the dishes,
I'll go
collect the rents."
Bertha looked at her dubiously. "I wish you luck."
It was easier than Lara had expected. Most of the boarders were
sympathetic and happy to help out the young girl.
Early the following morning Lara took the rent envelopes and went to
see Sean MacAllister. The banker was seated in his office when Lara
walked in.
"My secretary said you wanted to see me." "Yes, sir."
MacAllister studied the scrawny, unkempt girl standing before him.
"You're James Cameron's daughter, aren't you?" "Yes, sir."
"Sarah."
"Lara."
"Sorry to hear about your father," MacAllister said.
There was no sympathy in his voice. "I'll have to make other
arrangements, of course, now that your father's too ill to carry out
his job. I..."
"Oh, no, sir!" Lara said quickly. "He asked me to handle it for
him." "You?"
"Yes," "I'm afraid that won't..."
Lara put the envelopes on his desk. "Here are this week's rents."
MacAllister looked at her, surprised. "All of them?" She nodded.
"And you collected them?"
"Yes, sir. And I'll do it every week until Papa gets better."
"I see." He opened the envelopes and carefully counted the money.
Lara watched him enter the amount in a large green ledger.
For some time now MacAllister had intended to replace James Cameron
because of his drunkenness and erratic performance, and now he saw his
opportunity to get rid of the family.
He was sure that the young girl in front of him would not be able to
carry out her father's duties, but at the same time he realized what
the town's reaction would be if he threw James Cameron and his daughter
out of the boardinghouse into the street. He made his decision.
"I'll try you for one month," he said. "At the end of that time we'll
see where we stand."
"Thank you, Mr. MacAllister. Thank you very much."
"Wait." He handed Lara twenty-five dollars. "This is yours."
Lara held the money in her hand, and it was like a taste of freedom.
It was the first time she had ever been paid for what she had done.
From the bank, Lara went to the hospital. Dr. Duncan was just coming
out of her father's room. Lara felt a sudden sense of panic. "He
isn't...?"
"No... no... he's going to be all right, Lara." He hesitated. "When I
say 'all right,' I mean he is not going to die... not yet, at
least...
but he is going to have to stay in bed for a few weeks.
He'll need
someone to take care "I'll take care of him," Lara said.
He looked at her and said, softly, "Your father doesn't know it, my
dear, but he's a very lucky man." "May I go in and see him now?" "Yes."
Lara walked into her father's room and stood there staring at him.
James Cameron lay in bed, looking pale and helpless, and he suddenly
seemed very old. Lara was engulfed by a wave of tenderness. She was
finally going to be able to do something for her father, something that
would make him appreciate her and love her. She approached the bed.
"Papa..."
He looked up and muttered, "What the bluidy hell are you doin' here?
You've work to dae at the boardin'house."
Lara froze. "I... I know, Papa. I just wanted to tell you that I saw
Mr. MacAllister. I told him I would collect the rents until you got
better and..."
"Ye collect the rents? Dinna make me laugh." He was shaken with a
sudden spasm. When he spoke again, his voice was weak. "It's the
Fates," he moaned. "I'm gang to be thrown oot into the streets."
He was not even thinking about what would happen to her.
Lara stood
there looking at him for a long time. Then she turned and walked out.
James Cameron was brought home three days later, and put to bed.
"You're not to get out of bed for the next couple of weeks," Dr.
Duncan told him. "I'll come back and check on you in a day or two."
"I canna stay in bed," James Cameron protested. "I'm a busy mon. I
have a lot to dae."
The doctor looked at him and said, quietly, "You have a choice. You
can either stay in bed and live, or get up and die." MacAllister's boarders were, at first, delighted to see
the innocent
young girl come around to collect their rents.
But when the novelty wore off, they had a myriad of excuses: "I was
sick this week, and I had medical bills..."
"My son sends me money every week, but the mail's been delayed..."
"I had to buy some equipment..."
"I'll have the money for you next week for sure .
But the young girl was fighting for her life. She listened politely
and said, "I'm so sorry, but Mr. MacAllister says that the money is
due today, and if you don't have it, you'll have to vacate immediately."
And somehow, they all managed to come up with the money. Lara was inflexible.
"It was easier dealing with your father," one of the boarders
grumbled.
"He was always willing to wait a few days."
But in the end they had to admire the young girl's spunk.
If Lara had thought that her father's illness would bring him closer to
her, she was sadly mistaken. Lara tried to anticipate his every need,
but the more solicitous she was, the more badly he behaved.
She brought him fresh flowers every day, and little treats.
cried. "Stop hoverin' aboot.
Hae you nae work to dae?"
I just thought you'd like..."
"Dot!" He turned his face to the wall. I hate him, Lara thought. I hate him.
At the end of the month, when Lara walked into Sean MacAllister's
office with the envelopes filled with rent money, and he had finished
counting it, he said, "I don't mind admitting, young lady, that you've
been quite a surprise to me. You've done better than your father."
The words were thrilling. "Thank you."
"As a matter of fact, this is the first month that everybody has paid
on time in full."
"Then my father and I can stay on at the boardinghouse?"
Lara asked eagerly.
MacAllister studied her a moment. "I suppose so. You must love your
father very much."
"I'll see you next Saturday, Mr. MacAllister." Chapter Five.
seventeen, the spindly, gaunt little girl had grown into a woman. Her
face bore the imprint of her Scottish forebears: the gleaming skin, the
arched, fine eyebrows, the thundercloud gray eyes, the stormy black
hair. And in addition, there was a strain of melancholy that seemed to
hover around her, the bleed-through of a people's tragic history. It
was hard to look away from Lara Cameron's face.
Most of the boarders were without women, except for the companions they
paid for at Madam Kirstie's and some of the other houses of
prostitution, and the beautiful young girl was a natural target for
them. One of the men would corner her in the kitchen or in his bedroom
when she was cleaning it and say, "Why don't you be nice to me, Lara?
I could do a lot for you."
Or, "You don't have a boyfriend, do you? Let me show you what a man is
like."
Or, "How would you like to go to Kansas City? I'm leaving next week,
and I'd be glad to take you with me."
After one or another of the boarders had tried to persuade Lara to go
to bed with him, she would walk into the small room where her father
lay helpless, and say, "You were wrong, Father. All the men want
me."
And she would walk out, leaving him staring after her.
James Cameron died on an early morning in spring, and Lara buried him
at the Greenwood Cemetery in the Passiondale area. The only other
person at the funeral was Bertha. There were no tears.
A new boarder moved in, an American named Bill Rogers. He was in his
seventies, bald and fat, an affable man who liked to talk.
After
supper he would sit and chat with Lara. "You're too damned pretty to
be stuck in a hick town like this," he advised her. "You should go to
Chicago or New York. Big time." "I will one day," Lara said.
"You've got your whole life ahead of you. Do you know what you want to
do with it?"
"I want to own things." "Ah, pretty clothes and..."
"No. Land. I want to own land. My father never owned anything. He
had to live off other people's favors all his life."
Bill Rogers's face lit up. "Real estate was the business I was in."
"Really?"
"I had buildings all over the Midwest. I even had a chain of hotels
once." His tone was wistful. "What happened?"
He shrugged. "I got greedy. Lost it all. But it was sure fun while
it lasted."
After that they talked about real estate almost every night.
"The first rule in real estate," Rogers told her, "is 0PM.
Never
forget that." "What's 0PM?"
"Other people's money. What makes real estate a great business is that
the government lets you take deductions on interest and depreciation
while your assets keep growing. The three most important things in
real estate are location, location, and location. A beautiful building
up on a hill is a waste of time. An ugly building downtown will make
you rich."
Rogers taught Lara about mortgages and refinancing and the use of bank
loans. Lara listened and learned and remembered. She was like a
sponge, eagerly soaking up every bit of information.
The most meaningful thing Rogers said to her was: "You know, Glace Bay
has a big housing shortage. It's a great opportunity for someone. If
I were twenty years younger...
From that moment on Lara looked at Glace Bay with different eyes,
visualizing office buildings and homes on vacant lots. It was
exciting, and it was frustrating.
Her dreams were there, but she had no money to carry them out.
The day Bill Rogers left town he said, "Rememberother people's money.
Good luck, kid."
A week later Charles Colin moved into the boardinghouse.
He was a
small man in his sixties, neat and trim and well dressed.
He sat at
the supper table with the other boarders but said very
little. He
seemed cocooned in his own private world.
He watched Lara as she worked around the boardinghouse, smiling, never
complaining.
"How long do you plan to stay with us?" Lara asked Colin. "I'm not sure. It could be a week or a month or two..."
Charles Colin was a puzzle to Lara. He did not fit in with the other
boarders at all. She tried to imagine what he did. He was certainly
not a miner or a fisherman, and he did not look like a merchant. He
seemed superior to the other boarders, better educated.
He told Lara
that he had tried to get into the one hotel in town but that it was
full. Lara noticed that at mealtimes he ate almost nothing.
"If you have a little fruit," he would say, apologetically, "or some
vegetables..."
"Are you on some special kind of diet?" Lara asked.
"In a way. I eat only kosher food, and I'm afraid Glace Bay doesn't
have any."
The next evening, when Charles Colin sat down to supper, a plate of
lamb chops was placed in front of him.
He looked up at Lara in surprise. "I'm sorry. I can't eat this," he
said. "I thought I explained..."
Lara smiled. "You did. This is kosher."
"What?"
"I found a kosher meat market in Sydney. The shochet there sold me
this. Enjoy it. Your rent includes two meals a day.
Tomorrow you're having a steak."
From that time on, whenever Lara had a lree moment, Colin made it a
point to talk to her, to draw her out. He was impressed by her quick
intelligence and her independent spirit.
One day Charles Colin confided to Lara what he was doing in Glace
Bay.
"I'm an executive with Continental Supplies." It was a famous national
chain. "I'm here to find a location for our new store."
"That's exciting," Lara said. I knew he was in Glace Bay for some
important reason. "You're going to put up a building?"
"No. We'll find someone else to do that. We just lease our
buildings."
At three o'clock in the morning Lara awakened out of a sound sleep and
sat up in bed, her heart pounding wildly. Had it been a dream? No.
Her mind was racing.
She was too excited to go back to sleep.
When Charles Colin came out of his room for breakfast,
Lara was waiting for him.
"Mr. Colin... I know a great place," she blurted out.
He stared at her, puzzled. "What?" "For the location you're looking for." "Oh? Where?"
Lara evaded the question. "Let me ask you something. If I owned a
location that you liked, and if I put up a building on it, would you
agree to lease it from me for five years?"
He shook his head. "That's a rather hypothetical question, isn't
it?"
"Would you?" Lara persisted.
"Lara, what do you know about putting up a building?"
"I wouldn't be putting it up," she said. "I'd hire an architect and a
good construction firm to do that."
Charles Colin was watching her closely. "I see. And where is this
wonderful piece of land?"
"I'll show it to you," Lara said. "Believe me, you're going to love
it. It's perfect."
After breakfast Lara took Charles Colin downtown.
At the corner of Main and Commercial streets in the center of Glace Bay
was a vacant square block. It was a site Colin had examined two days
earlier.
"This is the location I had in mind," Lara said.
Colin stood there, pretending to study it. "You have an
ahf-a nose.
It's a very good location."
He had already made discreet inquiries and learned that the property
was owned by a banker, Sean MacAllister. Colin's assignment was to
locate a site, arrange for someone to construct the building, and then
lease it from them. It would not matter to the company who put up the
building as long as its specifications were met. Colin was studying Lara. She's too young, he thought.
It's a foolish idea. A nd yet... "I found a kosher meat market in
Sydney... Tomorrow you're having a steak." She had such rachmones-compassion.
Lara was saying, excitedly, "If I could acquire this land and put up a
building to meet your specifications, would you give me a five-year
lease?"
He paused, and then said slowly, "No, Lara. It would have to be a
ten-year lease."
That afternoon Lara went to see Sean MacAllister.
He looked up in surprise as she walked into his office. "You're a few days early, Lara. Today's only Wednesday." "I know. I want to ask a favor, Mr. MacAllister."
Sean MacAllister sat there, watching her. She has really turned into a
beautiful-looking girl. Not a girl, a woman. He could see the swell
of her breasts against the cotton blouse she was wearing.
"Sit down, my dear. What can I do for you?"
Lara was too excited to sit. "I want to take out a loan." It took him by surprise. "What?"
"I'd like to borrow some money."
He smiled indulgently. "I don't see why not. If you need a new dress
or something, I'll be happy to advance..."
"I want to borrow two hundred thousand dollars." MacAllister's smile died. "Is this some kind ofjoke?"
"No, sir." Lara leaned forward and said earnestly, "There's a piece of
land I want to buy to put up a building.
I have an important tenant who's willing to give me a ten-year lease.
That will guarantee the cost of the land and the building."
MacAllister was studying her, frowning. "Have you discussed this with
the owner of the land?"
"I'm discussing it with him now," Lara said.
It took a moment for it to sink in. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me that this is land that I own?"
"Yes. It's the lot on the corner of Main and Commercial streets."
"You came here to borrow money from me to buy my land?"
"That lot is worth no more than twenty thousand dollars. I checked.
I'm offering you thirty. You'll make a profit of ten thousand dollars
on the land plus interest on two hundred thousand dollars you're going
to loan me to put up the building."
MacAllister shook his head. "You're asking me to loan you two hundred
thousand dollars with no security. It's out of the question."
Lara leaned forward. "There is security. You'll hold the mortgage on
the building and the land. You can't lose."
MacAllister sat there studying her, turning her proposal over in his
mind. He smiled. "You know," he said, "you have a lot of nerve. But
I could never explain a loan like that to my board of directors."
"You have no board of directors," Lara told him. The smile turned to a grin. "True."
Lara leaned forward, and he could see her breasts touching the edge of
his desk.
"If you say yes, Mr. MacAllister, you'll never regret it. I
promise."
He could not take his eyes off her breasts. "You're not a bit like
your father, are you?"
"No, sir." Nothing like him, Lara thought fiercely.
"Supposing for the sake of argument," MacAllister said carefully, "that
I was interested. Who is this tenant of yours?"
"His name is Charles Colin. He's an executive with Continental
Supplies."
"The chain store?" "Yes."
MacAllister was suddenly very interested.
Lara went on. "They want to have a big store built here to supply the
miners and lumbermen with equipment."
To MacAllister, it had the smell of instant success. "Where did you meet this man?" he asked casually. "He's staying at the boardinghouse."
"I see. Let me think about it, Lara. We'll discuss it again
tomorrow."
Lara was almost trembling with excitement. "Thank you, Mr.
MacAllister. You won't be sorry."
He smiled. "No, I don't think I will be."
That afternoon Sean MacAllister went to the boardinghouse to meet
Charles Colin.
"I just dropped by to welcome you to Glace Bay," MacAllister said.
"I'm Sean MacAllister. I own the bank here. I heard you were in
town.
But you shouldn't be staying at my boardinghouse; you
should be staying
at my hotel. It's much more comfortable." "It was full," Mr. Colin explained.
"That's because we didn't know who you were." Mr. Colin said pleasantly, "Who am I?"
Sean MacAllister smiled. "We don't have to play games, Mr. Colin.
Word gets around. I understand that you're interested in leasing a
building to be put up on a property I own." "What property would that be?"
"The lot at Main and Commercial. It's a great location, isn't it? I
don't think we'll have any problem making a deal." "I already have a deal with someone."
Sean MacAllister laughed. "Lara? She's a pretty little thing, isn't
she? Why don't you come down to the bank with me and we'll draw up a
contract?"
"I don't think you understand, Mr. MacAllister. I said I already have
a deal."
"I don't think you understand, Mr. Colin. Lara doesn't own that
land.
I do."
"She's trying to buy it from you, isn't she?" "Yes. I don't have to sell it to her."
"And I don't have to use that lot. I've seen three other lots that
will do just as nicely. Thanks for dropping by." Sean MacAllister looked at him for a long moment. "You mean... you're serious?"
"Very. I never go into a deal that's not kosher, and I never break my
word."
"But Lara doesn't know anything about building. She..."
"She plans to find people who do. Naturally, we'll have final
approval."
The banker was thoughtful. "Do I understand that Continental Supplies
is willing to sign a ten-year lease?" "That's correct."
"I see. Well, under the circumstances, I... let me think about it."
When Lara arrived at the boardinghouse, Charles Colin told her about
his conversation with the banker.
Lara was upset. "You mean Mr. MacAllister went behind my back
and...?"
"Don't worry," Colin assured her, "he'll make the deal with you."
"Do you really think so?"
"He's a banker. He's in business to make a profit."
"What about you? Why are you doing this for me?" Lara asked.
He had asked himself the same question. Because you're achingly young,
he thought. Because you don't belong in this town.
Because I wish I
had a daughter like you.
But he said none of those things.
"I have nothing to lose, Lara. I found some other locations that would
serve just as well. If you can acquire this land, I'd like to do this
for you. It doesn't matter to my company who I deal with.
If you get
your loan, and I approve your builder, we're in business."
A feeling of elation swept over Lara. "I... I don't know how to thank
you. I'll go to see Mr. MacAllister and..."
"I wouldn't if I were you," Colin advised her. "Let him come to
you."
She looked worried. "But what if he doesn't...?" Colin smiled. "He will."
He handed her a printed lease. "Here's the ten-year lease we
discussed. It's contingent, you understand, on your meeting all our
requirements for the building." He handed her a set of blueprints.
"These are our specifications."
Lara spent the night studying the pages of drawings and instructions.
The following morning Sean MacAllister telephoned Lara. "Can you come down to see me, Lara?"
Her heart was pounding. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
He was waiting for her.
"I've been thinking about our conversation," MacAllister said. "I
would need a written agreement for a ten-year lease from Mr. Colin."
"I already have it," Lara said. She opened her bag and took out the
contract.
Sean MacAllister examined it carefully. "It seems to be in order."
"Then we have a deal?" Lara asked. She was holding her breath.
MacAllister shook his head. "No." "But I thought..."
His fingers were drumming restlessly on his desk.
"To tell you the truth, I'm really in no hurry to sell that lot,
Lara.
The longer I hold on to it, the more valuable it will become."
She looked at him blankly. "But you..."
"Your request is completely unorthodox. You've had no experience. I
would need a very special reason to make this loan to you."
"I don't under... what kind of reason?"
"Let's say... a little bonus. Tell me, Lara, have you ever had a
lover?"
The question caught her completely off-guard.
"I... no." She could feel the deal slipping away from her. "What does
that have...?"
MacAllister leaned forward. "I'm going to be frank with you, Lara. I
find you very attractive. I'd like to go to bed with you.
Quid pro
quo. That means...
"I know what it means." Her face had turned to stone.
"Look at it this way. This is your chance to make something of
yourself, isn't it? To own something, to be somebody. To prove to
yourself that you're not like your father." Lara's mind was spinning.
"You'll probably never have another chance like this again, Lara.
Perhaps you'd like some time to think it over, and..." "No." Her voice sounded hollow in her own ears.
"I can give you my answer now." She pressed her arms tightly against
her sides to stop her body from trembling. Her whole future, her very
life, hung on her next words. "I'll go to bed with you."
Grinning, MacAllister rose and moved toward her, his fat
arms outstretched.
"Not now," Lara said. "After I see the contract."
The following day Sean MacAllister handed Lara a contract for the bank
loan.
"It's a very simple contract, my dear. It's a ten-year two-hundred-thousand-dollar loan at eight percent." He gave her a
pen.
"You can just sign here on the last page."
"If you don't mind, I'd like to read it first," Lara said. She looked at her watch. "But I don't have time now. May
I take it
with me? I'll bring it back tomorrow."
Sean MacAllister shrugged. "Very well." He lowered his voice. "About
our little date. Next Saturday I have to go into Halifax.
I thought
we might go there together."
Lara looked at his leering smile and felt sick to her stomach. "All
right." It was a whisper.
"Good. You sign the contract and bring it back and we're in
business."
He was thoughtful for a moment.
"You're going to need a good builder. Are you familiar with the Nova
Scotia Construction Company?"
Lara's face lit up. "Yes. I know their foreman, Buzz Steele."
He had put up some of the biggest buildings in Glace Bay. "Good. It's a fine outfit. I would recommend them."
"I'll talk to Buzz tomorrow."
That evening Lara showed the contract to Charles Colin.
She did not
dare tell him about the private deal she had made with MacAllister.
She was too ashamed.
Colin read the contract carefully, and when he finished, he handed it
back to Lara. "I would advise you not to sign this." She was dismayed. "Why?"
"There's a clause in there that stipulates that the building must be
completed by December thirty-first, or title reverts to the bank. In
other words, the building will belong to MacAllister, and my company
will become his tenant. You forfeit the deal and are still obligated
to repay the loan with interest. Ask him to change that."
MacAllister's words rang in Lara's ears. "I'm really in no hurry to
sell that lot. The longer I hold on to it, the more valuable it will
become."
Lara shook her head. "He won't."
"Then you're taking a big gamble, Lara. You could wind up with
nothing, and a debt of two hundred thousand dollars plus interest."
"But if I bring the building in on time..."
"That's a big 'if." When you put up a building, you're at the mercy of
a lot of other people. You'd be surprised at the number of things that
can go wrong."
"There's a very good construction company in Sydney.
They've put up a
lot of buildings around here. I know the foreman. If he says he can
have the building up in time, I want to go ahead."
It was the desperate eagerness in Lara's voice that made him put aside
his doubts. "All right," he finally said, "talk to him."
Lara found Buzz Steele walking the girders of a fivestory building he
was erecting in Sydney. Steele was a grizzled, weather-beaten man in
his forties. He greeted Lara warmly. "This is a nice surprise," he
said. "How did they let a pretty girl like you get out of Glace
Bay?"
"I sneaked out," Lara told him. "I have a job for you, Mr. Steele."
He smiled. "You do? What are we building-a dollhouse?"
"No." She pulled out the blueprints Charles Colin had given her.
"This is the building."
Buzz Steele studied it a moment. He looked up, surprised. "This is a
pretty big job. What does it have to do with you?"
"I put the deal together," Lara said proudly. "I'm going to own the
building."
Steele whistled softly. "Well, good for you, honey." "There are two catches."
"Oh?"
"The building has to be finished by December thirtyfirst or it reverts
to the bank, and the building can't cost more than one hundred seventy
thousand dollars. Can it be done?"
Steele looked at the blueprints again. Lara watched him silently
calculating.
Finally he spoke. "It can be done."
It was all Lara could do not to shout out loud. "Then you've got a deal."
They shook hands. "You're the prettiest boss I've ever had," Buzz
Steele said.
"Thank you. How soon can you get started?"
"Tell you what. I'll go into Glace Bay tomorrow to look over the
lot.
I'm going to give you a building you'll be proud of." When Lara left, she felt that she had wings.
Lara returned to Glace Bay and told Charles Colin the news.
"Are you sure this company is reliable, Lara?"
"I know it is," Lara assured him. "They've put up buildings here and
in Sydney and Halifax and..." Her enthusiasm was contagious.
Colin smiled. "Well, then, it looks like we're in business."
"It does, doesn't it?" Lara beamed. And then she remembered the deal
she had made with Sean MacAllister, and her smile faded. "Next
Saturday I have to go into Halifax. I thought we might go there
together." Saturday was only two days away.
* * Lara signed the contracts the following morning. As Sean
MacAllister watched her leave the office, he was very pleased with
himself. He had no intention of letting her have the new building.
And he almost laughed aloud at her naivete. He would loan her the
money, but he would really be loaning it to himself. He thought about
making love to that wonderful young body, and he began to get an
erection.
Lara had been to Halifax only twice. Compared to Glace Bay, it was a
bustling town, full of pedestrians and automobiles and shops crammed
with merchandise. Sean MacAllister drove Lara to a motel on the
outskirts of town. He pulled into the parking lot and patted her on
the knee. "You wait here while I register for us, honey."
Lara sat in the car, waiting, panicky. I'm selling myself, she
thought. Like a whore. But it's all I've got to sell, and at least he
thinks I'm worth two hundred thousand dollars. My father never saw two
hundred thousand dollars in his life. He was always too...
The car door opened, and MacAllister was standing there, grinning.
"All set. Let's go."
Lara suddenly found it hard to breathe. Her heart was pounding so hard
she thought it was going to fly out of her chest. I'm having a heart
attack, she thought.
"Lara..." He was looking at her strangely. "Are you all right?"
No. I'm dying. They'll take me to the hospital, and I'll die there.
A virgin. "I'm fine," she said.
Slowly she got out of the car and followed MacAllister into a drab
cabin with a bed, two chairs, a battered dressing table, and a tiny
bathroom.
She was caught up in a nightmare.
"So this is your first time, eh?" MacAllister said.
She thought of the boys at school who had fondled her and kissed her
breasts and tried to put their hands between her legs. "Yes," she
said.
"Well, you mustn't be nervous. Sex is the most natural thing in the
world."
Lara watched as MacAllister began to strip off his clothes. His body
was pudgy.
"Get undressed," MacAllister ordered.
Slowly Lara took off her blouse and skirt and shoes. She was wearing a brassiere and panties.
MacAllister looked at her figure and walked over to her. "You're
beautiful, you know that, baby?"
She could feel his male hardness pressing against her body.
MacAllister kissed her on the lips, and she felt disgust. "Get the rest of your clothes off," he said urgently.
He walked over to the bed and stripped off his shorts.
His penis was hard and red.
That will never fit inside me, Lara thought. It will kill me.
"Hurry up."
Slowly Lara took off her brassiere and stepped out of her panties.
"My God," he said, "you're fantastic. Come over here."
Lara walked over to the bed and sat down. MacAllister squeezed her
breasts hard, and she cried aloud with the pain.
"That felt good, didn't it? It's time you had yourself a man."
MacAllister pushed her down on her back and spread her legs.
Lara was suddenly panicky. "I'm not wearing anything," she said. "I
mean... I could get pregnant."
"Don't worry," MacAllister promised her, "I won't come inside you."
An instant later Lara felt him pushing inside her, hurting her.
"Wait!" she cried. "I..."
MacAllister was past the waiting. He rammed himself into her, and the
pain was excruciating. He was pounding into her body now, harder and
harder, and Lara put her hand to her mouth to keep from screaming. It
will be over in a minute, she thought, and I'll own a building. And I
can put up a second building. And another... The pain was becoming unbearable.
"Move your ass," MacAllister cried. "Don't just lay there. Move
it!"
She tried to move, but it was impossible. She was in too much pain.
Suddenly MacAllister gave a gasp, and Lara felt his body jerk. He let
out a satisfied sigh and lay limp against her. She was horrified. "You said you wouldn't..."
He lifted himself up on his elbows and said earnestly, "Darling, I
couldn't help it, you're just so beautiful. But don't worry. If you
get pregnant, I know a doctor who'll take care of you."
Lara turned her face away so he could not see her revulsion. She
limped into the bathroom, sore and bleeding. She stood in the shower,
letting the warm water wash over her body, and she thought, It's over
with. I've done it. I own the land. I'm going to be rich.
Now all she had to do was get dressed and go back to Glace Bay and get
her building started.
She walked out of the bathroom, and Sean MacAllister said, "That was so
good we're going to do it again." Chapter Six.
harles Colin had inspected five buildings erected by the Nova Scotia
Construction Company.
"They're a first-rate outfit," he had told Lara. "You shouldn't have
any problem with them."
Now Lara, Charles Colin, and Buzz Steele were inspecting the new
site.
"It's perfect," Buzz Steele said. "The measurements come to
forty-three thousand five hundred sixty square feet. That will give
you the twenty-thousand-square-foot building you want."
Charles Colin asked, "Can you have the building finished by December
thirty-first?" He was determined to protect Lara.
"Sooner," Steele said. "I can promise it to you by Christmas Eve."
Lara was beaming. "How soon can you get started?" "I'll have my crew here by the middle of next week."
* * * Watching the new building going up was the most exciting thing
Lara had ever experienced. She was there every day. "I want to
learn," she told Charles Colin. "This is just the beginning for me.
Before I'm through, I'm going to put up a hundred buildings."
Colin wondered whether Lara really knew what she was getting into.
The first men to set foot on the project site were members of the
survey team. They established the legal geometric borders of the
property and drove hubs into the ground at each corner, every hub
painted with a fluorescent color for easy identification.
The survey
work was finished in two days, and early the following morning, heavy
earth-moving equipment-a truck-mounted Caterpillar front-end
loader-arrived at the site.
Lara was there, waiting. "What happens now?" she asked Buzz Steele.
"We clear and grub."
Lara looked at him. "What does that mean?"
"The Caterpillar is gonna dig up tree stumps and do some rough
grading."
The next piece of equipment that came in was a backhoe to dig the
trenches for foundations, utility conduits, and drainage piping.
By now the boarders at the house had all heard what was happening, and
it became the main topic of conversation at breakfast and supper. They
were all cheering for Lara.
"What happens next?" they would ask.
She was becoming an expert. "This morning they put the underground
piping in place. Tomorrow they start to put in the wood and concrete
formwork, so they can wiretie the steel bars into the skeletal
gridiron." She grinned.
"Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Pouring the concrete was the next step, and when the concrete
foundation was cured, large truckloads of lumber rolled in, and crews
of carpenters began to assemble the wooden frames. The noise was
horrendous, but to Lara it was music. The place was filled with the
sounds of rhythmic hammers and whining power saws.
After two weeks the wall panels, punctuated with window and door
openings, were stood upright as if the building had suddenly been
inflated.
To passersby, the building was a maze of wood and steel, but to Lara it
was something else. It was her dream come to life. Every morning and
every evening she went downtown and stared at what was being built. I
own this, Lara thought. This belongs to me.
After the episode with MacAllister, Lara had been terrified that she
might become pregnant. The thought of it made her sick to her
stomach.
When her period came, she was weak with relief. Now all I have to
worry about is my building.
She continued to collect the rents for Sean MacAllister because she
needed a place to live, but she had to steel herself to go into his
office and face him.
"We had a good time in Halifax, didn't we, honey? Why don't we do it again?"
"I'm busy with my building," Lara said firmly.
The level of activity began to heighten as the sheet metal crews,
rodfers, and carpenters worked simultaneously, the number of men,
materials, and trucks tripling.
Charles Colin had left Glace Bay, but he telephoned Lara once a week.
"How is the building going?" he had asked the last time he called.
"Great!" Lara said enthusiastically. "Is it on schedule?"
"It's ahead of schedule."
"That's wonderful. I can tell you now that I wasn't really sure you
could do it."
"But you gave me a chance anyway. Thank you, Charles."
"One good turn deserves another. Remember, if it hadn't been for you,
I might have starved to death."
From time to time Sean MacAllister would join Lara at the building
site.
"It's coming along just fine, isn't it?" "Yes," Lara said.
MacAllister seemed genuinely pleased. Lara thought: Mr.
Colin was
wrong about him. He's not trying to take advantage of me.
By the end of November the building was progressing rapidly. The
windows and doors were in place, and the exterior walls were set. The
structure was ready to accept the network of nerves and arteries.
On Monday, the first week of December, work on the building began to
slow down. Lara went to the site one morning, and there were only two
men there, and they seemed to be doing very little. "Where's the rest of the crew today?" Lara asked. "They're on another job," one of the men explained. "They'll be here tomorrow."
The following day no one was there.
Lara took a bus into Halifax to see Buzz Steele. "What's happening?" Lara asked. "The work has stopped."
"Nothing to worry about," Steele assured her. "We ran into a little
snag on another job, and I had to pull my men off temporarily."
"When will they be coming back to work?" "Next week. We'll be on schedule."
"Buzz, you know how much this means to me." "Sure, Lara."
"If the building's not completed on time, I lose it. I lose
everything."
"Don't worry, kid. I won't let that happen." When Lara left, she had a feeling of unease.
The following week the workmen still had not appeared. She went into
Halifax again to see Steele.
"I'm sorry," the secretary said, "Mr. Steele is not in." "I must talk to him. When will he be back?"
"He's out of town on a job. I don't know when he'll be back."
Lara felt the first stirrings of panic. "This is very important," Lara
insisted. "He's putting up a building for me. It has to be finished
in three weeks."
"I wouldn't worry, Miss Cameron. If Mr. Steele said it will be
finished, it will be finished."
"But nothing's happening," Lara cried. "No one's working on it."
"Would you like to talk to Mr. Ericksen, his assistant?" "Yes, please."
Ericksen was a giant of a man, broad-shouldered and amiable. He
radiated reassurance.
"I know why you're here," he said, "but Buzz told me to assure you that
you have nothing to worry about. We've been held back a little on your
project because of some problems on a couple of big construction jobs
we're handling, but your building is only three weeks away from
completion."
"There's still so much to do..."
"Not to worry. We'll have a crew out there first thing on Monday
morning."
"Thank you," Lara said, relieved. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, but
I'm a little nervous. This means a great deal to me."
"No problem," Ericksen smiled. "You just go home and relax. You're in
good hands."
Monday morning there was not a single workman at the site.
Lara was
frantic. She telephoned Charles Colin.
"The men have stopped working," she told him, "and I can't find out
why. They keep making promises and breaking them."
"What's the name of the company-Nova Scotia Construction?" "That's right."
"I'll call you back," Colin said.
Two hours later Charles Colin telephoned. "Who recommended the Nova
Scotia Construction Company to you?" She thought back. "Sean MacAllister."
"I'm not surprised. He owns the company, Lara."
Lara felt suddenly faint. "And he's stopping the men from finishing it
on time...?"
"I'm afraid it looks that way." "Oh, my God."
"He's a nahash tzefa-a poisonous snake."
He was too kind to say that he had warned her.
All he managed was: "Maybe... maybe something will turn up."
He admired the young girl's spirit and ambition, and he despised Sean
MacAllister. But he was helpless. There was nothing he could do.
Lara lay awake all night thinking about her folly.
The building she had put up would belong now to Sean MacAllister, and
she would be left with a staggering debt which she would spend the rest
of her life working to repay. The thought of how MacAllister might
exact payment made her shudder.
* * * When Lara awakened, she went to see Sean MacAllister.
"Good morning, my dear. You're looking lovely today." Lara came right to the point. "I need an extension.
The building won't be ready by the thirty-first." MacAllister sat back in his chair and frowned. "Really? That's bad news, Lara."
"I need another month."
MacAllister sighed. "I'm afraid that's not possible. Oh, dear, no. You signed a contract. A deal is a deal." "But..."
"I'm sorry, Lara. On the thirty-first, the property reverts to the
bank."
When the boarders at the house heard what was happening, they were
furious.
"That son of a bitch!" one of them cried. "He can't do this to
you."
"He's done it," Lara said, despairingly. "It's over." "Are we going to let him get away with this?"
"Hell, no. What have you got left-three weeks?" Lara shook her head. "Less. Two and a half weeks."
The man turned to the others. "Let's go down and take a look at that
building."
"What good will...?"
"We'll see."
Soon half a dozen boarders were standing at the building site,
carefully inspecting it.
"The plumbing hasn't been put in," one of the men said. "Nor the electricity."
They stood there, shivering in the freezing December wind, discussing
what still remained to be done.
One of the men turned to Lara. "Your banker's a tricky fellow. He's
had the building almost finished so that he wouldn't have much to do
when your contract was up." He turned to the others. "I would say
that this could be finished in two and a half weeks." There was a chorus of agreement.
Lara was bewildered. "You don't understand. The workmen won't
come."
"Look, lassie, in your boardinghouse you've got plumbers and carpenters
and electricians, and we've got lots of friends in town who can handle
the rest."
"I don't have any money to pay you," Lara said. "Mr.
MacAllister
won't give me..."
"It will be our Christmas gift to you."
What happened after that was incredible. Word quickly spread around
Glace Bay of what was happening.
Construction workers on other buildings came to take a look at Lara's
property. Half of them were there because they liked Lara, and the
other half because they had had dealings with Sean MacAllister and
hated him.
"Let's fix the bastard," they said.
They dropped by to lend a hand after work, working past midnight and on
Saturdays and Sundays, and the sound of construction began again,
filling the air with a joyful noise. Beating the deadline became a
challenge, and the building was soon swarming with carpenters and
electricians and plumbers, all eager to pitch in. When Sean
MacAllister heard what was happening, he rushed over to the site.
He stood there, stunned. "What's going on?" he demanded. "Those
aren't my workmen."
"They're mine," Lara said defiantly. "There's nothing in the contract
that says I can't use my own men.
"Well, I..." MacAllister sputtered. "That building had better be up
to specifications."
"It will be,?" Lara assured him.
The day before New Year's Eve the building was completed.
It stood
proud da,nst the sky, solid and strong, and it was the most beautiful
thing Lara had ever seen. She stood there staring at it, dazed.
"It's all yours," one of the workmen said proudly. "Are we going to have a party or what?"
That night it seemed that the whole town of Glace Bay celebrated Lara
Cameron's first building. It was the beginning.
There was no stopping Lara after that. Her mind was brimming with
ideas.
"Your new employees are going to need places to live in Glace Bay," she
told Charles Colin. "I'd like to build houses for them.
Are you interested?"
He nodded. "I'm verb interested."
Lara went to see a banker in Sydney and borrowed enough money on her
building to finance the new project.
When the houses were finished, Lara said to Charles Colin, "Do you know
what else this town needs, Charles?
Cabins to accommodate the summer tourists who come here to fish. I
know a wonderful place near the bay where I could build..."
Charles Colin became Lara's unofficial financial adviser, and during
the next three years Lara built an office building, half a dozen
seashore cottages, and a shopping mall. The banks in Sydney and
Halifax were happy to loan her money.
Two years later, when Lara sold out her real estate
holdings, she had a
certified check for three million dollars. She was twenty-one years
old.
The following day she said good-bye to Glace Bay and left for
Chicago.
Chapter Seven.
Chicago was a revelation.
Halifax had been the largest city Lara had ever seen, but it was like a
hamlet compared to the giant of the Midwest.
Chicago was a loud and noisy city, bustling and energetic, and everyone
seemed to be hurrying to some important destination.
Lara checked into the Stevens Hotel. She took one look at the smartly
dressed women walking through the lobby and became self-conscious about
the clothes she was wearing. Glace Bay, yes, Lara thought. Chicago,
no. The following morning, Lara went into action. She visited Kane's
and Ultimo for designer dresses, Joseph's for shoes, Saks Fifth Avenue
and Marshall Field's for lingerie, Trabert and Hoeffer for jewelry, and
Ware for a mink coat. And every time she bought something, she heard
her father's voice saying, "I'm nae made of money.
Get yourself some thing frae the Salvation Army Citadel."
Before her shopping spree was over, the closets in her hotel suite were
filled with beautiful clothes.
Lara's next move was to look in the yellow pages of the
telephone book
under "Real Estate Brokers." She selected the one that had the largest
advertisement, Parker & Associates. Lara telephoned and asked to speak
to Mr. Parker.
"May I tell him who's calling?" "Lara Cameron."
A moment later a voice said, "Bruce Parker speaking. How can I help you?"
"I'm looking for a location where I can put up a beautiful new hotel,"
Lara said.
The voice at the other end of the phone grew warmer. "Well, we're experts at that, Mrs. Cameron."
"Miss Cameron."
"Right. Did you have any particular area in mind?"
"No. To tell you the truth, I'm not really familiar with Chicago."
"That's no problem. I'm sure we can line up some very interesting
properties for you. Just to give me an idea of what we're looking for,
how much equity do you have?"
Lara said proudly, "Three million dollars."
There was a long silence. "Three million dollars?" "Yes."
"And you want to build a beautiful new hotel?"
"Yes."
Another silence.
"Were you interested in building or acquiring something in the inner
city area, Miss Cameron?"
"Of course not," Lara said. "What I have in mind is exactly the
opposite. I want to build an exclusive boutique hotel in a nice area
that..."
"With an equity of three million dollars?" Parker chuckled. "I'm
afraid we're not going to be able to help you." "Thank you," Lara said. She replaced the receiver. She had obviously called the wrong broker.
She went back to the yellow pages again and made half a dozen more
calls. By the end of the afternoon Lara was forced to face reality.
None of the brokers was interested in trying to find a prime location
where she could build a hotel with a down payment of three million
dollars. They had offered Lara a variety of suggestions, and they had
all come down to the same thing: a cheap hotel in an inner city area.
Never, Lara thought. I'll go back to Glace Bay first.
She had dreamed for months about the hotel she wanted to build, and in
her mind it was already a reality-beautiful, vivid, three-dimensional.
Her plan was to turn a hotel into a real home away from
home. It would
have mostly suites, and each suite would have a living room and a
library with a fireplace in each room, and be furnished with
comfortable couches, easy chairs, and a grand piano.
There would be
two large bedrooms and an outside terrace running the length of the
apartment.
There would be a Jacuzzi and a minibar. Lara knew exactly what she
wanted. The question was how she was going to get it.
Lara walked into a printshop on Lake Street. "I would like to have a
hundred business cards printed up, please." "Certainly. And how will the cards read?"
"'Miss Lara Cameron,' and at the bottom, 'Real Estate Developer.""
"Yes, Miss Cameron. I can have them for you in two days." "No. I would like them this afternoon, please."
The next step was to get acquainted with the city.
Lara walked along Michigan Avenue and State Street and La Salle,
strolled along Lake Shore Drive and wandered through Lincoln Park with
its zoo and golf course and lagoon. She visited the Merchandise Mart
and went to Kroch-Brentano's and bought books about Chicago. She read
about the famous who had made Chicago their home: Carl Sandburg, Frank
Lloyd Wright, Louis Sullivan, Saul Bellow. She read about the pioneer
families of Chicago-the John Bairds and Gaylord Donnelleys, the
Marshall Fields and Potter Palmers, and Walgreens-and she
passed by
their homes on Lake Shore Drive and their huge estates in suburban Lake
Forest. Lara visited the South Side, and she felt at home there
because of all the ethnic groups: Swedes, Poles, Irish, Lithuanians.
It reminded her of Glace Bay.
She took to the streets again, looking at buildings with For Sale
signs, and she went to see the listed brokers. "What's the price of that building?"
"Eighty million dollars.;,." "Sixty million dollars...
"A hundred million dollars..."
Her three million dollars was becoming more and more insignificant.
Lara sat in her hotel room considering her options.
Either she could
go to one of the slum sections of the city and put up a little hotel
there, or she could return home. Neither choice appealed to her.
I've too much at stake to give up now, Lara thought.
The following morning Lara stopped in at a bank on La Salle Street.
She walked up to a clerk behind the counter. "I would like to speak to
your vice-president, please." She handed the clerk her card.
Five minutes later she was in the office of Tom Peterson,
a flaccid
middle-aged man, with a nervous tic. He was studying her card.
"What can I do for you, Miss Cameron?"
"I'm planning to put up a hotel in Chicago. I'll need to borrow some
money He gave her a genial smile. "That's what we're here for. What
kind of hotel were you planning to build'?" "A beautiful boutique hotel in a nice area."
"Sounds interesting "I have to tell you," Lara said, "that I only have
three million dollars to put down, and. He smiled. "No problem."
She felt a thrill of excitemeiit. "Really?"
"Three million can go a long way if you know what to do with it." He
looked at his watch. "I have another appointment now. I wonder if we
could get together for dinner tonight and talk about this."
"Certainly," Lara said. "That would be fine." "Where are you staying?"
"At the Palmer House."
"Why don't I pick you up at eight?"
Lara got to her feet. "Thank you so much. I can't tell you how good
you make me feel. Frankly I was beginning to get discouraged."
"No need," he said. "I'm going to take good care of you.
At eight o'clock 'I'om Peterson picked up Lara and took her to
Henricl's for dinner. When they- were seated, he said, "You know, I'm
glad that you came to me. We can do a lot for each other."
"We can?"
"Yes. There's a lot of ass around this town, but none of it as
beautiful as yours, honey You can open a luxury whorehouse and cater to
an exclusive Lara froze. "I beg your pardon?"
"If you can get half a dozen girls together, we Lara was gone.
The following day Lara visited three more banks.
When she explained her plans to the manager of the first bank, he said,
"I'm going to give you the best advice you'll ever get: Forget it.
Real estate development is a man's game. There's no place for women in
it."
"And why is that?" Lara asked tonelessly.
"Because you'd be dealing with a bunch of macho roughnecks. They'd eat
you alive."
"They didn't eat me alive in Glace Bay," Lara said.
He leaned forward. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret.
Chicago is not Glace Bay."
At the next bank the manager said to her, "We'll be glad to help you
out, Miss Cameron. Of course, what you have in mind is out of the
question. What I would suggest is to let us handle your money and
invest it..."
Lara was out of his office before he finished his sentence.
At the third bank Lara was ushered into the office of Bob Vance, a
pleasant-looking gray-haired man who looked exactly as the president of
a bank should look. In the office with him was a pale, thin,
sandy-haired man in his early thirties, wearing a rumpled suit and
looking completely out of place.
"This is Howard Keller, Miss Cameron, one of our vice-presidents."
"How do you do?"
"What can I do for you this morning?" Bob Vance asked.
"I'm interested in building a hotel in Chicago," Lara said, "and I'm
looking for finance."
Bob Vance smiled. "You've come to the right place. Do you have a location in mind?"
"I know the general area I want. Near the Loop, not too far from
Michigan Avenue . "Excellent."
Lara told him about her boutique hotel idea.
"That sounds interesting," Vance said. "And how much equity do you
have?"
"Three million dollars. I want to borrow the rest."
There was a thoughtful pause. "I'm afraid I can't help you. Your
problem is that you have big ideas and a small purse.
Now, if you
would like us to invest your money for you..." "No, thank you," Lara said. "Thanks for your time.
Good afternoon, gentlemen." She turned and left the office, fuming.
In Glace Bay three million dollars was a fortune. Here people seemed
to think it was nothing.
As Lara reached the street, a voice said, "Miss Cameron!"
Lara turned. It was the man she had been introduced to-Howard
Keller. "Yes?"
"I'd like to talk to you," he said. "Perhaps we could have a cup of
coffee."
Lara stiffened. Was everyone in Chicago a sex maniac? "There's a good coffee shop just around the corner." Lara shrugged. "All right."
When they had ordered, Howard Keller said, "If you don't mind my
butting in, I'd like to give you some advice." Lara was watching him, wary. "Go ahead."
"In the first place, you're going about this all wrong."
"You don't think my idea will work?" she asked stiffly.
"On the contrary. I think a boutique hotel is a really great idea."
She was surprised. "Then why...?"
"Chicago could use a hotel like that, but I don't think you should
build it."
"What do you mean?"
"I would suggest that instead you find an old hotel in a good location
and remodel it. There are a lot of rundown hotels that can be bought
at a low figure. Your three million dollars would be enough equity for
a down payment. Then you could borrow enough from a bank to refurbish
it and turn it into your boutique hotel."
Lara sat there thinking. He was right. It was a better approach.
"Another thing. no bank is going to be interested in financing you
unless you come in with a solid architect and builder.
They'll want to
see a complete package."
Lara thought about Buzz Steele. 'I understand. Do you know a good
architect and builder?"
Howard Keller smiled. "Quite a few."
"Thanks for your advice," Lara said. "If I find the right site, could
I come back and talk to you about it?" "Any time. Good luck."
Lara was waiting for him to say something like "Why don't we talk it
over at my apartment?" Instead all Howard Keller said was. "Would you
care for more coffee, Miss Cameron?"
Iara roamed the downtown streets again, but this time she was looking
for something different. A few blocks from Michigan Avenue, on
Delaware, Lara passed a prewar r,in-down transient. hotel. A sign
outside said, CONe ESSI HAL HOTFL. Lara started to pass it, then
suddenly stopped. She took a closer look. The brick facade was so
dirty that it was difficult to tell what its original color had been.
It was eight stories high. Lara turned and entered the hotel lobby.
The interior was even worse than the exterior. clerk dressed in jeans
and a torn sweater was pushing a derelict out the door.
The front desk
looked more like a ticket window than a reception area.
At one end of
the lobby was a staircase leading to what once were meeting rooms, now
turned into rented offices. On the mezzanine Lara could see a travel
agency, a theater ticket service, and an employment agency.
The clerk returned to the front desk. "You wanna room?"
"No. I wanted to know..." She was interrupted by a heavily made-up
young woman in a tight-fitting skirt.
"Give me a key, Mike." There was an elderly man at her side.
The clerk handed her a key.
Lara watched the two of them head for the elevator. "What can I do for you?" the clerk asked.
"I'm interested in this hotel," Lara said. "Is it for sale?"
"I guess everything's for sale. Is your father in the real estate
business?"
"No," Lara said, "I am."
He looked at her in surprise. "Oh. Well, the one you want to talk to
is one of the Diamond brothers. They own a chain of these dumps."
"Where would I find them?" Lara asked.
The clerk gave her an address on State Street. "Would you mind if I looked around?"
He shrugged. "Help yourself." He grinned. "Who knows, you might wind
up being my boss."
Not ill can help it, Lara thought.
She walked around the lobby, examining it closely.
There were old marble columns lining the entrance. On a hunch, Lara
pulled up an edge of the dirty, worn carpet.
Underneath was a dull marble floor. She walked up to the mezzanine.
The mustard-colored wallpaper was peeling. She pulled away an edge of
it, and underneath was the same marble. Lara was becoming more and
more excited. The handrail of the staircase was painted black.
Lara turned to make sure that the room clerk was not watching and took
out her key from the Stevens Hotel and scratched away some of the
paint. She found what she was hoping for, a solid brass railing. She
approached the elevators that were painted with the same black paint,
scratched a bit away, and found more brass.
Lara walked back to the clerk, trying to conceal her excitement. "I
wonder ill might look at one of the rooms."
He shrugged. "No skin off my nose." He handed her a key. "Four-ten."
"Thank you."
Lara got in the elevator. It was slow and antiquated.
I'll have it redone, Lara thought. And I'll put a mural inside.
In her mind she was already beginning to decorate the hotel.
Room 410 looked like a disaster, but the possibilities were immediately
evident. It was a surprisingly large room with antiquated facilities
and tasteless furniture.
Lara's heart began to beat faster. It'sperfect, she thought.
She walked downstairs. The stairway was old and had a musty smell.
The carpets were worn, but underneath she found the same marble.
Lara returned the key to the desk clerk. "Did you see what you wanted?"
"Yes," Lara said. "Thank you."
He grinned at her. "You really going to buy this joint?" "Yes," Lara said. "I'm really going to buy this joint." "Cool," he said.
The elevator door opened, and the young hooker and her elderly john
emerged. She handed the key and some money to the clerk. "Thanks,
Mike."
"Have a nice day," Mike called. He turned to Lara. "Are you coming back?"
"Oh, yes," Lara assured him, "I'm coming back."
Lara's next stop was at the City Hall of Records. She asked to see the
records on the property that she was interested in. For a fee of ten
dollars, she was handed a file on the Congressional Hotel.
It had been
sold to the Diamond brothers five years earlier for six million
dollars.
The office of the Diamond brothers was in an old building on a corner
of State Street. An Oriental receptionist in a tight red skirt greeted
Lara as she walked in.
"Can I help you?"
"I'd like to see Mr. Diamond." "Which one?"
"Either of them." "I'll give you John."
She picked up the phone and spoke into it. "There's a lady here to see
you, John." She listened a moment, then looked up at Lara. "What's it
about?"
"I want to buy one of his hotels."
She spoke into the mouthpiece again. "She says she wants to buy one of
your hotels. Right." She replaced the receiver. "Go right in."
John Diamond was a huge man, middle-aged and hairy, and he had the
pushed-in face of a man who had once played a lot of football. He was
wearing a shortsleeved shirt and smoking a large cigar.
He looked up
as Lara entered his office.
"My secretary said you wanted to buy one of my buildings."
He studied
her a moment. "You don't look old enough to vote."
"Oh, I'm old enough to vote," Lara assured him. "I'm also old enough
to buy one of your buildings." "Yeah? Which one?"
"The Cong essi nal Hotel." "The what?"
"That's what the sign says. I assume it means 'Congressional."" "Oh.
Yeah."
"Is it for sale?"
He shook his head. "Gee, I don't know. That's one of our big
money-makers. I'm not sure we could let it go." "You have let it go," Lara said.
"Huh?"
"It's in terrible shape. The place is falling apart." "Yeah? Then what the hell do you want with it?"
"I'd like to buy it and fix it up a little. Of course, it would have
to be delivered to me vacant."
"That's no problem. Our tenants are on a week-toweek basis."
"How many rooms does the hotel have?"
"A hundred and twenty-five. The gross building area is a hundred
thousand square feet."
Too many rooms, Lara thought. But ill combine them to create suites, I
would end up with sixty to seventy-five keys. It could work.
It was time to discuss price.
"If I decided to buy the building, how much would you want for it?"
Diamond said, "If I decided to sell the building, I'd want
ten million
dollars, a six-million cash down payment..." Lara shook her head, "I'll offer..."
..... period. No negotiating."
Lara sat there, mentally figuring the cost of renovation.
It would be
approximately eighty dollars per square foot, or eight million dollars,
plus furniture, fixtures, and equipment.
Lara's mind was furiously calculating. She was sure she could get a
bank to finance the loan. The problem was that she needed six million
dollars in equity, and she only had three million.
Diamond was asking
too much for the hotel, but she wanted it. She wanted it more than
anything she had ever wanted in her life. "I'll make you a deal," Lara said.
He was listening. "Yeah?"
"I'll give you your asking price He smiled. "So far so g "And I'll
give you a down payment of three million in cash."
He shook his head "Can't do it. I've got to have six million in cash
up front." "You'll have it."
"Yeah? Where's the other three coming from?" "From you."
"What?"
"You're going to give me a second mortgage for three
million."
"You want to borrow money from me to buy my building?"
It was the same thing Sean MacAllister had asked her in Glace Bay.
"Look at it this way," Lara said. "You're really borrowing the money
from yourself You'll own the building until I pay it off.
There's no
way you can lose."
He thought about it and grinned. "Lady, you just bought yourself a
hotel" Howard Keller's office in the bank was a cubicle with his name
on the door. When Lara walked in, he looked more rumpled than ever.
"Back so soon?"
"You told me to come and see you when I found a hotel. I found one."
Keller leaned back in his chair. "Tell me about it."
"I found an old hotel called the Congressional. It's on Delaware.
It's a few blocks from Michigan Avenue.
It's run-down and seedy, and I want to buy it and turn it into the best
hotel in Chicago." "Tell me the deal." Lara told him.
Keller sat there, thinking. "Let's run it past Bob Vance."
Bob Vance listened and made some notes. "It might be
possible," he
said, "but..." He looked at Lara. "Have you ever run a hotel before,
Miss Cameron?"
Lara thought about all the years of running the boardinghouse in Glace
Bay, making the beds, scrubbing the floors and doing the laundry and
the dishes, trying to please the different personalities and keep
peace.
"I ran a boardinghouse full of miners and lumbermen. A hotel will be a
cinch."
Howard Keller said, "I'd like to take a look at the property, Bob."
Lara's enthusiasm was irresistible. Howard Keller watched Lara's face
as they walked through the seedy hotel rooms, and he saw them through
her eyes.
"This will be a beautiful suite with a sauna," Lara said excitedly.
"The fireplace will be here, and the grand piano in that corner." She
began to pace back and forth.
"When affluent travelers come to Chicago, they stay at the best hotels,
but they're all the same-cold rooms without any character.
If we can
offer them something like this, even though it may cost a little more,
there's no doubt about which they'll choose. This will really be a
home away from home."
"I'm impressed," Howard Keller said.
Lara turned to him eagerly. "Do you think the bank will loan me the
money?"
"Let's find out."
Thirty minutes later Howard Keller was in a conference with Vance.
"What do you think about it?" Vance asked.
"I think the lady's on to something. I like her idea about a boutique
hotel."
"So do I. The only problem is that she's so young and inexperienced.
It's a gamble." They spent the next half hour discussing costs and
projected earnings.
"I think we should go ahead with it," Keller finally said. "We can't
lose." He grinned. "If worse comes to worst, you and I can move into
the hotel."
Howard Keller telephoned Lara at the Palmer House. "The bank has just
approved your loan."
Lara let out a shriek. "Do you mean it? That's wonderful! Oh, thank
you, thank you!"
"We have a few things to talk about," Howard Keller said. "Are you
free for dinner this evening?" "Yes."
"Fine. I'll pick you up at seven-thirty."
They had dinner at the Imperial House. Lara was so excited that she
barely touched her food.
"I can't tell you how thrilled I am," she said. "It's going to be the
most beautiful hotel in Chicago."
"Easy," Keller warned, "there's a long way to go."
He hesitated. "May I be frank with you, Miss Cameron?" "Lara."
"Lara. You're a dark horse. You have no track record." "In Glace Bay..."
"This isn't Glace Bay. To mix metaphors, it's a different ball
park."
"Then why is the bank doing this?" Lara asked.
"Don't get me wrong. We're not a charitable organization.
The worst
thing that can happen is that the bank will break even.
But I have a
feeling about you. I believe you're going to make it. I think there
could be a big upside. You don't intend to stop with this one hotel,
do you?"
"Of course not," Lara said.
"I didn't think so. What I want to say is that when we make a loan, we
don't usually get personally involved in the project. But in this case
I'd like to give you whatever help you might need."
And Howard Keller intended to get personally involved with
her. He had
been attracted to Lara from the moment he had seen her.
He was
captivated by her enthusiasm and determination. She was a beautiful
womanchild. He wanted desperately to impress her. Maybe,
Keller
thought, one day I'll tell her how close I came to being famous....
Chapter Eight.
It was the final game of the World Series, and Wrigley Field was packed
with 38,710 screaming fans. "It's the top of the ninth, with the score
Cubs one, Yankees zero. The Yankees are up at bat, with two outs. The
bases are loaded with Tony Kubek on first, Whitey Ford on second, and
Yogi Berra on third."
As Mickey Mantle stepped up to the plate, the crowd roared. "The Mick"
had hit .304 for the season and had forty-two home runs under his belt
for the year.
Jack Brickhouse, the Wrigley Field announcer, said, excitedly, "Oh,
oh... it looks like they're going to change pitchers.
They're taking
out Moe Drabowsky.... Cub Manager Bob Scheffing is talking to the
umpire... let's see who's coming in... it's Howard Keller!
Keller is
walking up to the pitcher's mound, and the crowd is screaming!
The whole burden of the World Series rests on this youngster's
shoulders. Can he strike out the great MickeyMantle? We'll know in a moment! Keller is on the mound now...
he looks around the loaded bases... takes a deep breath, and winds
up.
Here's the pitch... Mantle hauls back the bat... takes a swing, and
misses! Strike one!"
The crowd had become hushed. Mantle moved forward a little, his face
grim, his bat cocked, ready to swing.
Howard Keller checked the runners. The pressure was enormous, but he
seemed to be cool and composed. He turned to the catcher, looked in
for the sign, and wound up for another pitch.
"There's the windup and the pitch!" the announcer yelled. "It's
Keller's famous curve ball... Mantle swings on and misses!
Strike two!
If young Keller can strike out the Mick, the Chicago Cubs will win the
World Series!
We're watching David and Goliath, ladies and gentlemen!
Young Keller has only played in the big leagues for one year, but
during that time he has made an enviable reputation for himself Mickey
Mantle is Goliath... can the rookie Keller beat him?
Everything is
riding on this next pitch.
"Keller checks the runners again... here's the windup ... and here we
go! It's the curve... Mantle bails out as it curves right over the
heart of the plate... Strike three called!" The announcer
was
screaming now. "Mantle is caught looking! The mighty Mick has struck
out, ladies and gentlemen! Young Howard Keller struck out the great
Mickey Mantle! The game is over-the World Series belongs to the
Chicago Cubs! The fans are on their feet going crazy!"
On the field, Howard Keller's teammates raced up to him and picked him
up on their shoulders and started to cross the... "Howard, what in the world are you doing?"
"My homework, Mom." Guiltily the fifteen-year-old Howard Keller turned
off the television set. The ball game was almost over anyway.
Baseball was Howard's passion and his life. He knew that one day he
would play in the major leagues. At the age of six he was competing
against kids twice his age in stickball, and when he was twelve, he
began pitching for an American Legion team. When Howard was fifteen, a
scout for the Chicago Cubs was told about the young boy. "I've never
seen anything like him," his informant said. "The kid has an
outstanding curve, and a mean slider, and a change-up you wouldn't
believe!"
The scout was skeptical. Grudgingly, he said, "All right.
I'll take a
look at the kid." He went to the next American Legion game that Howard
Keller played in, and he became an instant convert. He sought out the
young boy after the game. "What do you want to do with your life,
son?"
"Play baseball," said Keller promptly.
"I'm glad to hear that. We're going to sign you to a contract with our
minor-league team."
Howard couldn't wait to tell his parents the exciting news.
The Kellers were a close-knit Catholic family. They went to mass every
Sunday, and they saw to it that their son attended church. Howard
Keller, Sr was a typewriter salesman, and he was on the road a great
deal.
When he was at home, he spent as much time as possible with his son.
Howard was close to both his parents. His mother made it a point to
attend all the ball games when her son was playing, and cheer him on.
Howard got his first glove and uniform when he was six years old.
Howard was a fanatic about baseball. He had an encyclopedic memory for
the statistics of games that were played before he was even born. He
knew all the stats of the winning pitchers-the strikes, the outs, the
number of saves and shutouts. He won money betting with his
schoolmates that he could name the starting pitchers in any team
lineup.
"Nineteen forty-nine."
"That's easy," Howard said. "Newcombe, Roe, Hatten, and Branca for the
Dodgers. Reynolds, Raschi, Byrne, and Lopat for the Yankees."
"All right," one of his teammates challenged. "Who played the most
consecutive games in major-league history?" The challenger was holding
the Guinness Book of Records in front of him.
Howard Keller didn't even pause. "Lou Gehrig-two thousand one hundred
thirty."
"Who had the record for the most shutouts?" "Walter Johnson-one hundred and thirteen." "Who hit the most home runs in his career?" "Babe Ruth-seven hundred and fourteen."
Word of the young player's ability began to circulate, and professional
scouts came to take a look at the young phenomenon who was playing on
the Chicago Cubs minor-league team. They were stunned. By the time
Keller was seventeen, he had been approached by scouts from the St.
Louis Cardinals and the Baltimore Orioles and the New York Yankees.
Howard's father was proud of him. "He takes after me," he would
boast.
"I used to play baseball when I was a youngster."
During the summer of his senior year in high school,
Howard Keller
worked as a junior clerk in a bank owned by one of the sponsors of his
American Legion team.
Howard was going steady with a pretty schoolmate named Betty Quinlan.
It was understood that when they finished college, they would get
married. Howard would talk baseball by the hour with her, and because
she cared for him, she listened patiently. Howard loved the anecdotes
about his favorite ballplayers, and every time he heard a new one, he
would rush to tell it to Betty.
"Casey Stengel said, 'The secret of managing is to keep the five guys
who hate you away from the five who are undecided."" "Someone asked
Yogi Berra what time it was, and he said, 'You mean right now?"' "And
when a player was hit in the shoulder by a pitched ball, his teammate
said, 'There's nothing wrong with his shoulder except some pain-and
pain doesn't hurt you."' Young Keller knew that he was soon going to
join the pantheon of the great players. But the gods had other plans
for him.
Howard came home from school one day with his best friend,
Jesse, who
played shortstop on the team. There were two letters waiting for
Keller. One offered him a baseball scholarship at Princeton, and the
other a baseball scholarship at Harvard.
"Gee, that's great!" Jesse said. "Congratulations!" And he meant it. Howard Keller was his idol.
"Which one do you think you're going to take?" Howard's
father asked.
"Why do I have to go to college at all?" Howard wondered. "I could
get on one of the big-league teams now."
His mother said firmly, "There's plenty of time for that, son. You're
going to get a good education first; then, when you're through playing
baseball, you'll be fit to do anything you like."
"All right," Howard said. "Harvard. Betty is going to Wellesley and I
can be near her."
Betty Quinlan was delighted when Howard told her what he had decided.
"We'll get to see each other over the weekends!" she said.
His buddy, Jesse, said, "I'm sure going to miss you."
The day before Howard Keller was to leave for the university, his
father ran off with the secretary of one of his customers. The young boy was stunned. "How could he do that?"
His mother was in shock. "He... he must be going through a change of
life," she stammered. "Your... your father loves me very much.
He'll... he'll come back. You'll see..."
The following day Howard's mother received a letter from an attorney,
formally stating that his client, Howard Keller, Sr wanted a divorce
and, since he had no money to pay for alimony, was willing to let his
wife have their small house.
Howard held his mother in his arms. "Don't worry, Mom,
I'm going to
stay here and take care of you."
"No. I don't want you to give up college for me. From the day you
were born, your father and I planned for you to go to college." Then
quietly, after a moment: "Let's talk about it in the morning. I'm very
tired."
Howard stayed up all night, thinking about his choices. He could go to
Harvard on a baseball scholarship or take one of the offers in the
major leagues. Either way he would be leaving his mother alone. It
was a difficult decision.
When his mother didn't appear at breakfast the next morning, Howard
went into her bedroom. She was sitting up in bed, unable to move, her
face pulled up on one side. She had suffered a stroke.
With no money to pay for the hospital or doctors, Howard went back to
work at the bank, full-time. He was finished at four o'clock, and each
afternoon he hurried home to take care of his mother.
It was a mild stroke, and the doctor assured Howard that in time his
mother would be fine .""She's had a terrible shock, but she's going to
recover.
Howard still got calls from scouts from the major leagues, but he knew
that he could not leave his mother.
I'll go when she's better, he told himself. The medical bills kept piling up.
In the beginning he talked to Betty Quinlan once a week, but after a
few months the calls became less and less frequent.
Howard's mother did not seem to be improving. Howard talked to the
doctor. "When is she going to be all right?"
"In a case like this, it's hard to tell, son. She could go on for
months like this, or even years. Sorry I can't be more specific."
The year ended and another began, and Howard was still living with his
mother and working at the bank. One day he received a letter from
Betty Quinlan, telling him that she had fallen in love with someone
else and that she hoped his mother was feeling better.
The calls from
scouts became less frequent and finally stopped altogether. Howard's
life centered on taking care of his mother. He did the shopping and
the cooking and carried on with his job. He no longer thought about
baseball. It was difficult enough just getting through each day.
When his mother died four years later, Howard Keller was no longer
interested in baseball. He was now a banker. His chance of fame had vanished.
Chapter Nine.
oward Keller and Lara were having dinner. "How do we get started?" Lara asked.
"First of all, we're going to get you the best team money can buy.
We'll start out with a real estate lawyer to work out the contract with
the Diamond brothers. Then we want to get you a top architect. I have
someone in mind.
After that, we want to hire a top construction company.
I've done a little arithmetic of my own. The soft costs for the
project will come to about three hundred thousand dollars a room. The
cost of the hotel will be about seven million dollars. If we plan it
right, it can work."
The architect's name was Ted Tuttle, and when he heard Lara's plans, he
grinned and said, "Bless you. I've been waiting for someone to come
along with an idea like this."
Ten working days later he had rendered his drawings. They were
everything Lara had dreamed of.
"Originally the hotel had a hundred and twenty-five rooms," the
architect said. "As you can see, I've cut it down to seventy-five
keys, as you've asked."
In the drawing there were fifty suites and twenty-five deluxe rooms.
"It's perfect," Lara said.
Lara showed the plans to Howard Keller. He was equally enthusiastic.
"Let's go to work. I've set up a meeting with a contractor. His name
is Steve Rice."
Steve Rice was one of the top contractors in Chicago.
Lara liked him immediately. He was a rugged, nononsense, down-to-earth
type.
Lara said, "Howard Keller tells me that you're the best."
"He's right," Rice said. "Our motto is 'We build for posterity.""
"That's a good motto."
Rice grinned. "I just made it up."
The first step was to break down each element into a series of
drawings. The drawings were sent to potential subcontractors: steel
manufacturers, bricklayers, window companies, electrical contractors.
All in all, more than sixty subcontractors were involved.
The day escrow closed, Howard Keller took the afternoon off to
celebrate with Lara.
"Does the bank mind your taking this time off?" Lara asked.
"No," Keller lied. "It's part of my job." The truth was that he was
enjoying this more than he had enjoyed anything in years.
He loved
being with Lara: he loved talking to her, looking at her.
He wondered
how she felt about marriage.
Lara said, "I read this morning that they've almost completed the Sears
Tower. It's a hundred and ten stories-the tallest building in the
world."
"That's right," Keller said.
Lara said gravely, "Someday I'm going to build a higher one, Howard."
He believed her.
They were having lunch with Steve Rice at the Whitehall. "Tell me what
happens next," Lara asked.
"Well," Rice said, "first we're going to clean up the interior of the
building. We'll keep the marble. We'll remove all the windows and gut
the bathrooms. We'll take out the electrical risers for the
installation of the new electrical wiring and update the plumbing.
When the demolition company is through, we'll be ready to begin
building your hotel."
"How many people will be working on it?"
Rice laughed. "A mob, Miss Cameron. There'll be a window team, a
bathroom team, a corridor team. These teams work floor by floor,
usually from the top floor down.
The hotel is scheduled to have two restaurants, and you'll have room
service."
"How long is all this going to take?"
"I would say-equipped and furnished-eighteen months."
"I'll give you a bonus if you finish it in a year," Lara told him.
"Great. The Congressional should..."
"I'm changing the name. It's going to be called the Cameron Palace."
Lara felt a thrill just saying the words.
It was almost a sexual feeling. Her name was going to be on a building
for all the world to see.
At six o'clock on a rainy September morning, the reconstruction of the
hotel began. Lara was at the site eagerly watching as the workmen
trooped into the lobby and began to tear it apart. To Lara's surprise, Howard Keller appeared. "You're up early," Lara said.
"I couldn't sleep." Keller grinned. "I have a feeling this is the
beginning of something big."
Twelve months later the Cameron Palace opened to rave reviews and land
office business.
The architectural critic for the Chicago Tribune wrote, "Chicago
finally has a hotel that lives up to the motto 'Your home away from
home!" Lara Cameron is someone to keep an eye on. "
By the end of the first month the hotel was full and had a
long waiting list.
Howard Keller was enthusiastic. "At this rate," he said, "the hotel
will be paid off in twelve years. That's wonderful. We..."
"Not good enough," Lara said. "I'm raising the rates." She saw the expression on Keller's face. "Don't worry.
They'll pay it. Where else can they get two fireplaces, a sauna, and a
grand piano?"
Two weeks after the Cameron Palace opened, Lara had a meeting with Bob
Vance and Howard Keller.
"I found another great site for a hotel," Lara said.
"It's going to be like the Cameron Palace, only bigger and better."
Howard Keller grinned. "I'll take a look at it." The site was perfect, but there was a problem.
"You're too late," the broker told Lara. "A developer named Steve
Murchison was here this morning, and he made me an ofller.
Ne's going to buy it."
"How much did he offer?" "Three million."
"I'll give you four. Draw up the papers." The broker blinked only once. "Right."
Lara received a telephone call the following afternoon.
"Lara Cameron?" "Yes."
"This is Steve Murchison. I'm going to let it go this time, bitch,
because I don't think you know what the hell you're doing.
But in the
future stay out of my way-you could get hurt." And the line went dead.
It was 1974, and momentous events were occurring around the world.
President Nixon resigned to avoid impeachment, and Gerald Ford stepped
into the White House. OPEC ended its oil embargo, and Isabel Peron
became the president of Argentina. And in Chicago Lara started
construction on her second hotel, the Chicago Cameron Plaza. It was
completed eighteen months later, and it was an even bigger success than
the Cameron Palace. There was no stopping Lara after that. As Forbes
magazine was to write later, "Lara Cameron is a phenomenon. Her
innovations are changing the concept of hotels. Miss Cameron has
invaded the traditionally male turf of real estate developers and has
proved that a woman can outshine them all."
Lara received a telephone call from Charles Colin.
"Congratulations," he said. "I'm proud of you. I've never had a
protegee before."
"I've never had a mentor before. Without you, none of this would have
happened."
"You would have found a way," Colin said.
* * In 1975 the movie Jaws swept the country, and people stopped going
into the ocean. The world population passed four billion, reduced by
one when Teamster President James Hoffa disappeared. When Lara heard
the four billion population figure, she said to Keller, "Do you have
any idea how much housing that would require?" He was not sure whether she was joking.
Over the next three years, two apartment buildings and a condominium
were completed. "I want to put up an office building next," Lara told
Keller, "right in the heart of the Loop."
"There's an interesting piece of property coming on the market," Keller
told her. "If you like it, we'll finance you.
That afternoon they went to look at it. It was on the waterfront, in a
choice location.
"What's it going to cost?" Lara asked.
"I've done the numbers. It will come to a hundred and twenty million
dollars."
Lara swallowed. "That scares me."
"Lara, in real estate the name of the game is to borrow.
Otherpeople's money, Lara thought. That's what Bill Rogers had told
her at the boardinghouse. All that seemed so long ago, and so much had
happened since then. And it's only the beginning, Lara thought. It's
only the beginning.
"Some developers put up buildings with almost no cash of their own."
"I'm listening."
"The idea is to rent or resell the building for enough money to pay off
the debt on it, and still have money left over to buy some more
property with that cash, and borrow more money for another property.
It's an inverted pyramid-a real estate pyramid-that you can build on a
very small initial cash investment." "I understand," Lara said.
"Of course, you have to be careful. The pyramid is built on paper-the
mortgages. If anything goes wrong, if the profit from one investment
fails to cover the debt on the next one, the pyramid can topple and
bury you."
"Right. How can I acquire the waterfront property?"
"We'll set up ajoint venture for you. I'll talk to Vance about it. If
it's too big for our bank to handle, we'll go to an insurance company
or a savings and loan. You'll take out a fifty-million-dollar mortgage
loan. You'll get their mortgage coupon rate-that would be five million
and a ten percent rate, plus amortization on the mortgageand they'll be
your partners. They'll take the first ten percent of the earnings, but
you'll get your property, fully financed. You can get your cash repaid
and keep one hundred percent of the depreciation, because financial
institutions have no use for losses." Lara was listening, absorbing every word. "Are you with me so far?"
"I'm with you."
"In five or six years, after the building is leased, you sell it. If
the property sells for seventy-five million, after you pay off the
mortgage, you'Il net twelve and a half million dollars. Besides that,
you'll have a tax-sheltered earning stream of eight million in
depreciation that you can use to reduce taxes on other income. All of
this for a cash investment of ten million." "That's fantastic!" Lara said.
Keller grinned. "The government wants you to make money." "How would you like to make some money, Howard?
Some real money?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I want you to come to work for me."
Keller was suddenly quiet. He knew he was facing one of the most
important decisions of his life, and it had nothing to do with money.
It was Lara. He had fallen in love with her. There had been one
painful episode when he had tried to tell her. He had
practiced his
marriage proposal all night, and the following morning he had gone to
her and stammered, "Lara, I love you," and before he could say more,
she had kissed him on the cheek and said, "I love you, too, Howard.
Take a look at this new production schedule." And he had not had the
nerve to try again.
Now she was asking him to be her partner. He would be working near her
every day, unable to touch her, unable to... "Do you believe in me, Howard?"
"I'd be crazy not to, wouldn't I?"
"I'll pay you twice whatever you're making now, and give you five
percent of the company."
"Can I... can I think about it?"
"There's really nothing to think about, is there?" He made his decision. "I guess not... partner."
Lara gave him a hug. "That's wonderful! You and I are going to build
beautiful things. There are so many ugly buildings around. There's no
excuse for them. Every building should be a tribute to this city."
He put his hand on her arm. "Don't ever change, Lara." She looked at him hard.
"I won't." Chapter Ten.
The late 1970s were years of growth and change and excitement. In 1976
there was a successful Israeli raid on Entebbe, and Mao Zedong died,
and James Earl Carter, Jr was elected President of the United States.
Lara erected another office building.
In 1977 Charlie Chaplin died, and Elvis Presley temporarily died.
Lara built the largest shopping mall in Chicago.
In 1978 Reverend Jim Jones and 911 followers committed mass suicide in
Guyana. The United States recognized Communist China, and the Panama
Canal treaties were ratified.
Lara built a series of high-rise condominiums in Rogers Park.
In 1979 Israel and Egypt signed a peace treaty at Camp David, there was
a nuclear accident at Three-Mile Island, and Muslim fundamentalists
seized the United States Embassy in Iran.
Lara built a skyscraper and a glamorous resort and country club in
Deerfield, north of Chicago.
Lara seldom went out socially, and when she did, she usually went to a
club where jazz was played. She liked Andy's, a club where the top
jazz artists performed. She listened to Von Freeman, the great
saxophonist, and Eric Schneider, and reed man Anthony Braxton, and Art
Hodes at the piano.
Lara had no time to feel lonely. She spent every day with her family:
the architects and the construction crew, the carpenters, the
electricians and surveyors and plumbers. She was obsessed with the
buildings she was putting up. Her stage was Chicago, and she was the
star.
Her professional life was proceeding beyond her wildest dreams, but she
had no personal life. Her experience with Sean MacAllister had soured
her on sexual relationships, and she never met anyone she was
interested in seeing for more than an evening or two. In the back of
Lara's mind was an elusive image, someone she had once met and wanted
to meet again. But she could never seem to capture it.
For a fleeting
moment she would recall it, and then it was gone.
There were plenty of suitors. They ranged from business executives to
oilmen to poets, and even included some of her employees.
Lara was
pleasant to all of the men, but she never permitted any relationship to
go further than a good-night handshake at the door.
But then Lara found herself attracted to Pete Ryan, the head foreman on
one of Lara's building jobs, a handsome, strapping young man with an
Irish brogue and a quick smile, and Lara started visiting the project
Ryan was working on more and more often. They would talk about
construction problems, but underneath they were both aware that they
were speaking about other things.
"Are you going to have dinner with me?" Ryan asked. The word "dinner" was stretched out slowly.
Lara felt her heart give a little jump. "Yes."
Ryan picked Lara up at her apartment, but they never got to dinner.
"My God, you're a lovely thing," he said. And his strong arms went
around her.
She was ready for him. Their foreplay had been going on for months.
Ryan picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. They undressed
together, quickly, urgently.
He had a lean, hard build, and Lara had a quick mental picture of Sean
MacAllister's heavy, pudgy body. The next moment she was in bed and
Ryan was on top of her, his hands and tongue all over her, and she
cried aloud with the joy of what was happening to her.
When they were both spent, they lay in each other's arms. "My God,"
Ryan said softly, "you're a bloody miracle." "So are you," Lara whispered.
She could not remember when she had been so happy.
Ryan was everything she wanted. He was intelligent and warm, and they
understood each other, they spoke the same language. Ryan squeezed her hand. "I'm starved."
"So am I. I'll make us some sandwiches."
"Tomorrow night," Ryan promised, "I'll take you out for a proper
dinner."
Lara held him close. "It's a date."
The following morning Lara went to visit Ryan at the building site.
She could see him high up on one of the steel girders, giving orders to
his men. As Lara walked toward the work elevator, one of the workmen
grinned at her. "Mornin', Miss Cameron." There was an odd note in his
voice.
Another workman passed her and grinned. "Mornin', Miss Cameron."
Two other workmen were leering at her. "Morning, boss."
Lara looked around. Other workmen were watching her, all smirking.
Lara's face turned red. She stepped into the work elevator and rode up
to the level where Ryan was. As she stepped out, Ryan saw her and
smiled.
"Morning, sweetheart," Ryan said. "What time is dinner tonight?"
"You'll starve first," Lara said fiercely. "You're fired."
Every building Lara put up was a challenge. She erected small office
buildings with floor spaces of five thousand square feet, and large
office buildings and hotels. But no matter what type of building it
was, the most important thing to her was the location.
Bill Rogers had been right. Location, location, location.
Lara's empire kept expanding. She was beginning to get recognition
from the city fathers and from the press and the public.
She was a
glamorous figure, and when she went to charity events or to the opera
or a museum, photographers were always eager to take her picture. She
began to appear in the media more and more often. All her buildings
were successes, and still she was not satisfied. It was as though she
were waiting for something wonderful to happen to her, waiting for a
door to open, waiting to be touched by some unknown magic. Keller was puzzled. "What do you want, Lara?"
"More."
And it was all he could get out of her.
One day Lara said to Keller, "Howard, do you know how much we're paying
every month for janitors and linen service and window washers?"
"It goes with the territory," Keller said. "Then let's buy the territory."
"What are you talking about?"
"We're going to start a subsidiary. We'll supply those services to
ourselves and to other builders."
The idea was a success from the beginning. The profits kept pouring
in.
It seemed to Keller that Lara had built an emotional wall around
herself. He was closer to her than anyone else, and yet Lara never
spoke to him about her family or her background. It was as though she
had emerged full blown out of the mists of nowhere. In the beginning
Keller had been Lara's mentor, teaching her and guiding her, but now
Lara made all the decisions alone. The pupil had outgrown the
teacher.
Lara let nothing stand in her way. She was becoming an irresistible
force, and there was no stopping her. She was a perfectionist. She
knew what she wanted and insisted on getting it.
At first some of the workmen tried to take advantage of her. They had
never worked for a woman before, and the idea amused them.
They were
in for a shock. When Lara caught one of the foremen pencil-whipping-signing off for work that had not been done-she called
him in front of the crew and fired him. She was at the building site
every morning. The crew would arrive at six o'clock and find Lara
already there, waiting for them. There was rampant sexism. The men
would wait until Lara was in earshot and exchange lewd jokes.
"Did you hear about the talking pussy at the farm? It fell in love with a cock and..."
"So the little girl said, 'Can you get pregnant swallowing a man's
seed?" And her mama said, 'No. From that, darling, you get
jewelry...
There were some overt gestures. Occasionally one of the workmen
passing Lara would "accidentally" brush his arm across her breasts or
press against her bottom. "Oops, sorry."
"No problem," Lara said. "Pick up your check and get out ofhere."
Their amusement eventually began to change to respect.
One day, when Lara was driving along Kedzie Avenue with Howard Keller,
she came to a block filled with small shops. She stopped the car.
"This block is being wasted," Lara said. "There should be a high rise
here. These little shops can't bring much of an income."
"Yeah, but the problem is, you'd have to persuade every one of these
tenants to sell out," Keller said. "Some of them may not want to."
"We can buy them out," Lara declared.
"Lara, if even one tenant refuses to sell, you could be stuck for a
bundle. You'll have bought a lot of little shops you don't want and
you won't be able to put up your building. And if the tenants get wind
that a big high rise is going up here, they'll hold you up."
"We won't let them know what we're doing," Lara said. She was
beginning to get excited. "We'll have different people approach the
owners of the shops."
"I've been through this before," Keller warned. "If word leaks out,
they're going to gouge you for every penny they can get."
"Then we'll have to be careful. Let's get an option on the
property."
The block on Kedzie Avenue consisted of more than a dozen small stores
and shops. There was a bakery, a hardware store, a barbershop, a
clothing store, a butcher, a tailor, a drugstore, a stationery store, a
coffee shop, and a variety of other businesses.
"Don't forget the risk," Keller warned Lara. "If there's one holdout,
you've lost all the money you've put in to buy those businesses."
"Don't worry," Lara said. "I'll handle it."
A week later a stranger walked into the two-chair barbershop. The
barber was reading a magazine. As the door opened, he looked up and
nodded. "Can I help you, sir? Haircut?"
The stranger smiled. "No," he said. "I just arrived in town. I had a
barbershop in New Jersey, but my wife wanted to move here to be near
her mother. I'm looking for a shop I can buy."
"This is the only barbershop in the neighborhood," the barber said.
"It's not for sale."
The stranger smiled. "When you come right down to it, everything's for
sale, isn't it? At the right price, of course. What's this shop
worth-about fifty, sixty thousand dollars?" "Something like that," the barber admitted.
"I really am anxious to have my own shop again. I'll tell you what.
I'll give you seventy-five thousand dollars for this place."
"No, I couldn't think of selling it." "A hundred."
"Really, mister, I don't..."
"And you can take all the equipment with you."
The barber was staring at him. "You'll give me a hundred thousand and
let me take the barber chairs and the rest of the equipment?"
"That's right. I have my own equipment."
"Can I think about it? I'll have to talk to my wife." "Sure. I'll drop back tomorrow."
Two days later the barbershop was acquired. "That's one down," Lara said.
The bakery was next. It was a small family bakery owned by a husband
and wife. The ovens in the back room permeated the store with the
smell of fresh bread. A woman was talking to one of the owners.
"My husband died and left me his insurance money.
We had a bakery in Florida. I've been looking for a place just like
this. I'd like to buy it."
"It's a comfortable living," the owner said. "My wife and I have never
thought about selling."
"If you were interested in selling, how much would you want?"
The owner shrugged. "I don't know."
"Would you say the bakery's worth sixty thousand dollars?" "Oh, at least seventy-five," the owner said.
"I'll tell you what," the woman said. "I'll give you a hundred
thousand dollars for it."
The owner stared at her. "Are you serious?" "I've never been more serious in my life."
The next morning Lara said, "That's two down."
The rest of the deals went just as smoothly. They had a dozen men and
women going around impersonating tailors, bakers, pharmacists, and
butchers. Over the period of the next six months Lara bought out the
stores, then hired people to come in and run the different operations.
The architects had already started to draw up plans for the high
rise.
Lara was studying the latest reports. "It looks like we've done it,"
she told Keller.
"I'm afraid we have a problem."
"Why? The only one left is the coffee shop."
"That's our problem. He's there on a five-year lease, but he won't
give up the lease." "Offer him more money..."
"He says he won't give it up at any price."
Lara was staring at him. "Does he know about the high rise going
up?" "No."
"All right. I'll go talk to him. Don't worry, he'll get out. Find
out who owns the building he's" The following morning Lara paid a visit
to the site.
Haley's Coffee Shop was at the far end of the southwest corner of the
block The shop was small, with half a dozen stools along the counter
and four booths. A man Lara presumed to be the proprietor was behind
the counter.
He appeared to be in his late sixties. Lara sat down at a booth.
"Morning,' the man said pleasantly. "What can I bring you?"
"Orange juice and coffee, please." "Coming up."
She watched him squeeze some fresh orange juice.
"My waitress didn't show up today. Good help's hard to get these
days." He poured the coffee and came from behind the counter. He was
in a wheelchair. He had no legs. Lara watched silently as he brought
the coffee and orange juice to the table.
"Thank you," Lara said She looked around. "Nice place you have
here."
"Yep. I like it."
"How I ong have you been here?"
"Ten years "Did you ever think of retiring?"
He shook his head. "You're the second person who asked me that this
week. No, I'll never retire."
"Maybe they didn't offer you enough money," Lara suggested.
"It has nothing to do with money, miss Before I came here,
I spent two
years in a veterans hospital No lrienri<.
Not much point to life. And then someone talked me into leasing this
place." He smiled. "It changed my whole life.
All the people in the neighborhood drop in here. They've become my
friends, almost like my family. It's given me a reason for living."
He shook his head. "No. Money has nothing to do with it.
Can I bring
you more coffee?"
Lara was in a meeting with Howard Keller and the
architect. "We don't
even have to buy out his lease," Keller was saying. "I just talked to
the landlord. There's a forfeiture clause if the coffee shop doesn't
gross a certain amount each month. For the last few months he's been
under that gross, so we can close him out."
Lara turned to the architect. "I have a question for you." She looked
down at the plans spread out on the table and pointed to the southwest
corner of the drawing.
"What if we built a setback here, eliminated this little area and let
the coffee shop stay? Could the building still be put up?"
The architect studied the plan. "I suppose so. I could slope that
side of the building and counterbalance it on the other side. Of
course, it would look better if we didn't have to do that..."
"But it could work," Lara pressed. "Yes."
Keller said, "Lara, I told you we can force him out of there."
Lara shook her head. "We've bought up the rest of the block, haven't
we?"
Keller nodded. "You bet. You're the proud owner of a clothing store,
a tailor shop, a stationery store, a drugstore, a bakery, a..."
"All right," Lara said. "The tenants of the new high rise
are going to
have a coffee shop to drop in on. And so do we. Haley stays."
On her father's birthday Lara said to Keller, "Howard, I want you to do
me a favor." "Sure."
"I want you to go to Scotland for me."
"Are we going to build something in Scotland?" "We're going to buy a castle."
He stood there, listening.
"There's a place in the Highlands called Loch Morlich.
It's on the
road to Glenmore near Aviemore. There are castles all around there.
Buy one."
"Kind of a summer home?"
"I don't plan to live in it. I want to bury my father in the
grounds."
Keller said, slowly, "You want me to buy a castle in Scotland to bury
your father in?"
"That's right. I haven't time to go over myself. You're the only one
I can trust to do it. My father is in the Greenwood Cemetery at Glace
Bay."
It was the first real insight Keller ever had into Lara's feelings
about her family.
"You must have loved your father very much." "Will you do it for me?"
"Certainly."
"After he's buried, arrange for a caretaker to tend the grave."
Three weeks later Keller returned from Scotland and said, "It's all
taken care of. You own a castle. Your father's resting in the
grounds. It's a beautiful place near the hills and with a small lake
close by. You'll love it. When are you going over?" Lara looked up in surprise. "Me? I'm not," she said. Chapter Eleven.
In 1984 Lara Cameron decided that the time had come to conquer New
York. When she told Keller her plan, he was appalled.
"I don't like the idea," he said flatly. "You don't know New York.
Neither do I. It's a different city, Lara. We..."
"That's what they told me when I came from Glace Bay to Chicago," Lara
pointed out. "Buildings are the same whether you put them up in Glace
Bay, Chicago, New York, or Tokyo. We all play by the same rules."
"But you're doing so great here," Keller protested. "What is it you want?"
"I told you. More. I want my name up on the New York skyline. I'm
going to build a Cameron Plaza there, and a Cameron Center. And one
day, Howard, I'm going to build the tallest skyscraper in the world.
That's what I want. Cameron Enterprises is moving to New York."
New York was in the middle of a building boom, and it was peopled by
real estate giants-the Zeckendorfs, Harry Helmsley, Donald Trump, the
Urises, and the Rudins.
"We're going to join the club," Lara told Keller.
They checked into the Regency and began to explore the city. Lara
could not get over the size and dynamics of the bustling metropolis.
It was a canyon of skyscrapers, with rivers of cars running through
it.
"It makes Chicago look like Glace Bay!" Lara said. She could not wait to get started.
"The first thing we're going to do is assemble a team.
We'll find the best real estate lawyer in New York. Then a great
management team. Find out who Rudin uses. See if you can lure them
away." "Right."
Lara said, "Here's a list of buildings I like the looks of. Find out
who the architects are. I want to meet with them." Keller was beginning to feel Lara's excitement. "I'll
open up a line
of credit with the banks. With the assets we have in Chicago, that
won't be any problem. I'll make contacts with some savings and loan
companies and some real estate brokers." "Fine."
"Lara, before we start to get involved in all this, don't you think you
should decide what your next project is going to be?"
Lara looked up and asked innocently, "Didn't I tell you?
We're going
to buy Manhattan Central Hospital."
Several days earlier Lara had gone to a hairdresser on Madison
Avenue.
While she was having her hair done, she had overheard a conversation in
the next booth.
"We're going to miss you, Mrs. Walker."
"Same here, Darlene. How long have I been coming here?" "Almost fifteen years."
"Time certainly flies, doesn't it? I'm going to miss New York."
"When will you be leaving?"
"Right away. We just got the closing notice this morning.
Imagine-a
hospital like Manhattan Central closing down because they've run out of
cash. I've been supervisor there for almost twenty years, and they
send me a memo telling me I'm through! You'd think they'd have the
decency to do it in person, wouldn't you? What's the world coming
to?"
Lara was now listening intently.
"I haven't seen anything about the closing in the papers." "No. They're keeping it quiet. They want to break the
news to the employees first."
Her beautician was in the middle of blow-drying Lara's hair. Lara
started to get up.
"I'm not through yet, Miss Cameron." "Never mind," Lara said, "I'm in a hurry."
Manhattan Central Hospital was a dilapidated, uglylooking building
located on the East Side, and it took up an entire block.
Lara stared
at it for a long time, and what she was seeing in her mind was a
majestic new skyscraper with chic retail stores on the ground floor and
luxury condominiums on the upper floors.
Lara walked into the hospital and asked the name of the corporation
that owned it. She was sent to the offices of a Roger Burnham on Wall
Street.
'What can I do for you, Miss Cameron?"
"I hear that Manhattan Central Hospital is for sale."
He looked at her in surprise. "Where did you hear that?" "Is it true?"
He hedged. "It might be."
"I might be interested in buying it," Lara said. "What's your price?"
"Look, lady... I don't know you from Adam. You can't walk in off the
street and expect me to discuss a ninety-million-dollar deal with
you.
I..."
"Ninety million?" Lara had a feeling it was high, but she wanted that
site. It would be an exciting beginning. "Is that what we're talking about?" "We're not talking about anything."
Lara handed Roger Burnham a hundred-dollar bill. "What's this for?"
"That's for a forty-eight-hour option. All I'm asking is forty-eight
hours. You weren't ready to announce that it was for sale anyway.
What can you lose? If I meet your asking price, you've got what you
wanted."
"I don't know anything about you."
"Call the Mercantile Bank in Chicago. Ask for Bob Vance.
He's the president."
He stared at her for a long moment, shook his head, and muttered
something with the word "crazies" in it.
He looked up the telephone number himself. Lara sat there while his
secretary got Bob Vance for him.
"Mr. Vance? This is Roger Burnham in New York. I have a Miss..." He
looked up at her. "Lara Cameron."
"Lara Cameron here. She's interested in buying a property of ours
here, and she says that you know her." He sat there listening.
"She is...? I see. ... Really...? No, I wasn't aware of that....
Right. ... Right." After a long time he said, "Thank you very
much."
He replaced the receiver and stared at Lara. "You seem to have made
quite an impression in Chicago."
"I intend to make quite an impression in New York."
Burnham looked at the hundred-dollar bill. "What am I supposed to do
with this?"
"Buy yourself some Cuban cigars. Do I have the option if I meet your
price?"
He sat there, studying her. "It's a little unorthodox ... but yes.
I'll give you forty-eight hours."
"We have to move fast on this," Lara had told Keller.
"We have forty-eight hours to line up our financing." "Do you have any figures on it?"
"Ball park. Ninety million for the property, and I estimate another
two hundred million to demolish the hospital and put up the
building."
Keller was staring at her. "That's two hundred and ninety million
dollars."
"You were always quick with figures," Lara said.
He ignored it. "Lara, where's that kind of money coming from?"
"We'll borrow it," Lara said. "Between my collateral in Chicago and
the new property, it shouldn't be any problem." "It's a big risk. A hundred things could go wrong. You'll be gambling everything you have on..."
"That's what makes it exciting," Lara said, "the gamble.
And winning."
Getting financing for a building in New York was even simpler than in
Chicago. Mayor Koch had instituted a tax program called the 421-A, and
under it a developer replacing a functionally obsolete building could
claim tax exemptions, with the first two years tax-free.
When the banks and savings and loan companies checked on Lara Cameron's
credit, they were more than eager to do business with her.
Before forty-eight hours had passed, Lara walked into Burnham's office
and handed him a check for three million dollars.
"This is a down payment on the deal," Lara said. "I'm meeting your
asking price. By the way, you can keep the hundred dollars."
During the next six months Keller worked with banks on financing, and
Lara worked with architects on planning.
Everything was proceeding smoothly. The architects and builders and
marketing people were on schedule.
Work was to begin on the demolition of the hospital and the
construction of the new building in April.
Lara was restless. At six o'clock every morning she was at the
construction site watching the new building going up. She felt
frustrated because at this stage the building belonged to the
workmen.
There was nothing for her to do. She was used to more action. She
liked to have half a dozen projects going at once.
"Why don't we look around for another deal?" Lara asked Keller.
"Because you're up to your ears in this one. f you even breathe hard,
this whole thing is going to collapse.
Do you know you've leveraged every penny youhave to put this building
up? If anything goes wrong...
"Nothing is going to go wrong." She was watching his expression.
"What's bothering you?"
"The deal you made with the savings and loan company..." "What about it? We got our financing, didn't we?"
"I don't like the completion date clause. If the building's not
finished by March fifteenth, they'll take it over, and you stand to
lose everything you have."
Lara thought of the building she had put up in Glace Bay and how her
friends had pitched in and finished it for her. But this was
different.
"Don't worry," she told Keller. "The building will be finished. Are
you sure we can't look around for another project?" Lara was talking to the marketing people.
"The downstairs retail stores are already signed up," the marketing
manager told Lara. "And more than half the condominiums have been
taken. We estimate we'll ú have sold three fourths of them before the
building is finished, and the rest of them shortly after."
"I want them all sold before the building is completed," Lara said.
"Step up the advertising." "Very well."
Keller came into the office. "I have to hand it to you, Lara. You
were right. The building's on schedule." "This is going to be a money machine."
On January 15, sixty days before the date of completion, the huge
girders and walls were finished, and the workers were already
installing the electrical wiring and plumbing lines.
Lara stood there watching the men working on the girders high above.
One of the workmen stopped to pull out a pack of cigarettes, and as he
did so, a wrench slipped from his hand and fell to the ground far
below. Lara watched in disbelief as the wrench came hurtling down
toward her. She leaped out of the way, her heart pounding. The
workman was looking down. He waved a "sorry."
Grim-faced, Lara got into the construction elevator and took it to the
level where the workman was. Ignoring the dizzying empty space below,
she walked across the scaffolding to the man. "Did you drop that wrench?"
"Yeah, sorry."
She slapped him hard across the face. "You're fired. Now get off my building."
"Key," he said, "it was an accident. I..." "Get out of here."
The man glared at her for a moment, then walked away and took the
elevator down.
Lara took a deep breath to control herself. The other workers were
watching her.
"Get back to work," she ordered.
Lara was having lunch with Sam Gosden, the New York attorney who
handled her contracts for her.
"I hear everything's going very well," Gosden said.
Lara smiled. "Better than very well. We're only a few weeks away from
completion."
"Can I make an admission?"
"Yes, but be careful not to incriminate yourself." He laughed. "I was betting that you couldn't do it." "Really? Why?"
"Real estate development on the level where you're operating is a man's
game. The only women who should be in real estate are the little old
blue-haired ladies who sell co-ops."
"So you were betting against me," Lara said. Sam Gosden smiled. "Yeah."
Lara leaned forward. "Sam..." "Yes?"
"No one on my team bets against me. You're fired."
He sat there openmouthed as Lara got up and walked out of the
restaurant.
On the following Monday morning, as Lara drove toward the building
site, she sensed that something was wrong. And suddenly she realized
what it was. It was the silence. There were no sounds of hammers or
drills. When Lara arrived at the construction site, she stared in
disbelief. The workmen were collecting their equipment and leaving.
The foreman was packing up his things. Lara hurried up to him.
"What's going on?" Lara demanded. "It's only seven o'clock."
"I'm pulling the men."
"What are you talking about?"
"There's been a complaint, Miss Cameron." "What kind of complaint?"
"Did you slap one of the workmen?"
"What?" She had forgotten. "Yes. He deserved it. I fired him."
"Did the city give you a license to go around slapping the people who
work for you?"
"Wait a minute," Lara said. "It wasn't like that. He dropped a
wrench. It almost killed me. I suppose I lost my temper. I'm sorry,
but I don't want him back here."
"He won't be coming back here," the foreman said. "None of us will."
Lara stared at him. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"My union doesn't think it's a joke," the foreman told her. y gave us
orders to walk. g)) "You have a contract."
"You broke it," the foreman told her. "If you have any complaints,
take it up with the union." He started to walk away.
"Wait a minute. I said I'm sorry. I'll tell you what. I
... I'm
willing to apologize to the man, and he can have his job back."
"Miss Cameron, I don't think you get the picture. He doesn't want his
job back. We've all got other jobs waiting for us. This is a busy
city. And I'll tell you something else, lady. We're too goddamn busy
to let our bosses slap us around."
Lara stood there watching him walk away. It was her worst nightmare.
Lara hurried back to the office to tell the news to Keller.
Before she could speak, he said, "I heard. I've been on the phone
talking to the union."
"What did they say?" Lara asked eagerly. "They're going to hold a hearing next month."
Lara's face filled with dismay. "Next month! We've got less than two
months to finish the building."
"I told them that."
"And what did they say?"
"That it's not their problem."
Lara sank onto the couch. "Oh, my God. What are we going to do?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe we could persuade the bank to..." She saw the look on his
face.
"I guess not." Lara suddenly brightened. "I know. We'll hire another
construction crew and.
"Lara, there isn't a union worker who will touch that building."
"I should have killed that bastard."
"Right. That would have helped a lot," Keller said dryly.
Lara got up and began pacing. "I could ask Sam Gosden to..." She
suddenly remembered. "No, I fired him." "Why?"
"Never mind."
Keller was thinking aloud. "Maybe if we got hold of a good labor
lawyer... someone with clout."
"That's a good idea. Someone who can move fast. Do you know
anybody?"
"No. But Sam Gosden mentioned someone in one of our meetings. A man
named Martin. Paul Martin." "Who is he?"
"I'm not sure, but we were talking about union problems, and his name
came up."
"Do you know what firm he's with?" "No."
Lara buzzed her secretary. "Kathy, there's a lawyer in Manhattan named
Paul Martin. Get me his address."
Keller said, "Don't you want his phone number so you can make an
appointment?"
"There's no time. I can't afford to sit around waiting for an
appointment. I'm going to see him today. If he can help us, fine. If
he can't, we'll have to come up with something else." But Lara was thinking to herself, There is nothing else. Chapter Twelve.
Paul Martin's office was on the twenty-fifth floor in an office building
on Wall Street.
The frosted sign on the door read, PAUL MARTIN, ATTORNEY AT LAw.
Lara took a deep breath and stepped inside. The reception office was
smaller than she had expected. It contained one scarred desk with a
bottle-blond secretary behind it. "Good morning. Can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Mr. Martin," Lara said. "Is he expecting you?"
"Yes, he is." There was no time for explanations. "And your name?"
"Cameron. Lara Cameron."
The secretary looked at her quizzically. "Just a moment.
I'll see
whether Mr. Martin can see you."
The secretary got up from behind the desk and disappeared into the
inner office.
He's got to see me, Lara thought.
A moment later the secretary emerged. "Yes, Mr. Martin will see
you."
Lara concealed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."
She walked into the inner office. It was small and simply furnished.
A desk, two couches, a coffee table, and a few chairs.
Not exactly a
citadel ofpower, Lara thought.
The man behind the desk appeared to be in his early sixties. He had a
deeply lined face, a hawk nose, and a mane of white hair.
There was a
feral, animal-like vitality about him. He was wearing an old-fashioned
pinstripe double-breasted gray suit and a white shirt with a narrow
collar. When he spoke, his voice was raspy, low, somehow compelling.
"My secretary said that I was expecting you."
"I'm sorry," Lara said. "I had to see you. It's an emergency.
"Sit down, Miss..."
"Cameron. Lara Cameron." She took a chair. "What can I do for you?"
Lara took a deep breath. "I have a little problem." A skeleton
twenty-four stories of uncompleted steel and concrete standing idle.
"It's about a building." "What about it?"
"I'm a real estate developer, Mr. Martin. I'm in the middle of
putting up an office building on the East Side, and I'm having a
problem with the union."
He was listening, saying nothing.
Lara hurried on. "I lost my temper and slapped one of the workmen, and
the union called a strike."
He was studying her, puzzled. "Miss Cameron... what does all this have to do with me?"
"I heard you might be able to help me."
"I'm afraid you heard wrong. I'm a corporate attorney.
I'm not
involved with buildings, and I don't deal with unions." Lara's heart sank. "Oh, I thought... isn't there anything
you can do?"
He placed the palm of his hands on the desk, as though he were about to
rise. "I can give you a couple pieces of advice. Get hold of a labor
lawyer. Have him take the union to court and..." "There's no time. I'm up against a deadline. I... what's the second piece of advice?"
"Get out of the building business." His eyes were fixed on her
breasts. "You don't have the right equipment for it." "What?"
"It's no place for a woman."
"And what is the place for a woman?" Lara asked angrily. "Barefoot,
pregnant, and in the kitchen?" "Something like that. Yeah."
Lara rose to her feet. It was all she could do to control herself.
"You must come from a long line of dinosaurs.
Maybe you haven't heard the news. Women are free now." Paul Martin shook his head. "No. Just noisier."
"Good-bye, Mr. Martin. I'm sorry I took up your valuable time."
Lara turned and strode out of the office, slamming the door behind
her.
She stopped in the corridor and took a deep breath. This
was a
mistake, she thought. She had finally reached a dead end.
She had
risked everything it had taken her years to build up, and she had lost
it in one swift instant. There was no one to turn to.
Nowhere to go.
It was over.
Lara walked the cold, rainy streets. She was completely unaware of the
icy wind and her surroundings.
Her mind was filled with the terrible disaster that had befallen her.
Howard Keller's warning was ringing in her ears: You put up buildings
and borrow on them. It's like a pyramid, only if you're not careful,
thatpyramid can fall down. And it had. The banks in Chicago would
foreclose on her properties there, and she would lose all the money she
had invested in the new building. She would have to start all over,
from the beginning. Poor Howard, she thought. He believed in my
dreams, and I've let him down.
The rain had stopped, and the sky was beginning to clear.
A pale sun
was fighting its way through the clouds.
She suddenly realized it was dawn. She had walked all night. Lara
looked around and saw where she was for the first time.
She was only
two blocks from the doomed property. I'll take a last look at it, Lara
thought, resignedly.
She was a full block away when she first heard it. It was the sound of
pneumatic drills and hammers and the roar of cement mixers filling the
air. Lara stood there, listening for an instant, then started running
toward the building site. When she reached it, she stood there,
staring, unbelievingly.
The full crew was there, hard at work.
The foreman came up to her, smiling. "Morning, Miss Cameron."
Lara finally found her voice. "What... what's happening? I... I
thought you were pulling your men off the job."
He said sheepishly, "That was a little misunderstanding, Miss
Cameron.
Bruno could have killed you when he dropped that wrench." Lara swallowed. "But he "Don't worry. Ne's gone.
Nothing like that
will happen again. You don't have a thing to worry about.
We're right
back on schedule."
Lara felt as though she were in a dream. She stood there watching the
men swarming over the skeleton of the building and she thought, I got
it all back again. Everything. Paul Martin.
Lara telephoned him as soon as she returned to her office.
His
secretary said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Martin is not available." "Would you ask him to call me, please?" Lara left her
number.
At three o'clock in the afternoon she still had not heard from him.
She called him again.
"I'm sorry. Mr. Martin is not available." He did not return her call.
At five o'clock Lara went to Paul Martin's office.
She said to the blond secretary, "Would you please tell Mr. Martin
that Lara Cameron is here to see him?"
The secretary looked uncertain. "Well, I'll... Just a moment." She
disappeared into the inner office and returned a minute later. "Go
right in, please."
Paul Martin looked up as Lara walked in.
"Yes, Miss Cameron?" His voice was cool, neither friendly nor
unfriendly. "What can I do for you?" "I came to thank you."
"Thank me for what?"
"For... for straightening things out with the union." He frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"All the workmen came back this morning, and everything's wonderful.
The building is back on schedule." "Well, congratulations."
"If you'll send me a bill for your fee..."
"Miss Cameron, I think you're a little confused. If your problem is
solved, I'm glad. But I had nothing to do with it." Lara looked at him for a long time. "All right. I'm... I'm sorry I bothered you."
"No problem." He watched her leave the office.
A moment later his secretary came in. "Miss Cameron left a package for
you, Mr. Martin."
It was a small package, tied with bright ribbon. Curious, he opened
it. Inside was a silver knight in full armor, ready to do battle. An
apology. What did she call me? A dinosaur. He could still hear his
grandfather's voice. Those were dangerous times, Paul.
The young men
decided to take control of the Mafia, to get rid of the oldtimers, the
mustache Petes, the dinosaurs. It was bloody, but they did it.
But all that was a long, long time ago, in the old country. Sicily.
Chapter Thirteen.
Gibellina, Sicily- 1879 he Martinis were strani en-outsiders, in the
little Sicilian village of Gibellina.
The countryside was desolate, a barren land of death, bathed in blazing
pitiless sunlight, a landscape painted by a sadistic artist. In a land
where the large estates belonged to the gabelloti, the wealthy
landowners, the Martinis had bought a small farm and tried to run it
themselves.
The soprintendente had come calling on Giuseppe Martini one day.
"This little farm of yours," he said, "the land is too rocky. You will
not be able to make a decent living on it, growing olives and
grapes."
"Don't worry about me," Martini said. "I've been farming all my
life."
"We're all worried about you," the soprintendente insisted. "Don Vito
has some good farmland that he is willing to lease to you."
"I know about Don Vito and his land," Giuseppe Martini snorted. "If I
sign a mezzadria with him to farm his land, he will take three fourths
of my crops and charge me a hundred percent interest for the seed. I
will end up with nothing, like the other fools who deal with him. Tell
him I said no, thank you."
"You are making a big mistake, signore. This is dangerous country.
Serious accidents can happen here." "Are you threatening me?"
"Certainly not, signore. I was merely pointing out..." "Get off my land," Giuseppe Martini said.
The overseer looked at him for a long time, then shook his
head sadly.
"You are a stubborn man."
Giuseppe Martini's young son, Ivo, said, "Who was that, Papa?"
"Ne's the overseer for one of the large landowners." "I don't like him," the young boy said.
"I don't like him either, Ivo."
The following night Giuseppe Martini's crops were set on fire and the
few cattle he had disappeared.
That was when Giuseppe Martini made his second mistake.
Ne went to the
guardia in the village.
"I demand protection," he said.
he chief of police studied him noncommittally.
"That's what we are here for," he said. "What is your problem,
signore?"
"Last night Don Vito's men burned my crops and stole my cattle."
"That is a serious charge. Can you prove it?"
"His soprintendente came to me and threatened me."
"Did he tell you they were going to burn your crops and steal your
cattle?"
"Of course not," Giuseppe Martini said. "What did he say to you?"
"He said that I should give up my farm and lease land from Don Vito."
"And you refused?" "Naturally."
"Signore, Don Vito is a very important man. Do you wish me to arrest
him simply because he offered to share his rich farmland with you?"
"I want you to protect me," Giuseppe Martini demanded. "I'm not going
to let them drive me off my land."
"Signore, I am most sympathetic. I will certainly see what I can
do."
"I would appreciate that." "Consider it done."
The following afternoon, as young Ivo was returning from town, he saw
half a dozen men ride up to his father's farm. They dismounted and
went into the house.
A few minutes later Ivo saw his father dragged out to the field.
One of the men took out a gun. "We are going to give you a chance to
escape. Run for it."
"No! This is my land! I..."
Ivo watched, terrified, as the man shot at the ground near his father's
feet.
"Run!"
Giuseppe Martini started to run.
The campieri got on their horses and began circling Martini, yelling
all the while.
Ivo hid, watching in horror at the terrible scene that was unfolding
before his eyes.
The mounted men watched the man run across the field, trying to
escape.
Each time he reached the edge of the dirt road, one of them raced to
cut him off and knock him to the ground. The farmer was bleeding and
exhausted. He was slowing down.
The campieri decided they had had enough sport. One of them put a rope
around the man's neck and dragged him toward the well. "Why?" he gasped. "What have I done?"
"You went to the guardia. You should not have done that."
The campieri pulled down the victim's trousers, and one of the men took
out a knife, while the others held him down. "Let this be a lesson to you."
The man screamed, "No, please! I'm sorry."
The campiero smiled. "Tell that to your wife."
He reached down, grabbed the man's member, and slashed through it with
the knife.
His screams filled the air.
"You won't need this anymore," the captain assured him.
He took the member and stuffed it in the man's mouth. He gagged and
spit it out.
The captain looked at the other campieri. "He doesn't like the taste
of it."
"Uccidi quel figlio th puttana!"
One of the campieri dismounted from his horse and picked up some heavy
stones from the field. He pulled up the victim's bloodied pants and
filled his pockets with the stones.
"Up you go." They lifted the man and carried him to the top of the
well. "Have a nice trip."
They dumped him into the well.
"That water's going to taste like piss," one of them said.
Another one laughed. "The villagers won't know the difference."
They stayed for a moment, listening to the diminishing sounds and
finally the silence, then mounted their horses and rode toward the
house.
Ivo Martini stayed in the distance, watching in horror, hidden by the
brush. The ten-year-old boy hurried to the well. He looked down and whispered, "Papa..."
But the well was deep, and he heard nothing.
When the campieri had finished with Giuseppe Martini, they went to find
his wife, Maria. She was in the kitchen when they entered.
"Where's my husband?" she demanded. A grin. "Getting a drink of water."
Two of the men were closing in on her. One of them said, "You're too
pretty to be married to an ugly man like that." "Get out of my house," Maria ordered.
"Is that a way to treat guests?" One of the men reached out and tore
her dress. "You're going to be wearing widow's clothes, so you won't
need that anymore." "Animal!"
There was a boiling pot of water on the stove. Maria reached for it
and threw it in the man's face.
He screamed in pain. "Fica!" He pulled out his gun and fired at
her.
She was dead before she hit the floor.
The captain shouted, "Idiot! First you fuck them, then you shoot
them.
Come on, let's report back to Don Vito."
Half an hour later they were back at Don Vito's estate.
"We took good care of the husband and wife," the captain reported.
"What about the son?"
The captain looked at Don Vito in surprise. "You didn't say anything
about a son.> "Cretino! I said to take care of the family."
"But he's only a boy, Don Vito."
"Boys grow up to be men. Men want their vengeance. Kill him."
"As you say."
Two of the men rode back to the Martini farm.
Ivo was in a state of shock. He had watched both his parents
murdered.
He was alone in the world with no place to go and no one to turn to.
Wait! There was one person to turn to: his father's brother, Nunzio
Martini, in Palermo. Ivo knew that he had to move quickly. Don Vito's
men would be coming back to kill him. He wondered why they had not
done so already. The young boy threw some food into a knapsack, slung
it over his shoulder, and hurriedly left the farm.
Ivo made his way to the little dirt road that led away from the
village, and started walking. Whenever he heard a cart coming, he
moved off the road and hid in the trees.
An hour after he had started his journey, he saw a group of campieri
riding along the road searching for him.
Ivo stayed hidden, motionless until long after they were gone. Then he
began walking again. At night, he slept in the orchards and he lived
off the fruit from the trees and the vegetables in the fields. He
walked for three days.
When he felt he was safe from Don Vito, he approached a small
village.
An hour later he was in the back of a wagon headed for Palermo.
Ivo reached the house of his uncle in the middle of the night. Nunzio
Martini lived in a large, prosperouslooking house on the outskirts of
the city. It had a spacious balcony, terraces, and a courtyard. Ivo
pounded on the front door. There was a long silence, and then a deep
voice called out, "Who the hell is it?" "It's Ivo, Uncle Nunzio."
Moments later Nunzio Martini opened the door. Ivo's uncle was a large
middle-aged man with a generous Roman nose and flowing white hair. He
was wearing a nightshirt. He looked at the boy in surprise. "Ivo!
What are you doing here in the middle of the night? Where are your
mother and father?" "They're dead," Ivo sobbed. "Dead? Come in, come in."
Ivo stumbled into the house.
"That's terrible news. Was there some kind of an accident?"
Ivo shook his head. "Don Vito had them murdered." "Murdered? But why?"
"My father refused to lease land from him." "Ah."
"Why would he have them killed? They never did anything to" "It was
nothing personal," Nunzio Martini said.
Ivo stared at him. "Nothing personal? I don't understand."
"Everyone knows of Don Vito. He has a reputation.
He is an uomo rispettato-a man of respect and power.
If he let your father defy him, then others would try to defy him, and
he would lose his power. There is nothing that can be done."
The boy was watching him, aghast. "Nothing?"
"Not now, Ivo. Not now. Meanwhile, you look as though you could use a
good night's sleep."
In the morning, at breakfast, they talked.
"How would you like to live in this fine house and work for me?"
Nunzio Martini was a widower.
"I think I would like that," Ivo said.
"I can use a smart boy like you. And you look strong.
"I am strong," Ivo told him. "Good."
"What business are you in, Uncle?" Ivo asked. Nunzio Martini smiled. "I protect people."
The Mafia had sprung up throughout Sicily and other poverty-stricken
parts of Italy to protect the people from a ruthless, autocratic
government. The Mafia corrected injustices and avenged wrongs, and it
finally became so powerful that the government itself feared it, and
merchants and farmers paid tribute to it.
Nunzio Martini was the Mafia capo in Palermo. He saw to it that proper
tribute was collected and that those who did not pay were punished.
Punishment could range from a broken arm or leg to a slow and painful
death.
Ivo went to work for his uncle.
For the next fifteen years Palermo was Ivo's school, and his uncle
Nunzio was his teacher. Ivo started out as an errand boy, then moved
up to collector, and finally became his uncle's trusted lieutenant.
When Ivo was twenty-five years old, he married Carmela, a buxom
Sicilian girl, and a year later they had a son, Gian Carlo. Ivo moved
his family into their own house. When his uncle died, Ivo took his
position and became even more successful and prosperous.
But he had
some unfinished business to attend to.
One day he said to Carmela, "Start packing up. We're moving to
America."
She looked at him in surprise. "Why are we going to America?"
Ivo was not accustomed to being questioned. "Just do as I say. I'm
leaving now. I'll be back in two or three days." "Ivo..."
"Pack."
* * Three black macchine pulled up in front of the guardia headquarters
in Gibellina. The captain, now heavier by thirty pounds, was seated at
his desk when the door opened and half a dozen men walked in. They
were well dressed and prosperous-looking. "Good morning, gentlemen. Can I help you?"
"We have come to help you," Ivo said. "Do you remember me? I'm the
son of Giuseppe Martini."
The police captain's eyes widened. "You," he said. "What are you doing here? It is dangerous for you." "I came because of your teeth."
"My teeth?"
"Yes." Two of Ivo's men closed in on the captain and pinned his arms
to his side. "You need dental work. Let me fix them."
Ivo shoved the gun into the chief's mouth and pulled the trigger.
Ivo turned to his companions. "Let's go."
Fifteen minutes later the three automobiles drove up to Don Vito's
house. There were two guards outside. They watched the procession
curiously. When the cars came to a stop, Ivo got out. "Good morning. Don Vito's expecting us," he said.
One of the guards frowned. "He didn't say anything about..."
In the next instant the guards were gunned down.
The guns were loaded with lupare, cartridges with large leaden balls, a
hunter's trick to spread the pellets. The guards were cut to pieces.
Inside the house Don Vito heard the shooting. When he looked out the
window and saw what was happening, he quickly crossed to a drawer and
pulled out a gun.
"Franco!" he called. "Antonio! Quickly!" There were more sounds of shots from outside. A voice said, "Don Vito..."
He spun around.
Ivo stood there, a gun in his hand. "Drop your gun." "I..."
"Drop it."
Don Vito let his gun fall to the floor. "Take whatever
you want and get out."
"I don't want anything," Ivo said. "As a matter of fact,
I came here
because I owe you something."
Don Vito said, "Whatever it is, I'm prepared to forget it."
"I'm not. Do you know who I am?" "No."
"Ivo Martini."
The old man frowned, trying to remember. He shrugged. "It means
nothing to me."
"More than fifteen years ago. Your men killed my mother and father."
"That's terrible," Don Vito exclaimed. "I will have them punished,
I'll..."
Ivo reached out and smashed him across his nose with his gun. Blood
started pouring out. "This isn't necessary," Don Vito gasped.
"I..."
Ivo pulled out a knife. "Take down your trousers." "Why? You can't..."
Ivo raised the gun. "Take down your trousers."
"No!" It was a scream. "Think about what you're doing.
I have sons
and brothers. If you harm me, they will track you down and kill you
like a dog."
"If they can find me," Ivo said. "Your trousers." "No."
Ivo shot one of his kneecaps. The old man screamed out in pain.
"Let me help you," Ivo said. He reached out and pulled the old man's
trousers down, and then his underwear. "There's not much there, is
there? Well, we'll have to do the best we can." He grabbed Don Vito's
member and slashed it off with a knife. Don Vito fainted.
Ivo took the penis and shoved it into the man's mouth. "Sorry I don't
have a well to drop you into," Ivo said. As a parting gesture, he shot
the old man in the head, then turned and walked out of the house to the
car.
His friends were waiting for him. "Let's go."
"He has a large family, Ivo. They'll come after you." "Let them."
Two days later Ivo, his wife, and son, Gian Carlo, were on a boat to
New York.
At the end of the last century the New World was a land of opportunity.
New York had a large population of Italians. Many of Ivo's friends had
already emigrated to the big city and decided to use their expertise in
what they knew best: the protection racket. The Mafia began spreading
its tentacles. Ivo anglicized his family name from Martini to Martin
and enjoyed an uninterrupted prosperity.
Gian Carlo was a big disappointment to his father.
He had no interest in working. When he was twentyseven, he got an
Italian girl pregnant, married her in a quiet and hurried ceremony, and
three months later they had a son, Paul.
Ivo had big plans for his grandson. Lawyers were very important in
America, and Ivo decided that his grandson should be an attorney. The
young boy was ambitious and intelligent, and when he was twenty-two, he
was admitted to Harvard Law School. When Paul was graduated, Ivo
arranged for him to join a prestigious law firm, and he soon became a
partner. Five years later Paul opened his own law firm. By this time
Ivo had invested I heavily in legitimate businesses, but he still kept
his contacts with the Mafia, and his grandson handled his business
aflairs for him. In 1967, the year Ivo died, Paul married an Italian
girl, Nina, and a year later his wife gave birth to twins.
In the seventies Paul was kept busy. His main clients were the unions,
and because of that, he was in a position of power. Heads of
businesses and industries deferred to him.
One day Paul was having lunch with a client, Bill Rohan, a respected
banker who knew nothing of Paul's family background.
"You should join Sunnyvale, my golf club," Bill Rohan said. "You play
golf, don't you?"
"Occasionally," Paul said. "When I have time."
"Fine. I'm on the admissions board. Would you like me to put you up
for membership?" "That would be nice."
The following week the board met to discuss new members.
Paul Martin's
name was brought up.
"I can recommend him," Bill Rohan said. "He's a good man."
John Hammond, another member of the board, said, "He's Italian, isn't
he? We don't need any dagos in this club, Bill."
The banker looked at him. "Are you going to blackball him?"
"You're damn right I am."
"Okay, then we'll pass on him. Next..." The meeting continued.
Two weeks later Paul Martin was having lunch with the banker again.
"I've been practicing my golf," Paul joked.
Bill Rohan was embarrassed. "There's been a slight hitch, Paul."
"A hitch?"
"I did propose you for membership. But I'm afraid one of the members
of the board blackballed you." "Oh? Why?"
"Don't take this personally. He's a bigot. He doesn't like
Italians."
Paul smiled. "That doesn't bother me, Bill. A lot of people don't
like Italians. This Mr. "
"Hammond. John Hammond." "The meat-packer?"
"Yes. He'll change his mind. I'll talk to him again."
Paul shook his head. "Don't bother. To tell you the truth, I'm really
not that crazy about golf anyway."
Six months later, in the middle of July, four Hammond Meat Packing
Company refrigerated trucks loaded with pork loins, strip steaks, and
pork butts, headed from the packinghouse in Minnesota to supermarkets
in Buffalo and New Jersey, pulled off the road. The drivers opened the
back doors of the trucks and walked away.
When John Hammond heard the news, he was furious. He called in his
manager.
"What the hell is going on?" he demanded. "A million and a half
dollars' worth of meat spoiled in the sun. How could that happen?"
"The union called a strike," the supervisor said.
"Without telling us? What are they striking about? More money?"
The supervisor shrugged. "I don't know. They didn't say anything to
me. They just walked."
"Tell the local union guy to come in and see me. I'll settle it,"
Hammond said.
That afternoon the union representative was ushered into Hammond's
office.
"Why wasn't I told there was going to be a strike?" Hammond demanded.
The representative said, apologetically, "I didn't know it myself, Mr.
Hammond. The men just got mad and walked out. It happened very
suddenly."
"You know I've always been a reasonable man to deal with.
What is it
they want? A raise?" "No sir. It's soap."
Hammond stared at him. "Did you say soap?"
"That's right. They don't like the soap you're using in their
bathrooms. It's too strong."
Hammond could not believe what he was hearing.
"The soap was too strong? And that's why I lost a million and a half
dollars?"
"Don't blame me," the foreman said. "It's the men."
"Jesus," Hammond said. "I can't believe this. What kind of soap would
they like-fairy soap?" He slammed his fist on the desk. "The next
time the men have any problem, you come to me first. You hear me?"
"Yes, Mr. Hammond."
"You tell them to get back to work. There will be the best soap money
can buy in those washrooms by six o'clock tonight. Is that clear?"
"I'll tell them, Mr. Hammond."
John Hammond sat there for a long time fuming. No wonder this country
is going to hell, he thought. Soap!
Two weeks later, at noon on a hot day in August, five Hammond Meat
Packing trucks on their way to deliver meat to Syracuse and Boston
pulled off the road. The drivers opened the back doors of the
refrigerated trucks and left.
John Hammond got the news at six o'clock that evening. "What the hell are you talking about?" he screamed. "Didn't you put in the new soap?"
"I did," his manager said, "the same day you told me to." "Then what the hell is it this time?"
The manager said helplessly, "I don't know. There haven't been any
complaints. No one said a word to me."
"Get the goddamned union representative in here."
At seven o'clock that evening Hammond was talking to the union
representative.
"Two million dollars' worth of meat was ruined this afternoon because
of your men," Hammond screamed. "Have they gone crazy?"
"Do you want me to tell the president of the union you asked that, Mr.
Hammond?"
"No, no," Hammond said quickly. "Look, I've never had any problem with
you fellows before. If the men want more money, just come to me and
we'll discuss it like reasonable people. How much are they asking
for?" "Nothing."
"What do you mean?"
"It isn't the money, Mr. Hammond." "Oh? What is it?"
"Lights."
"Lights?" Hammond thought he had misunderstood him.
"Yes. The men are complaining that the lights in the washrooms are too
dim."
John Hammond sat back in his chair, suddenly quiet. "What's going on here?" he asked softly.
"I told you, the men think that..." "Never mind that crap. What's going on?"
The union representative said, "If I knew, I would tell you."
"Is someone trying to put me out of business? Is that it?"
The union representative was silent.
"All right," John Hammond said. "Give me a name. Who can I talk to?"
"There's a lawyer who might be able to help you. The union uses him a
lot. His name is Paul Martin."
"Paul...?" And John Hammond suddenly remembered. "Why, that
blackmailing guinea bastard. Get out of here," he yelled. "Out!"
Hammond sat there seething. No one black mails me. No one.
One week later six more of his refrigerated trucks were abandoned on
side roads.
John Hammond arranged a luncheon with Bill Rohan. "I've been thinking
about your friend Paul Martin," Hammond said. "I may have been a bit
hasty in blackballing him."
"Why, it's very generous of you to say that, John."
"I'll tell you what. You propose him for membership next week and I'll
give him my vote."
The following week, when Paul Martin's name came up, he was accepted
unanimously by the membership committee.
John Hammond personally put in a call to Paul Martin.
"Congratulations, Mr. Martin," he said. "You've just been accepted as
a member of Sunnyvale. We're delighted to have you aboard."
"Thank you," Paul said. "I appreciate the call."
John Hammond's next call was to the district attorney's office. He
made an appointment to meet him the following week.
On Sunday John Hammond and Bill Rohan were part of a foursome at the
club.
"You haven't met Paul Martin yet, have you?" Bill Rohan asked.
John Hammond shook his head. "No. I don't think he's going to be
playing a lot of golf. The grand jury is going to be keeping your
friend too busy."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm going to give information about him to the district attorney that
will certainly interest a grand jury."
Bill Rohan was shocked. "Do you know what you're doing?"
"You bet I do. He's a cockroach, John. I'm going to step on him."
The following Monday, on his way to the district
attorney's office,
John Hammond was killed in a hit-andrun accident. There were no
witnesses. The police never found the driver.
Every Sunday after that Paul Martin took his wife and the twins to the
Sunnyvale Club for lunch. The buffet there was delicious.
Paul Martin took his marriage vows seriously. For instance, he would
never have dreamed of dishonoring his wife by taking her and his
mistress to the same restaurant. His marriage was one part of his
life; his affairs were another. All of Paul Martin's friends had
mistresses.
It was part of their accepted life-style.What bothered Martin was to
see old men taking out young girls. It was undignified, and Paul
Martin placed great value on dignity. He resolved that when he reached
the age of sixty, he would stop having mistresses. And on his sixtieth
birthday, two years earlier, he had stopped. His wife,
Nina, was a
good companion to him. That was enough. Dignity.
It was this man to whom Lara Cameron had come to ask for help. Martin
had been aware of Lara Cameron by name, but he was stunned by how young
and beautiful she was. She was ambitious and angrily independent, and
yet she was very feminine. He found himself strongly attracted to
her.
No, he thought, she's a young girl. I'm an old man. Too
old.
When Lara had stormed out of his office on her first visit, Paul Martin
sat there for a long time, thinking about her. And then he had picked
up the telephone and made a call. ú Chapter Fourteen.
The new building was progressing on schedule. Lara visited the site
every morning and every afternoon, and there was a new respect in the
attitude of the men toward her. She sensed it in the way they looked
at her, talked to her, and worked for her. She knew it was because of
Paul Martin, and disturbingly, she found herself thinking more and more
about the uglyattractive man with the strangely compelling voice.
Lara telephoned him again.
"I wondered if we might have lunch, Mr. Martin?" "Are you having another problem of some kind?"
"No. I just thought it would be nice if we got to know each other
better."
"I'm sorry, Miss Cameron. I never have lunch." "What about dinner one evening?"
"I'm a married man, Miss Cameron. I have dinner with my wife and
children."
"I see. If..." The line went dead. What's the matter with him? Lara
wondered. I'm not trying to go to bed with the man. I
just want to
find some way to thank him. She tried to put him out of her mind.
Paul Martin was disturbed by how pleased he was to hear Lara Cameron's
voice. He told his secretary, "If Miss Cameron calls again, tell her
I'm not in." He did not need temptation, and Lara Cameron was
temptation.
Howard Keller was delighted with the way things were progressing.
"I must admit, you had me a little worried there for a while," he
said.
"It looked as though we were going right down the tube.
You pulled off a miracle."
It wasn't my miracle, Lara thought. It was Paul Martin's.
Perhaps he
was angry with her because she had not paid him for his services.
On an impulse, Lara sent Paul a check for fifty thousand dollars.
The following day, the check was returned with no note.
Lara telephoned him again. His secretary said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Martin
is not available."
Another snub. It was as though he could not be bothered with her. And
if he can't be bothered with me, Lara wondered, why did he go out of
his way to help me?
She dreamed about him that night.
Howard Keller walked into Lara's office.
"I've got two tickets for the new Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, Song &
Dance. I have to go to Chicago. Can you use the tickets?"
"No, I... wait." She was quiet for a moment. "Yes, I think I can use
them. Thank you, Howard."
That afternoon Lara put one of the tickets in an envelope and addressed
it to Paul Martin at his office.
* * * When he received the ticket the next day, he looked at it,
puzzled. Who would send him a single ticket to the theater? The
Cameron girl. I'll have to put a stop úto this, he thought.
"Am I free Friday evening?" he asked his secretary.
"You're having dinner with your brother-in-law, Mr. Martin."
"Cancel it."
Lara sat through the first act, and the seat next to her remained
empty. So he's not coming, Lara thought.
Well, to hell with him. I've done everything I can.
As the first act curtain came down, Lara debated whether she should
stay for the second act or leave. A figure appeared at the seat next
to hers.
"Let's get out of here," Paul Martin commanded.
They had dinner at a bistro on the East Side. Ne sat across the table
from her, studying her, quiet and wary. The waiter came to take their drink order. "I'll have a scotch and soda," Lara said. "Nothing for me."
Lara looked at him in surprise. "I don't drink."
After they had ordered dinner, Paul Martin said, "Miss Cameron, what do
you want from me?"
"I don't like owing anyone anything," Lara said. "I owe you something,
and you won't let me pay you. That bothers me." "I told you before... you don't owe me anything." "But I..."
"I hear your building is coming along well."
"Yes." She started to say "thanks to you," then thought better of
it.
"You're good at what you do, aren't you?"
Lara nodded. "I want to be. It's the most exciting thing in the world
to have an idea and watch it grow into concrete and steel, and become a
building that people work in and live in. In a way, it becomes a
monument, doesn't it?"
Her face was vibrant and alive.
"I suppose it does. And is one monument going to lead to another?"
"You bet it is," Lara said enthusiastically. "I intend to become the
most important real estate developer in this city." There was a sexuality about her that was mesmerizing. Paul Martin smiled. "I wouldn't be surprised."
"Why did you decide to come to the theater tonight?" Lara asked.
He had come to tell her to leave him alone, but being with her now,
being this close to her, he could not bring himself to say it. "I
heard good things about the show."
Lara smiled. "Maybe we'll go again and see it together, Paul."
He shook his head. "Miss Cameron, I'm not only married,
I'm very much
married. I happen to love my wife."
"I admire that," Lara said. "The building will be finished on the
fifteenth of March. We're having a party to celebrate.
Will you come?"
He hesitated a long time trying to word his refusal as gently as
possible. When he finally spoke, he said, "Yes, I'll come."
The celebration for the opening of the new building was a moderate
success. Lara Cameron's name was not big enough to attract many
members of the press or any of the city's important
dignitaries. But
one of the mayor's assistants was there, and a reporter from the
Post.
"The building is almost fully leased out," Keller told Lara. "And we
have a flood of inquiries."
"Good," Lara said absently. Her mind was on something else. She was
thinking about Paul Martin and wondering whether he would appear. For
some reason it was important to her. He was an intriguing mystery. He
denied that he had helped her, and yet... She was pursuing a man old
enough to be her father. Lara put the connection out of her mind.
Lara attended to her guests. Hors d'oeuvres and drinks were being
served, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. In the midst of
the festivities, Paul Martin arrived, and the tone of the party
immediately changed. The workmen greeted him as though he were
royalty. They were obviously in awe of him.
I'm a corporate attorney... I don't deal with unions.
Martin shook hands with the mayor's assistant and some of the union
officials there, then went up to Lara. "I'm glad you could come," Lara said.
Paul Martin looked around at the huge building and said, "Congratulations. You've done a good job."
"Thank you." She lowered her voice. "And I do mean thank you."
He was staring at her, bemused by how ravishing Lara looked and the way
he felt, looking at her.
"The party's almost over," Lara said. "I was hoping you would take me
to dinner."
"I told you, I have dinner with my wife and children." He was looking into her eyes. "I'll buy you a drink." Lara smiled. "That will do nicely."
They stopped at a small bar on Third Avenue. They talked, but
afterward neither of them would remember what they talked about. The
words were camouflage for the sexual tension between them.
"Tell me about yourself," Paul Martin said. "Who are you?
Where are
you from? How did you get started in this business?"
Lara thought of Sean MacAllister and his repulsive body on top of
hers.
"That was so good we're going to do "I came from a little town in Nova
Scotia," Lara said.
"Glace Bay. My father collected rents from some boardinghouses
there.
When he died, I took over. One of the boarders helped me buy a lot,
and I put up a building on it. That was the beginning." He was listening closely.
"After that I went to Chicago and developed some buildings there. I
did well and came to New York." She smiled. "That's really the whole
story." Except for the agony of growing up with a father who hated
her, the shame of poverty, of never owning anything, the giving of her
body to Sean MacAllister...
As though reading her mind, Paul Martin said, "I'll bet it wasn't
really all that easy, was it?" "I'm not complaining."
"What's your next project?"
Lara shrugged. "I'm not sure. I've looked at a lot of possibilities,
but there's nothing I'm really wild about." He could not take his eyes off her.
"What are you thinking?" Lara asked.
He took a deep breath. "The truth? I was thinking that if I weren't
married, I would tell you that you're one of the most exciting women
I've ever met. But I am married, so you and I are going to be just
friends. Do I make myself clear?" "Very clear."
He looked at his watch. "Time to go." He turned to the waiter.
"Check, please." He rose to his feet.
"Can we have lunch next week?" Lara asked.
"No. Maybe I'll see you again when your next building is finished."
And he was gone.
That night Lara dreamed they were making love.
Paul Martin was on top of her, stroking her body with his hands and
whispering in her ear.
"You ken, I maun hae ye, and onie ye... Gude forgie me, my bonnie
darling', for I've niver tauld you how mickle I love ye, love ye, love
ye. "
And then he was inside her and her body was suddenly molten. She
moaned, and her moans awakened her. She sat up in bed, trembling.
Two days later Paul Martin telephoned. "I think I have a location you
might be interested in," he said crisply. "It's over on the West Side,
on Sixty-ninth Street.
It's not on the market yet. It belongs to a client of mine who wants
to sell."
Lara and Howard Keller went to look at it that morning.
It was a prime piece of property.
"How did you hear about this?" Keller asked. "Paul Martin."
"Oh, I see." There was disapproval in his voice. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Lara... I checked on Martin. He's Mafia. Stay away from him."
She said indignantly, "He has nothing to do with the Mafia. He's a
good friend. Anyway, what does that have to do with this site? Do you
like it?"
"I think it's great." "Then let's buy it."
Ten days later they closed the deal.
Lara sent Paul Martin a large bouquet of flowers.
There was a note attached: "Paul-please don't send these back. They're
very" She received a call from him that afternoon.
"Thanks for the flowers. I'm not used to getting flowers from
beautiful women." His voice sounded gruffer than usual.
"Do you know your problem?" Lara asked. "No one has ever spoiled you
enough."
"Is that what you want to do, spoil me?" "Rotten."
Paul laughed. "I mean it."
"I know you do."
"Why don't we talk about it at lunch?" Lara asked.
Paul Martin had not been able to get Lara out of his mind.
He knew
that he could easily fall in love with her.
There was a vulnerability about her, an innocence, and, at
the same
time, something wildly sensual. He knew that he would be smart never
to see her again, but he was unable to control himself.
He was drawn
to her by something more powerful than his will. They had lunch at the "21" Club.
"When you're trying to hide something," Paul Martin advised, "always do
it out in the open. Then no one will believe you're doing anything
wrong."
"Are we trying to hide something?" Lara asked softly.
He looked at her and made his decision. She's beautiful and smart, but
so are a thousand other women. It will be easy to get her out of my
system. I'll go to bed with her once, and that will be the end of
it.
As it turned out, he was wrong.
* * * ú When they arrived at Lara's apartment, Paul was unaccountably
nervous.
"I feel like a fuckin' schoolboy," Paul said. "I'm out of practice."
"It's like riding a bicycle," Lara murmured. "It will come back to
you. Let me undress you."
She took off his jacket and tie and started unbuttoning his shirt.
"You know that this could never become serious, Lara." "I know that."
"I'm sixty-two years old. I could be your father."
She went still for an instant, remembering her dream. "I know." She
finished undressing him. "You have a beautiful body." "Thanks." His wife never told him that.
Lara slid her arms along his thighs. "You're very strong, aren't
you?"
He found himself standing straighter. "I played basketball when I was
in...
Her lips were on his and they were in bed, and he experienced something
that had never happened to him before in his life. He felt as though
his body were on fire.
They were making love, and it was without a beginning or an ending, a
river that swept him along faster and faster, and the tide began to
pull at him, sucking him down and down, deeper and deeper, into a
velvet darkness that exploded into a thousand stars. And the miracle
was that it happened again, and once again, until he lay there panting
and exhausted.
"I can't believe this," he said.
His lovemaking with his wife had always been conventional, routine.
But with Lara it was an incredibly sensual experience.
Paul Martin had
had many women before, but Lara was like no one he had ever known. She
had given him a gift no woman had ever given him: She made him feel
young.
When Paul was getting dressed, Lara asked, "Will I ú see you again?"
"Yes." God help me. "Yes."
The 1980s were a time of changes. Ronald Reagan was elected President
of the United States and Wall Street had the busiest day in its
history. The shah of Iran died in exile, and Anwar Sadat was
assassinated. The public debt hit one trillion dollars, and the
American hostages in Iran were freed. Sandra Day O'Connor became the
first woman to serve on the Supreme Court.
Lara was in the right place at the right time. Real estate development
was booming. Money was abundant, and banks were willing to finance
projects that were both speculative and highly leveraged.
Savings and loan companies were a big source of equity.
High-yield and
high-risk bonds-nicknamed junk bonds-had been popularized by a young
financial genius named Mike Milken, and they were manna to the real
estate industry. The financing was there for the asking.
"I'm going to put up a hotel on the Sixty-ninth Street property,
instead of an office building."
"Why?" Howard Keller asked. "It's a perfect location for an office
building. With a hotel, you have to run it twenty-four hours a day.
Tenants come and go like ants.
With an office building, you only have to worry about a lease every
five or ten years."
"I know, but in a hotel you have drop-dead power, Howard.
You can give
important people suites and entertain them in your own restaurant. I
like that idea. It's going to be a hotel. I want you to set up
meetings with the top architects in New York: Skidmore, Owings and
Merrill, Peter Eisenman, and Philip Johnson." The meetings took place over the next two weeks.
Some of the architects were patronizing. They had never worked for a
female developer before.
One of them said, "If you'd like us to copy..."
"No. We're going to build a hotel that other builders will copy. If
you want a buzzword, try 'elegance." I see an entryway flanked by twin
fountains, a lobby with Italian marble. Off the lobby we'll have a
comfortable conference room where..."
By the end of the meeting they were impressed.
Lara put together a team. She hired a lawyer named Terry Hill, an
assistant named Jim Belon, a project manager named Tom Chriton, and an
advertising agency headed by Tom Scott. She hired the architectural
firm of Higgins, Almont & Clark, and the project was under way.
"We'll meet once a week," Lara told the group, "but I'll
want daily
reports from each of you. I want this hotel to go up on schedule and
on budget. I selected all of you because you're the best at what you
do. Don't let me down. Are there any questions?"
The next two hours were spent in answering them.
Later Lara said to Keller, "How do you think the meeting went?"
"Fine, boss."
It was the first time he had called her that. She liked it.
Charles Colin telephoned.
"I'm in New York. Can we have lunch?" "You bet we can!" Lara said.
They had lunch at Sardi's.
"You look wonderful," Colin said. "Success agrees with you, Lara."
"It's only the beginning," Lara said. "Charles... how would you like
to join Cameron Enterprises? I'll give you a piece of the company
and..."
He shook his head. "Thanks, but no. You've just started the
journey.
I'm near the end of the road. I'll be retiring next summer."
"Let's stay in touch," Lara said. "I don't want to lose
you."
The next time Paul Martin came to Lara's apartment, she said, "I have a
surprise for you, darling."
She handed him half a dozen packages. "Hey! It's not my birthday."
"Open them."
Inside were a dozen Bergdorf Goodman shirts and a dozen Pucci ties.
"I have shirts and ties," he laughed.
"Not like these," Lara told him. "They'll make you feel younger. I
got the name of a good tailor for you, too."
The following week Lara had a new barber style Paul's hair.
Paul Martin looked at himself in the mirror and thought, I do look
younger. Life had become exciting. nd all because of Lara, he
thought.
Paul's wife tried not to notice the change in her husband.
They were all there for the meeting: Keller, Tom Chriton, Jim Belon and
Terry Hill.
"We're going to fast-track the hotel," Lara announced.
The men looked at one another. "That's dangerous," Keller said.
"Not if you do it right."
Tom Chriton spoke up. "Miss Cameron, the safe way to do
this is to
complete one phase at a time. You do your grading, and when that's
done, you begin digging the trenches for foundations.
When that's
done, you put in the utility conduits and drainage piping. Then..."
Lara interrupted. "You put in the wooden concrete framework and the
skeletal gridiron. I know all that." "Then why...?"
"Because that will take two years. I don't want to wait two years."
Jim Belon said, "If we fast-track it, that means starting all the
different steps at once. If anything goes wrong, nothing will fit
together. You could have a lopsided building with electric circuits in
the wrong place and..."
"Then we have to see to it that nothing goes wrong, don't we?" Lara
said. "If we do it this way, we'll get the building up in a year
instead of two, and we'll save close to twenty million dollars."
"True, but it's taking a big chance." "I like taking chances."
Chapter Fifteen.
Lara told Paul Martin about her decision to fast-track the hotel and
the discussion she had had with the committee.
"They may have been right," Paul said. "What you're doing could be
dangerous."
"Trump does it. Uris does it."
Paul said gently, "Baby, you're not Trump or Uris."
"I'm going to be bigger than they are, Paul. I'm going to put up more
buildings in New York than anyone ever has before. It's going to be my
city."
He looked at her for a long moment. "I believe you." Lara had an unlisted telephone installed in her office.
Only Paul Martin had the number. He installed a telephone in his
office for Lara's calls. They spoke to each other several times a
day.
Whenever they could get away in the afternoon, they went to Lara's
apartment. Paul Martin looked forward to those trysts more than he had
ever believed possible.
Lara had become an obsession with him.
* * * When Keller became aware of what was happening, he was
concerned.
"Lara," he said, "I think you're making a mistake. Ne's dangerous."
"You don't know him. Ne's wonderful." "Are you in love with him?"
Lara thought about it. Paul Martin fulfilled a need in her life. But
was she in love with him? "No."
"Is he in love with you?" "I think so."
"Be careful. Be very careful."
Lara smiled. Impulsively, she kissed Keller's cheek. "I love the way you take care of me, Howard."
Lara was at the construction site, studying a report.
"I notice we're paying for an awful lot of lumber," Lara said. She was
talking to Pete Reese, the new project manager.
"I didn't want to mention it before, Miss Cameron, because I wasn't
sure-but you're right. A lot of our lumber's missing.
We've had to double order it."
She looked up at him. "You mean, someone is stealing it?" "It looks that way."
"Do you have any idea who?" "No."
"We have night watchmen here, don't we?" "One watchman."
"And he hasn't seen anything?"
"No. But with all this activity going on, it could be happening during
the day. It could be anybody."
Lara was thoughtful. "I see. Thanks for letting me know,
Pete. I'll
take care of it."
That afternoon Lara hired a private detective, Steve Kane.
"How does anyone walk away in broad daylight with a load of lumber?"
Kane asked. "You tell me."
"You say there's a night watchman at the site?" "Yes."
"Maybe he's in on it."
"I'm not interested in maybes," Lara said. "Find out who's behind it
and get back to me."
"Can you get me hired as a member of the construction crew?"
"I'll take care of it."
Steve Kane went to work at the site the next day.
When Lara told Keller what was happening, he said, "You didn't have to
get involved in this. I could have handled it for you." "I like handling things myself," Lara said.
That was the end of the conversation.
Five days later Kane appeared at Lara's office. "Have you found out anything?"
"Everything," he said.
"Was it the watchman?"
"No. The lumber wasn't stolen from the building site." "What do you mean?"
"I mean it never reached there. It was sent to another construction
site in Jersey and double-billed. The invoices were doctored."
"Who's behind it?" Lara asked. Kane told her.
The following afternoon there was a meeting of the committee. Terry
Hill, Lara's lawyer, was there, Howard Keller, Jim Belon, the project
manager, and Pete Reese. There was also a stranger at the conference
table. Lara introduced him as Mr. Conroy. "Let's have a report," Lara said.
Pete Reese said, "We're right on schedule. We estimate four more
months. You were right about going fast track. It's all going smooth
as silk. We've already started on the electrical and plumbing."
"Good," Lara said.
"What about the stolen lumber?" Keller asked.
"Nothing new on it yet," Pete Reese said. "We're keeping an eye
open."
"I don't think we have to worry about that anymore," Lara announced.
"We found out who's stealing it." She nodded toward the
stranger.
"Mr. Conroy is with the Special Fraud Squad. It's actually Detective
Conroy."
"What's he doing here?" Pete Reese asked. "lIe's come to take you away."
Reese looked up, startled. "What?"
Lara turned to the group. "Mr. Reese has been selling our lumber to
another construction job. When he found out that I was checking the
reports, he decided to tell me there was a problem."
"Wait a minute," Pete Reese said. "I... I... You have it wrong."
She turned to Conroy. "Would you please get him out of here?"
She turned to the others. "Now, let's discuss the opening of the
hotel."
As the hotel grew nearer completion, the pressure became more
intense.
Lara was becoming impossible. She badgered everyone constantly. She
made phone calls in the middle of the night.
"Howard, did you know the shipment of wallpaper hasn't arrived yet?"
"For God's sake, Lara, it's four o'clock in the morning."
"It's ninety days to the opening of the hotel. We can't open a hotel
without wallpaper."
"I'll check it out in the morning." "This is morning. Check it out now."
Lara's nervousness increased as the deadline grew closer. She met with
Tom Scott, head of the advertising agency.
"Do you have small children, Mr. Scott?" lIe looked at her in
surprise. "No. Why?"
"Because I just went over the new advertising campaign and it seems to
have been devised by a small retarded child. I can't believe that
grown men sat down and thought up this junk."
Scott frowned. "If there's something about it that displeases
you..."
"Everything about it displeases me," Lara said. "It lacks excitement.
It's bland. It could be about any hotel anywhere. This isn't any
hotel, Mr. Scott. This is the most beautiful, most modern hotel in
New York. You make it sound like a cold, faceless building. It's a
warm, exciting home. Let's spread the word. Do you think you can
handle that?"
"I assure you we can handle it. We'll revise the campaign and in two
weeks..."
"Monday," Lara said flatly. "I want to see the new campaign Monday."
The new ads went out in newspapers and magazines and
billboards all over the country.
"I think the campaign turned out great," Tom Scott said. "You were
right."
Lara looked at him and said quietly, "I don't want to be right. I want
you to be right. That's what I pay you for."
She turned to Jerry Townsend, in charge of publicity. "Have the invitations all been sent out?"
"Yes. We've gotten most of our replies already.
Everybody's coming to
the opening. It's going to be quite a party."
"It should be," Keller grumbled, "it's costing enough."
Lara grinned. "Stop being a banker. We'll get a million dollars'
worth of publicity. We're going to have dozens of celebrities there
and lIe held up his hand. "All right, all right."
Two weeks before the opening, everything seemed to be happening at
once. The wallpaper had arrived and carpets were being installed;
halls were being painted and pictures were being hung.
Lara inspected
every suite, accompanied by a staff of five.
She walked into one suite and said, "The drapes are wrong.
Switch them
with the suite next door."
In another suite, she tried the piano. "It's out of tune. Take care of it."
In a third suite the electric fireplace didn't work.
"Fix it."
It seemed to the harried staff that Lara was trying to do everything
herself. She was in the kitchen and in the laundry room and in the
utility closets. She was everywhere, demanding, complaining, fixing.
The man whom she had hired to manage the hotel said, "Don't get so
excited, Miss Cameron. At the opening of any hotel, little things
always go wrong."
"Not in my hotels," Lara said. "Not in my hotels."
The day of the opening, Lara was up at 4:00 A.M too nervous to sleep.
She wanted desperately to talk to Paul Martin, but there was no way she
could call him at that hour. She dressed and went for a walk.
Everything is going to be fine, she told herself. The reservation
computer is going to be fixed. They'll get the third oven working.
The lock on Suite Seven will be repaired.
We'll find a replacement for the maids who quit yesterday. The air-conditioning unit in the penthouse will work....
At six o'clock that evening the invited guests began to arrive. A
uniformed guard at each entrance to the hotel examined their
invitations before admitting them. There was a mix of celebrities,
famous athletes, and corporation executives. Lara had
gone over the
list carefully, eliminating the names of the freeloaders and the
hangers-on.
She stood in the spacious lobby greeting the newcomers as they
arrived.
"I'm Lara Cameron. So nice of you to come... Please feel free to look
around."
Lara took Keller aside. "Why isn't the mayor coming?" "lIe's pretty busy, you know, and..."
"You mean he thinks I'm not important enough." "One day he'll change his mind."
One of the mayor's assistants arrived.
"Thank you for coming," Lara said. "This is an honor for the hotel."
Lara kept looking nervously for Todd Grayson, the architectural critic
for The New York Times, who had been invited. Ifhe likes it, Lara
thought, we have a winner.
Paul Martin arrived with his wife. It was the first time Lara had seen
Mrs. Martin. She was an attractive, elegant-looking woman. Lara felt
an unexpected pang of guilt.
Paul walked up to Lara. "Miss Cameron, I'm Paul Martin.
This is my
wife, Nina. Thank you for inviting us."
Lara gripped his hand a second longer than necessary. "I'm delighted
that you're here. Please make yourself at home."
Paul looked around the lobby. lIe had seen it half a dozen times
before. "It's beautiful," he exclaimed. "I think you're going to be
very successful."
Nina Martin was staring at Lara. "I'm sure she will be." And Lara wondered if she knew.
The guests began to stream in.
An hour later Lara was standing in the lobby when Keller rushed up to
her. "For God's sakes," he said, "everyone's looking for you. They're
all in the ballroom, eating. Why aren't you in there?" "Todd Grayson hasn't arrived. I'm waiting for him."
"The Times' architectural critic? I saw him an hour ago." "What?"
"Yes. lIe went on a tour of the hotel with the others." "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought you knew."
"What did he say?" Lara asked eagerly. "How did he look?
Did he
seem impressed?"
"lIe didn't say anything. lIe looked fine. And I don't know whether
he was impressed or not." "Didn't he say anything?" "No."
Lara frowned. "lIe would have said something if he had liked it. It's
a bad sign, Howard."
The party was a huge success. The guests ate and drank and toasted the
hotel. When the evening was over, Lara was showered with compliments.
"It's such a lovely hotel, Miss Cameron..."
"I'll certainly stay here when I come back to New York..."
"What a great idea, having a piano in every living room..."
"I love the fireplaces..."
"I'll certainly recommend this to all my friends..."
Well, Lara thought, even if The New York Times hates it, it's going to
be a success.
Lara saw Paul Martin and his wife as they were leaving. "I think you really have a winner here, Miss Cameron.
It's going to be
the talk of New York."
"You're very kind, Mr. Martin," Lara said. "Thank you for coming."
Nina Martin said quietly, "Good night, Miss Cameron." "Good night."
As they were walking out the lobby door, Lara heard her say, "She's
very beautiful, isn't she, Paul?"
The following Thursday when the first edition of The New York Times
came out, Lara was at the newsstand at Forty-second Street
and Broadway
at four o'clock in the morning, to pick up a copy. She hurriedly
turned to the home Section. Todd Grayson's article began:
Manhattan
has long needed a hotel that does not remind travelers that they're
staying in a hotel. The suites at the Cameron Plaza are large and
gracious, and done in beautiful taste. LaraCameronhasfinallygivenNewYork...
She yelled aloud with joy. She telephoned Keller and woke him up.
"We're in!" she said. "The Times loves us." lIe sat up in bed,
groggy. "That's great. What did they say?"
Lara read the article to him. "All right," Keller said, now you can
get some sleep."
"Sleep? Are you joking? I have a new site picked out.
As soon as the banks open, I want you to start negotiating a loan.
..."
The New York Cameron Plaza was a triumph. It was completely booked,
and there was a waiting list.
"It's only the beginning," Lara told Keller. "There are ten thousand
builders in the metropolitan area-but only a handful of the big
boys-the Tisches, the Rudins, the Rockefellers, the Sterns. Well,
whether they like it or not, we're going to play in their sandbox.
We're going to change the skyline. We're going to invent the
future."
Lara began to get calls from banks offering her loans.
She cultivated the important real estate brokers, taking them to dinner
and the theater. She had power breakfasts at the Regency and was told
about properties that were about to come on the market.
She acquired
two more downtown sites and began construction.
Paul Martin telephoned Lara at the office. "have you seen Business
Week? You're a hot ticket," he said. "The word's out that you're a
shaker. You get things done." "I try."
"Are you free for dinner?" "I'll make myself free."
Lara was in a meeting with the partner of a top architectural firm.
She was examining the blueprints and drawings they had brought.
"You're going to like this," the chief architect said.
"It has grace and symmetry and the scope that you asked for. Let me
explain some of the details "That won't be necessary,"
Lara said. "I
understand them." She looked up. "I want you to turn these plans over
to an artist." "What?"
"I want large color drawings of the building. I want drawings of the
lobby, the corridors, and the offices. Bankers have no imagination.
I'm going to show them what the building is going to look like."
"That's a great idea."
Lara's secretary appeared. "I'm sorry I'm late."
"This meeting was called for nine o'clock, Kathy. It's nine-fifteen."
"I'm sorry, Miss Cameron, my alarm didn't go off and..." "We'll discuss it later."
She turned to the architects. "I want a few changes made..."
Two hours later Lara had finished discussing the changes she wanted.
When the meeting was over, she said to Kathy, "Don't leave. Sit
down." Kathy sat.
"Do you like your job?" "Yes, Miss Cameron."
"This is the third time you've been late this week. I won't put up
with that again."
"I'm terribly sorry, I... I haven't been feeling well." "What's your problem?"
"It's nothing, really."
"It's obviously enough to keep you from coming in on time.
What is it?"
"I haven't been sleeping very well lately. To tell you the truth,
I...
I'm scared."
"Scared of what?" Lara asked impatiently. "I... I have a lump."
"Oh." Lara was silent for a moment. "Well, what did the doctor
say?"
Kathy swallowed. "I haven't seen a doctor."
"Not seen one!" Lara exploded. "For God's sakes, do you come from a
family of ostriches? Of course you've got to see a doctor."
Lara picked up the phone. "Get me Dr. Peters."
She replaced the receiver. "It's probably nothing, but you can't let
it go."
"I have a mother and brother who died of cancer," Kathy said
miserably.
"I don't want a doctor to tell me I have it."
The telephone rang. Lara picked it up. "hello? he what?...Idon't
care if he is. You tell himlwant to talk to him now." She replaced the receiver.
A few moments later the phone rang again. Lara picked it up. "hello,
Alan... no, I'm fine. I'm sending my secretary over to see you. her
name is Kathy Turner.
She'll be there in half an hour. I want her examined this morning, and
I want you to stay on top of it... I know you are... I appreciate
it... thanks."
She replaced the receiver. "Get over to SloanKettering hospital. Dr.
Peters will be waiting for you."
"I don't know what to say, Miss Cameron."
"Say that you'll be on time tomorrow." Howard Keller came into the
office. "We have a problem, boss." "Go."
"It's the property on Fourteenth Street. We've cleared the tenants out
of the whole block except for one apartment house. The Dorchester
Apartments. Six of the tenants refuse to leave, and the city won't let
us force them out." "Offer them more money.
"It's not a question of money. Those people have lived there a long
time. They don't want to leave. They're comfortable there."
"Then let's make them uncomfortable." "What do you mean?"
Lara got up. "Let's go take a look at the building."
On the drive down, they passed bag ladies and homeless people roaming
the streets, asking for handouts.
"In a country as wealthy as this," Lara said, "that's a disgrace."
The Dorchester Apartments was a six-story brick building in the middle
of a block filled with old structures waiting for the bulldozers.
Lara stood in front of it, examining it. "How many tenants are in
there?"
"We got sixteen out of the apartment. Six are still hanging on."
"That means we have sixteen apartments available." lIe looked at her,
puzzled. "That's right. Why?" "Let's fill those apartments."
"You mean, lease them? What's the point..."
"We're not going to lease them. We're going to donate them to the
homeless. There are thousands of homeless people in New York. We're
going to take care of some of them. Crowd in as many as you can. See
that they're given some food."
Keller frowned. "What makes me think this isn't one of your better
ideas?"
"Howard, we're going to become benefactors. We're going to do
something the city can't do-shelter the homeless."
Lara was studying the building more closely, looking at the windows.
"And I want those windows boarded up." "What?"
"We're going to make the building look like an old derelict. Is the
top floor apartment still occupied, the one with the roof garden?"
"Yes."
"Put up a big billboard on the roof to block the view. "But..."
"Get to work on it."
When Lara returned to the office, there was a message for her. "Dr.
Peters would like you to call him," Tricia said.
"Get him for me." lIe came on the phone almost immediately.
"Lara, I examined your secretary." "Yes?"
"She has a tumor. I'm afraid it's malignant. I recommend an immediate
mastectomy."
"I want a second opinion," Lara said.
"Of course, if you wish, but I am head of the department and..."
"I still want a second opinion. have someone else examine her. Get
back to me as soon as possible. Where is Kathy now?" "She's on her way back to your office."
"Thanks, Alan."
Lara replaced the receiver. She pressed down the intercom button.
"When Kathy returns, send her in tome."
Lara studied the calendar on her desk. She had only thirty days left
to clear out the Dorchester Apartments before construction was
scheduled to start.
Six stubborn tenants. All right, Lara thought, let's see how long they
can hold out.
Kathy walked into Lara's office. her face was puffy and her eyes were
red.
"I heard the news," Lara told her. "I'm so sorry, Kathy." "I'm going to die," Kathy said.
Lara rose and put her arms around her, holding her close. "You're not
going to do anything of the kind.
They've made a lot of progress with cancer. You're going to have the
operation, and you're going to be all right." "Miss Cameron, I can't afford..."
"Everything will be taken care of. Dr. Peters is going to see that
you have one more examination. If it verifies his diagnosis, you
should have the operation right away.
Now go home and get some rest."
Kathy's eyes filled with tears again. "I... thank you."
As Kathy walked out of the office, she thought, No one really knows
that lady. Chapter Sixteen.
The following Monday Lara had a visitor.
"There's a Mr. O'Brian here to see you from the city planning
commissioner's office, Miss Cameron." "What about?"
"lIe didn't say."
Lara buzzed Keller on the intercom. "Will you come in here,
Howard?"
She said to the secretary, "Send Mr. O'Brian in."
Andy O'Brian was a burly red-faced Irishman with a slight brogue.
"Miss Cameron?"
Lara remained seated behind her desk. "Yes. What can I do for you,
Mr. O'Brian?"
"I'm afraid you're in violation of the law, Miss Cameron." "Really? What is this all about?"
"You own the Dorchester Apartments on East Fourteenth Street?"
"Yes."
"We have a report that about a hundred homeless people have crowded
into those apartments."
"Oh, that." Lara smiled. "Yes, I thought that since the city wasn't
doing anything about the homeless, I would help out. I'm giving them
shelter." Howard Keller walked into the room. "This is Mr. Keller. Mr. O'Brian."
The two men shook hands.
Lara turned to Keller. "I was just explaining how we're helping the
city out by providing housing."
"You invited them in, Miss Cameron?" "That's right."
"Do you have a license from the city?" "A license for what?"
"If you're setting up a shelter, it has to be approved by the city.
There are certain strict conditions that are enforced."
"I'm sorry. I wasn't aware of that. I'll arrange for the license
immediately."
"I don't think so." "What does that mean?"
"We've had complaints from the tenants in the building.
They say
you're trying to force them out."
"Nonsense."
"Miss Cameron, the city is giving you forty-eight hours to move those
homeless people out of there. And when they leave, we have an order
for you to take down the boards that you put up to cover the
windows."
Lara was furious. "Is that all?"
"No, ma'am. The tenant who has the roof garden says you put up a sign
blocking his view. You'll have to take that down, too." "What if I won't?"
"I think you will. All this comes under harassment.
You'll save yourself a lot of trouble and unpleasant publicity by not
forcing us to take you to court." lIe nodded and said, "have a nice
day."
They watched him walk out of the office.
Keller turned to Lara. "We'll have to get all those people out of
there."
"No." She sat there, thinking.
"What do you mean 'no'? The man said..."
"I know what he said. I want you to bring in more homeless. I want
that building packed with street people.
We're going to stall. Call Terry hill. Tell him the problem. have
him get a stay or something. We've got to get those six tenants out by
the end of the month or it's going to cost us three million dollars."
The intercom buzzed. "Dr. Peters is on the phone." Lara picked up the telephone. "hello, Alan."
"I just wanted to tell you that we finished the operation.
It looks
like we got it all. Kathy's going to be fine." "That's wonderful news. When can I visit her?" "You can come by this afternoon."
"I'll do that. Thanks, Alan. See that I get all the bills, will
you?" "Will do."
"And you can tell the hospital to expect a donation. Fifty thousand dollars."
Lara said to Tricia, "Fill her room with flowers." She looked at her
schedule. "I'll go down to see her at four o'clock."
Terry hill arrived at the office. "There's a warrant for your arrest
coming in." "What?"
"Weren't you warned to get those homeless people out of the
building?" "Yes, but..."
"You can't get away with this, Lara. There's an old adage: 'Don't
fight City hall, you can't'" "Are they really going to
arrest me?"
"You're damn right they are. You were given notice by the city to get
those people out of there."
"All right," Lara said. "Let's get them out." She turned to Keller.
"Remove them, but don't put them out on the street. That isn't
right.... We have those empty rooming houses that we're waiting to
convert in the West Twenties. Let's put them there. Take all the help
you need. I want them gone in an hour."
She turned to Terry hill. "I'll be out of here, so they can't serve
me. By the time they do, the problem will be solved."
The intercom buzzed. "There are two gentlemen here from the district
attorney's office."
Lara motioned to Howard Keller. lIe walked over to the intercom and
said, "Miss Cameron isn't here."
There was a silence. "When do you expect her?"
Keller looked at Lara. Lara shook her head. Keller said into the
intercom, "We don't know." lIe flicked the key up. "I'll go out the back way," Lara said.
Lara hated hospitals. A hospital was her father lying in bed, pale and
suddenly old. "What the bluidy hell are you doin' here?
You've work
to dae at the boardinghouse."
Lara walked into Kathy's room. It was filled with
flowers. Kathy was sitting up in bed.
"How do you feel?" Lara asked.
Kathy smiled. "The doctor said I'm going to be fine." "You'd better be. Your work is piling up. I need you." "I ... I don't know how to thank you for all this." "Don't."
Lara picked up the bedside phone and put a call through to her
office.
She spoke to Terry hill. "Are they still there?"
"They're still here. They intend to stay until you return."
"Check with Howard. As soon as he clears the street people out of the
building, I'll come back." Lara replaced the receiver.
"If you need anything, let me know," Lara said. "I'll be back to see
you tomorrow."
Lara's next stop was at the architectural offices of higgins, Almont &
Clark. She was ushered in to see Mr. Clark. lIe rose as she walked
into his office.
"What a nice surprise. What can I do for you, Miss Cameron?"
"Do you have the plans here for the project on Fourteenth
Street?"
"Yes, indeed." lIe went over to his drawing board. "here we are."
There was a sketch of a beautiful high rise complex with apartment
buildings and shops around it.
"I want you to redraw it," Lara said. "What?"
Lara pointed to a space in the middle of the block.
"There's a building still standing in this area. I want you to draw
the same concept, but construct it around that building."
"You mean you want to put up the project with one of the old buildings
still standing? It would never work.
First of all, it would look terrible and..."
"Just do it, please. Send it over to my office this afternoon."
And Lara was gone.
From the car she telephoned Terry hill. "have you heard from Howard
yet?"
"Yes. The squatters have all been cleared out."
"Good. Get the district attorney on the phone. Tell him that I had
ordered those squatters out two days ago and that there was a lack of
communication. The minute I heard about it, today, I had them moved
out. I'm on my way back to the office now. See if he still wants to
arrest me."
She said to the driver, "Drive through the park. Take your time."
Thirty minutes later, when Lara reached her office, the men with the
warrant were gone.
Lara was in a meeting with Howard Keller and Terry hill.
"The tenants still won't budge," Keller said. "I even went back and
offered them more money. They're not leaving. We've only got five
days left before we have to begin bulldozing."
Lara said, "I asked Mr. Clark to draw up a new blueprint for the
project."
"I saw it," Keller said. "It doesn't make any sense.
We can't leave that old building standing in the middle of a new giant
construction. We're going to have to go to the bank and ask them if
they'll move back the start date."
"No," Lara said. "I want to move it up." "What?"
"Get hold of the contractor. Tell him we want to start bulldozing
tomorrow." "Tomorrow? Lara..."
"First thing in the morning. And take that blueprint and give it to
the foreman of the construction crew." "What good will that do?" Keller asked.
"We'll see."
The following morning the remaining tenants of the Dorchester
Apartments were awakened by the roar of a bulldozer. They looked out
of their windows. halfway down the block, as they watched, a
mechanical behemoth was moving toward them, leveling everything in its
path.
The tenants were stunned.
Mr. hershey, who lived on the top floor, rushed outside and hurried
over to the foreman. "What do you think you're doing?" he screamed.
"You can't go ahead with this." "Who says so?"
"The city does." hershey pointed to the building he lived in.
"You're not permitted to touch that building."
The foreman looked at the blueprint in front of him.
"That's right," he said. "We have orders to leave that building
standing." hershey frowned. "What? Let me see that." lIe looked at
the plan and gasped. "They're going to put up the plaza and leave this
building standing?" "That's right, mister."
"But they can't do that! The noise and dirt!"
"That's not my problem. Now, if you'll get out of my way,
I'd like to
get back to work."
Thirty minutes later Lara's secretary said, "There's a Mr. hershey on
line two, Miss Cameron." "Tell him I'm not available."
When hershey called for the third time that afternoon,
Lara finally
picked up the phone and spoke with him. "Yes, Mr. hershey. What can I do for you?"
"I'd like to come in and see you, Miss Cameron."
"I'm afraid I'm rather busy. Whatever it is you have to say you can
say on the phone."
"Well, you'll be glad to know that I've talked to the other tenants in
our building and we've agreed that it might be best after all to take
your offer and vacate our apartments."
"That offer is no longer good, Mr. hershey. You can all stay where
you are."
"If you build around us, we're never going to get any sleep!"
"Who told you we were going to build around you?" Lara demanded. "Where did you get that information?" "The foreman on the job showed me a blueprint and..."
"Well, he's going to be fired." There was fury in Lara's voice. "That
was confidential information."
"Wait a minute. Let's talk like two reasonable people, okay? Your
project would be better off if we got out of here, and I think we'd be
better off leaving. I don't want to live in the middle of a damned
high rise."
Lara said, "It doesn't matter to me whether you go or stay, Mr.
hershey." her voice softened. "I'll tell you what I'll do. If that
building is vacated by next month I'm willing to go with our first
offer."
She could hear him thinking it over.
Finally he said reluctantly, "Okay. I'll talk to the others, but I'm
sure it will be all right. I really appreciate this, Miss Cameron."
Lara said, "It's been my pleasure, Mr. hershey."
The following month, work on the new project began in earnest.
Lara's reputation was growing. Cameron Enterprises was putting up a
high rise in Brooklyn, a shopping center in Westchester, a mall in
Washington, D.C. There was a low-cost housing project being constructed
in Dallas and a block of condominiums in Los Angeles.
Capital flowed
in from banks, savings and loan companies, and eager private
investors.
Lara had become a Name. Kathy had returned to work.
"I'm back."
Lara studied her a moment. "How do you feel?" Kathy smiled. "Great. Thanks to..."
"Do you have a lot of energy?"
She was surprised at the question. "Yes. I..."
"Good. You're going to need it. I'm making you my executive
assistant. There will be a nice raise for you." "I don't know what to say. I "You've earned it." Lara saw the memo in Kathy's hand. "What's that?"
"Gourmet magazine would like to publish your favorite recipe. Are you
interested?"
"No. Tell them I'm too ... wait a minute." She sat there a moment,
lost in thought. Then she said softly, "Yes. I'll give them a
recipe."
The recipe appeared in the magazine three months later.
It began: Black Bun-A classic Scottish dish. A mixture encased in a
short paste jacket made from half a pound of flour, a quarter pound of
butter, a touch of cold water, and a half a teaspoon of baking power.
Inside are two pounds of raisins, half a pound of chopped almonds,
three-quarters of a pound of flour, half a pound of sugar, two
teaspoons of allspice, a teaspoon of ground ginger, a teaspoon of
cinnamon, a half teaspoon of baking powder, and a dash of
brandy...
Lara looked at the article for a long time, and it brought back the
taste of it, the smell of the boardinghouse kitchen, the noise of the
boarders at supper. her father helpless in his bed. She put the
magazine away.
* * * People recognized Lara on the street, and when she walked into a
restaurant, there were always excited whispers. She was escorted
around town by half a dozen eligible suitors and had flattering
proposals, but she was not interested. In a strange, almost eerie way,
she was still looking for someone. Someone familiar.
Someone she had never met.
Lara would wake up at five o'clock every morning and have her driver,
Max, take her to one of the buildings under construction.
She would
stand there, staring at what she was creating, and she thought, You
were wrong, Father. I can collect the rents.
For Lara, the sounds of the day began with the rata-tat-tat of the
jackhammers, the roar of the bulldozers, the clanging of heavy metal.
She would ride the rickety construction elevator to the top and stand
on the steel girders with the wind blowing in her face, and she
thought, I own this city.
Paul Martin and Lara were in bed.
"I hear you chewed out a couple of your construction
workers pretty good today."
"They deserved it," Lara said. "They were doing sloppy work."
Paul grinned. "At least you've learned not to slap them."
"Look what happened when I did slap one." She snuggled up to him. "I
met you."
"I have to take a trip to L.A" Paul said. "I'd like you to come with
me. Can you get away for a few days?"
"I'd love to, Paul, but it's impossible. I schedule my days with a
stopwatch." lIe sat up and looked down at her. "Maybe you're doing
too much, baby.
Don't ever get too busy for me."
Lara smiled and began to stroke him. "Don't worry about that. It will
never happen."
* * It had been there in front of her all the time, and she had not
seen it. It was a huge waterfront property in the Wall Street area,
near the World Trade Center. And it was for sale. Lara had passed it
a dozen times, but she looked at it now and saw what should have been
there all along: In her mind, she could see the world's tallest
building. She knew what Howard was going to say: "You're getting in
over your head, Lara. You can't get involved with this."
But she knew
that nothing was going to stop her.
When she got to the office, she called a meeting of her staff.
"The Wall Street property on the waterfront," Lara said. "We're going
to buy it. We're going to put up the tallest skyscraper in the
world." "Lara..."
"Before you say anything, Howard, let me point out a few things. The
location is perfect. It's in the heart of the business district.
Tenants will be fighting to get office space there. And remember, it's
going to be the tallest skyscraper in the world. That's a big
sizzle.
It's going to be our flagship. We'll call it Cameron Towers."
"Where's the money coming from?" Lara handed him a piece of paper.
Keller was examining the figures. "You're being optimistic."
"I'm being realistic. We're not talking about just any building.
We're talking about a jewel, Howard." lIe was thinking hard. "You'll
be stretching yourself thin."
Lara smiled. "We've done that before, haven't we?"
Keller said, thoughtfully, "The tallest skyscraper in the world..."
"That's right. And the banks call us every day, throwing money at
us.
They'll jump at this."
"They probably will," Keller said. lIe looked at Lara. "You really want this, don't you?"
"Yes."
Keller sighed. lIe looked around at the group. "All right. The first
step is to take an option on the property."
Lara smiled. "I've already done that. And I have some other news for
you. Steve Murchison was negotiating for that property."
"I remember him. We took that hotel site away from him in Chicago."
"I'm going to let it go this time, bitch, because I don't think you
know what the hell you're doing. But in the future, stay out of my
way-you could get hurt."
"Right." Murchison had become one of the most ruthless and successful
real estate developers in New York.
Keller said, "Lara, he's bad news. lIe enjoys destroying people."
"You worry too much."
The financing for Cameron Towers went smoothly.
Lara had been right. The bankers felt that there was a sizzle to the
tallest skyscraper in the world. And the name of Cameron was an added
cachet. They were eager to be associated with her.
Lara was more than a glamorous figure. She was a symbol to the women
of the world, an icon. If she can accomplish this, why not me? A
perfume was named after her. She was invited to all the important
social events, and hostesses were eager to have her at their dinner
parties. her name on a building seemed to ensure success.
"We're going to start our own construction company," Lara decided one
day. "We have the crews. We'll rent them out to other builders."
"That's not a bad idea," Keller said.
"Let's go for it. How soon are we going to break ground for Cameron
Towers?"
"The deal's in place. I would say three months from now.
Lara sat back in her chair. "Can you imagine it, Howard?
The tallest
skyscraper in the world." lIe wondered what Freud would have made of
that.
The ground-breaking ceremony for Cameron Towers had the atmosphere of a
three-ring circus. America's Princess, Lara Cameron, was the main
attraction. The event had been heavily publicized in the newspapers
and on television, and a crowd of more than two hundred people had
gathered, waiting for Lara to arrive. When her white limousine pulled
up to the building site, there was a roar from the crowd. "There she is!"
As Lara stepped out of the car and moved toward the building site to
greet the mayor, police and security guards held the crowd back. The
people pushed forward, screaming and calling her name, and the
photographers' flashbulbs began popping.
In a special roped-off section were the bankers, heads of advertising
agencies, company directors, contractors, project managers, community
representatives, and architects. One hundred feet away, large
bulldozers and backhoes were standing by, ready to go to work. Fifty
trucks were lined up to cart the rubble away.
Lara was standing next to the mayor and the Manhattan borough
president. It had started to drizzle. Jerry Townsend, head of public
relations for Cameron Enterprises, hurried toward Lara with an
umbrella. She smiled and waved him away.
The mayor spoke into the cameras. "Today is a great day for
Manhattan.
This ground-breaking ceremony at Cameron Towers marks the beginning of
one of the largest real estate projects in Manhattan's history. Six
blocks of Manhattan real estate will be converted into a modern
community that will include apartment buildings, two shopping centers,
a convention center, and the tallest skyscraper in the world."
There was applause from the crowd.
"Wherever you look," the mayor continued, "you can see Lara Cameron's
contribution written in concrete." lIe pointed. "Uptown is the
Cameron Center. And near it, Cameron Plaza and half a dozen housing
projects. And across the country is the great Cameron hotel chain."
The mayor turned to Lara and smiled. "And she's not only brainy, she's
beautiful."
There was laughter and more applause. "Lara Cameron, ladies and gentlemen.
Lara looked into the television cameras and smiled.
"Thank you, Mr. Mayor. I'm very pleased to have made some small
contribution to this fabulous city of ours. My father always told me
that the reason we were put on this earth was..." She hesitated. Out
of the corner of her eye, she had seen a familiar figure in the
crowd.
Steve Murchison. She had seen his photograph in newspapers. What
was he doing here? Lara went on. ... "was to leave it a better place
than when we came into it. Well, I hope that in my own small way, I've
been able to do that."
There was more applause. Lara was handed a ceremonial hard hat and a
chrome-plated shovel.
"Time to go to work, Miss Cameron." The flashbulbs began to pop again.
Lara pushed the shovel into the dirt and dug up the first bit of
earth.
At the conclusion of the ceremony, refreshments were served, while the
television cameras kept recording the event. When Lara looked around
again, Murchison was nowhere in sight.
Thirty minutes later Lara Cameron was back in the limousine headed for
the office. Jerry Townsend was seated next to her. "I thought it went great," he said. "Just great." "Not bad," Lara grinned. "Thanks, Jerry."
The executive suites of Cameron Enterprises occupied the entire
fiftieth floor of Cameron Center.
Lara got off at the fiftieth floor, and by then the word had gotten
around that she was arriving. The secretaries and staff were busily at
work.
Lara turned to Jerry Townsend. "Come into my office."
The office was an enormous corner suite overlooking the city.
Lara glanced at some papers on her desk and looked up at Jerry.
"How's your father? Is he any better?" What did she know about his father? "lIe's... he's not well."
"I know. lIe has huntington's chorea, hasn't he, Jerry?"
"Yes."
It was a terrible disease. It was progressive and degenerative,
characterized by spasmodic involuntary movements of the face and
extremities, accompanied by the loss of mental faculties. "How do you know about my father?"
"I'm on the board at the hospital where he's being treated. I heard
some doctors discussing his case." Jerry said tightly, "It's incurable."
"Everything is incurable until they find the cure," Lara said. "I did
some checking. There's a doctor in Switzerland who's doing some
advanced research on the disease. lIe's willing to take on your
father's case. I'll handle the expenses." Jerry stood there, stunned.
"Okay?" lIe found it difficult to speak. "Okay." I don't know her,
Jerry Townsend thought. Nobody knows her.
history was being made, but Lara was too busy to notice. Ronald
Reagan had been re-elected, and a man named Mikhail Gorbachev had
succeeded Chernenko as leader of the USSR.
Lara built a low-income housing development in Detroit.
In 1986 Ivan Boesky had been fined a hundred million dollars in an
insider trading scandal and sentenced to three years in prison.
Lara started development on condominiums in Queens.
Investors were
eager to be a part of the magic of her name. A group of German
investment bankers flew to New York to meet with Lara.
She arranged
for the meeting immediately after their plane landed.
They had
protested, but Lara said, "I'm so sorry, gentlemen. It's the only time
I have. I'm leaving for hong Kong."
The Germans were served coffee. Lara had tea. One of the Germans
complained about the taste of the coffee.
"It's a special brand made for me," Lara explained. "The flavor will
grow on you. Have another cup."
By the end of the negotiations Lara had won all her points.
Life was a series of serendipities, except for one disturbing
incident.
Lara had had several run-ins with Steve Murchison over various
properties, and she had always managed to outwit him. "I think we should back off," Keller warned.
"Let him back off."
And one morning a beautiful package wrapped in rose paper arrived from
Bendel's. Kathy laid it on Lara's desk.
ú "It's awfully heavy," Kathy said. "If it's a hat, you're in
trouble."
Curious, Lara unwrapped it and opened the lid. The box
was packed with
dirt. A printed card inside read: "The Frank E. Campbell Funeral
Chapel."
The building projects were all going well. When Lara read about a
proposed inner-city playground that was stymied because of bureaucratic
red tape, she stepped in, had her company build it, and donated it to
the city. The publicity she received on it was enormous.
One headline
read: LARA CAMERON STANDS FOR "CAN DO."
She was seeing Paul once or twice a week, and she talked to him every
day.
Lara bought a house in Southampton and lived in a farttasy world of
expensive jewels and furs and limousines. her closets were filled
with beautiful designer clothes. "I need some clothes for school."
"Weel, I'm nae made of money. Get yourself something frae the
Salvation Army Citadel."
And Lara would order another outfit.
her employees were her family. She worried about them and was
generous with them. They were all she had. She remembered their
birthdays and anniversaries.
She helped get their children into good schools and set up scholarship
funds for them. When they tried to thank her, Lara was embarrassed.
It was difficult for her to express her emotions. her
father had
ridiculed her when she had tried. Lara had built a protective wall
around herself. No one is ever going to hurt me again, she vowed.
No one.
Chapter Seventeen.
I'm leaving for London in the morning, Howard." "What's up?" Keller asked.
"Lord MacIntosh has invited me to come over and take a look at a
property he's interested in. lIe wants to go into partnership."
Brian MacIntosh was one of the wealthiest real estate developers in
England.
"What time do we leave?" Keller asked. "I've decided to go alone."
"Oh?"
"I want you to keep an eye on things here." lIe nodded. "Right. I'll
do that."
"I know you will. I can always count on you."
The trip to London was uneventful. The private 727 she had purchased
took off in the morning and landed at the Magec Terminal at Luton
Airport outside London.
She had no idea her life was about to change.
When Lara arrived at the lobby of Claridges, Ronald Jones,
the manager,
was there to greet her. "It's a pleasure to have you back, Miss
Cameron. I'll show you to your suite. By the way, we have some
messages for you."
There were more than two dozen.
The suite was lovely. There were flowers from Brian MacIntosh and from
Paul Martin, and champagne and hors d'oeuvres from the management. The
phone began to ring the minute Lara walked in. The calls were from all
over the United States.
"The architect wants to make some changes in the plans.
It will cost a fortune. "
"There's a holdup on the cement delivery. "
"The First National Savings and Loan wants in on our next deal "The
mayor wants to know if you can be in L.A. for the opening. lIe'd like
to plan a big ceremony. "
"The toilets haven't arrived. "
"Bad weather is holding us up. We're falling behind schedule. "
Each problem required a decision, and when Lara finally finished with
her calls, she was exhausted. She had dinner in her room alone and sat
looking out the window, at the Rolls-Royces and Bentleys pulling up to
the Brook Street entrance, and a feeling of elation swept over her.
The little girl from Glace Bay has come a long way, Daddy.
The following morning Lara went with Brian MacIntosh to look at the
proposed site. It was enormoustwo miles of riverside frontage filled
with old run-down buildings and storage sheds.
"The British government will give us a lot of tax relief on this,"
Brian MacIntosh explained, "because we're going to rehabilitate this
whole section of the city."
"I'd like to think about it," Lara said. She had already made up her
mind.
"By the way, I have tickets to a concert tonight," Brian MacIntosh told
her. "My wife has a club meeting. Do you like classical music?"
Lara had no interest in classical music. "Yes."
"Philip Adler is playing Rachmaninoff." lIe looked at Lara as though
expecting her to say something. She had never heard of Philip Adler.
"It sounds wonderful," Lara said.
"Good. We'll have supper afterward at Scotts. I'll pick you up at
seven."
Why did I say I liked classical music? Lara wondered.
It was going to be a boring evening. She would have preferred to take
a hot bath and go to sleep. Oh, well, one more evening won't hurt
me.
I'll fly back to New York in the morning.
The Festival hall was crowded with music aficionados. The men wore
dinner jackets and the women were dressed in beautiful evening gowns.
It was a gala evening, and there was a feeling of excited expectation
in the large hall.
Brian MacIntosh purchased two programs from the usher, and they were
seated. lIe handed Lara a program.
She barely glanced at it. The London Philharmonic Orchestra... Philip
Adler playing Rachmaninoffs Piano Concerto No. 3 in D Minor, Opus
30.
I've got to call Howard and remind him about the revised estimates on
the Fifth Avenue site.
The conductor appeared on stage, and the audience applauded. Lara paid
no attention. The contractor in Boston is moving too slowly. He needs
a carrot. I'll tell Howard to offer him a bonus.
There was another loud round of applause from the audience. A man was
taking his place at the piano at center stage. The conductor gave a
downbeat, and the music began.
Philip Adler's fingers flashed across the keys.
A woman seated behind Lara said with a loud Texas accent, "Isn't he
fantastic? I told you, Agnes!"
Lara tried to concentrate again. The London deal is out.
It's the
wrong neighborhood, Lara thought. People aren't going to want to live
there. Location. Location. Location. She thought about a project
that had been brought to her, near Columbus Circle. Now that one could
work.
The woman behind Lara said, loudly, "his expression ... he's
fabulous!
lIe's one of the most..." Lara tried to tune her out.
The cost of an office building there would be approximately four
hundred dollars per rentable square foot. If I can bring in the
construction cost at one hundred fifty million, the land costs at one
hundred twenty-five million, the soft costs... "My God!" the woman behind Lara exclaimed.
Lara was startled out of her reverie. "lIe's so brilliant!"
There was a drumroll from the orchestra, and Philip Adler played four
bars alone, and the orchestra began to play faster and faster. The
drums began to beat...
The woman could not contain herself. "Listen to that!
The music is going from pit: vivo to pit: mosso. have you ever heard
anything so exciting?" Lara gritted her teeth.
The minimum break-even should work out all right, 1 she thought. The
cost of the rentable square feet would be three hundred fifty million,
the interest at ten percent would be thirty-five million, plus ten
million in operating expenses...
The tempo of the music was increasing, reverberating through the
hall.
The music came to a sudden climax and stopped, and the audience was on
its feet, cheering.
There were calls of "bravo!" The pianist had risen and was taking
bows.
Lara did not even bother to look up. Taxes would be about six, free
rent concessions would come to two. We're talking about fifty-eight
million.
"lIe's incredible, isn't he?" Brian MacIntosh said.
"Yes." Lara was annoyed at having her thoughts interrupted again.
"Let's go backstage. Philip is a friend of mine."
"I really don't..." lIe took Lara's hand, and they were moving toward
an exit.
"I'm glad I'll have a chance to introduce you to him,"
Brian MacIntosh said.
It's six o'clock in New York, Lara thought. I'll be able to call
Howard and tell him to start negotiations.
"lIe's a once-in-a-lifetime experience, isn't he?" Once is enough for me, Lara thought. "Yes."
They had reached the outside artists' entrance. There was a large
crowd waiting. Brian MacIntosh knocked on the door. A doorman opened
it.
"Yes, sir?"
"Lord MacIntosh to see Mr. Adler."
"Right, my lord. Come in, please." lIe opened the door wide enough to
let Brian MacIntosh and Lara enter, then closed it against the crowd.
"What do all these people want?" Lara asked.
lIe looked at her in surprise. "They're here to see Philip."
She wondered why.
The doorman said, "Go right into the greenroom, my lord." "Thank you."
Five minutes, Lara thought, and I'll say I have to leave.
The greenroom was noisy and already full. People were crowded around a
figure Lara could not see. The crowd shifted, and for an instant he
was clearly visible.
Lara froze, and for a moment she felt her heart stop. The vague,
evanescent image that had been at the back of her mind all those years
had suddenly materialized out of nowhere. Lochinvar, the vision in her
fantasies, had come to life! The man at the center of the crowd was
tall and blond, with delicate, sensitive features. lIe was wearing
white tie and tails, and a feeling of deja vu swept over Lara: She was
standing at the kitchen sink in the boardinghouse, and the handsome
young man in white tie and tails came up behind her and whispered, "Can
I help you?"
Brian MacIntosh was watching Lara, concerned. "Are you all right?"
"I... I'm fine." She was finding it difficult to breathe.
Philip Adler was moving toward them, smiling, and it was the same warm
smile Lara had imagined. lIe held out his hand. "Brian, how good of
you to come."
"I wouldn't have missed it," MacIntosh said. "You were simply
marvelous." "Thank you."
"Oh, Philip, I would like you to meet Lara Cameron."
Lara was looking into his eyes, and the words came out unbidden. "Do
you dry?"
"I beg your pardon?"
Lara turned red. "Nothing. I..." She was suddenly tongue-tied.
People were crowding around Philip Adler, heaping praise
on him.
"You've never played better..."
"I think Rachmaninoff was with you tonight..."
The praise went on and on. The women in the room were crowding around
him, touching and pulling at him.
Lara stood there watching, mesmerized. her childhood dream had come
true. her fantasy had become flesh and blood.
"Are you ready to go?" Brian MacIntosh asked Lara.
No. She wanted nothing more than to stay. She wanted to talk to the
vision again, to touch him, to make sure he was real. "I'm ready,"
Lara said reluctantly.
The following morning Lara was on her way back to New York. She
wondered whether she would ever see Philip Adler again.
She was unable to get him out of her mind. She tried to tell herself
that it was ridiculous, that she was trying to relive a childhood
dream, but it was no use. She kept seeing his face, hearing his
voice.
I must see him again, Lara thought.
Early the next morning Paul Martin telephoned. "hi, baby. I missed you. How was London?" "Fine," Lara said carefully. "Just fine."
When they had finished talking, Lara sat at her desk thinking about
Philip Adler.
"They're waiting for you in the conference room, Miss Cameron."
"I'm coming."
"We lost the Queens deal," Keller said. "Why? I thought it was all set."
"So did I, but the community board refuses to support the zoning
change."
Lara looked around at the Executive Committee assembled in the room.
There were architects, lawyers, publicity men, and construction
engineers.
Lara said, "I don't understand. Those tenants have an average income
of nine thousand dollars a year, and they're paying less than two
hundred dollars a month in rent. We're going to rehabilitate the
apartments for them, at no increase in rent, and we're going to provide
new apartments for some of the other residents in the neighborhood.
We're giving them Christmas in July and they turned you down? What's
the problem?"
"It's not the board so much. It's their chairman. A lady named Edith
Benson."
"Set up another meeting with her. I'll go there myself." Lara took her chief construction supervisor, Bill Whitman,
to the meeting.
Lara said, "Frankly, I was stunned when I heard that your board turned
us down. We're going to put up over a hundred million dollars to
improve this neighborhood, and yet you refuse to..."
Edith Benson cut her short. "Let's be honest, Miss Cameron. You're
not putting up the money to improve the neighborhood.
You're putting
up the money so Cam- I eron Enterprises can make more money."
"Of course, we expect to make money," Lara said.
"But the only way we can do that is to help you people.
We're going to make the living conditions in your area better,
and..."
"Sorry. I don't agree. Right now, we're a quiet little neighborhood.
If we let you in, we're going to become a higher-density area-more
traffic, more automobiles, more pollution. We don't want any of
that."
"Neither do I," Lara said. "We don't intend to put up dingbats that
"Dingbats?"
"Yes, those ugly, stripped-down, three-story stucco boxes.
We're
interested in designs that won't increase the noise level or reduce the
light or change the feel of the neighborhood. We're not interested in
hot dog, show-off architecture. I've already hired
Stanton Fielding,
the top architect in the country, to design this project, and Andrew
Burton from Washington to do the landscaping."
Edith Benson shrugged. "I'm sorry. It's no use. I don't think
there's anything more to discuss." She started to rise.
I can't lose this, Lara thought desperately. Can't they see it's for
the good of their neighborhood? I'm trying to do something for them
and they won't let me. And suddenly she had a wild idea.
"Wait a minute," Lara said. "I understand that the other members of
the board are willing to make the deal but you are the one blocking
it."
"That's correct."
Lara took a deep breath. "There is something to discuss."
She
hesitated. "It's very personal." She was fidgeting now. "You say I'm
not worried about pollution and what happens to the environment in this
neighborhood if we move in? I'm going to tell you something that I
hope you will keep in confidence. I have a ten-year-old daughter that
I'm crazy about, and she's going to live in the new building with her
father. lIe has custody of her."
Edith Benson was looking at her in surprise. "I... I didn't know you
had a daughter."
"No one does," Lara said quietly. "I've never been married. That's
why I'm asking you to keep this confidential. If it gets
out, it could
be very damaging to me.
I'm sure you understand that." "I do understand."
"I love my daughter very much, and I assure you that I would never do
anything in the world that would hurt her. I intend to do everything I
can to make this project wonderful for all the people who live here.
And she'll be one of them."
There was a sympathetic silence. "I must say, this ... this puts quite
a different complexion on things, Miss Cameron. I'd like to have some
time to think about it."
"Thank you. I appreciate that." If I did have a daughter, Lara
thought, it would be safe for her to live here.
Three weeks later Lara got the approval from the City Planning
Commission to go ahead with the project.
"Great," Lara said. "Now we'd better get hold of Stanton Fielding and
Andrew Burton and see if they're interested in working on the
project."
Howard Keller could not believe the news. "I heard what happened," he
said. "You conned her! That's incredible. You don't have a
daughter!"
"They need this project," Lara said. "This was the only way I could
think of to change their minds."
Bill Whitman was listening. "There'll be hell to pay if they ever find
out."
In January construction was completed on a new building on East
Sixty-third Street. It was a forty-fivestory apartment building, and
Lara reserved the duplex penthouse for herself. The rooms were large,
and the apartment had terraces that covered a full block.
She brought
in a top decorator to do the apartment. There was a housewarming for a
hundred people.
"All it lacks is a man," one of the lady guests said cattily.
And Lara thought of Philip Adler and wondered where he was and what he
was doing.
Lara and Howard Keller were in the middle of a discussion when Bill
Whitman came into the office "hi, boss. Got a minute?" Lara looked up from her desk. "Just about, Bill.
What's the problem?" "My wife."
"If you're having marital difficulties..."
"It's not that. She thinks we ought to go away for a while on
vacation. Maybe go to Paris for a few weeks."
Lara frowned. "Paris? We're in the middle of half a dozen jobs."
"I know, but I've been working long hours lately, and I don't get to
see much of my wife. You know what she said to me this morning? She
said, 'Bill, if you got a promotion and a nice raise, you wouldn't have
to work so hard."" lIe smiled.
Lara sat back in her chair, studying him. "You aren't due for a raise
until next year."
Whitman shrugged. "Who knows what can happen in a year?
We might run
into problems with that Queens deal, for instance. You know, old Edith
Benson might hear something that would make her change her mind.
Right?"
Lara sat very still. "I see."
Bill Whitman got to his feet. "Think about it, and let me know."
Lara forced a smile. "Yes."
She watched him walk out of her office, her face grim. "Jesus," Keller said. "What was that all about?"
"It's called blackmail."
The following day Lara had lunch with Paul Martin.
Lara said, "Paul, I have a problem. I'm not sure how to handle it."
She told him about her conversation with Bill Whitman. "Do you think he'll really go back to the old lady?" Paul Martin asked.
"I don't know. But if he does, I could get in a lot of trouble with
the housing Commission."
Paul shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about him. lIe's probably
bluffing."
Lara sighed. "I hope so."
"How would you like to go to Reno?" Paul asked. "I'd love to, but I can't get away."
"I'm not asking you to get away. I'm asking if you'd like to buy a
hotel and casino there."
Lara studied him. "Are you serious?"
"I got word that one of the hotels is going to lose its license. The
place is a gold mine. When the news gets out, everyone is going to be
after it. The hotel's going on auction, but I think I can fix it for
you to get it."
Lara hesitated. "I don't know. I'm pretty heavily committed. Howard
Keller says the banks won't lend me any more until I can pay off some
loans."
"You don't have to go to a bank." "Then where...?"
"Junk bonds. A lot of Wall Street firms offer them.
There are savings and loan companies. You put up five percent equity,
and a savings and loan company will put up sixty-five
percent in
high-yield notes. That leaves thirty percent uncovered.
You can get
that from a foreign bank that invests in casinos. You've got
choices-Switzerland, Germany, Japan. There are half a dozen banks that
will put up the thirty percent in commercial notes." Lara was beginning to get excited. "It sounds great. Do you really think you can get the hotel for me?" Paul grinned. "It will be your Christmas present." "You're wonderful. Why are you so good to me?"
"I haven't the vaguest idea," he teased. But he knew the answer. lIe
was obsessed with her. Lara made him feel young again, and she made
everything exciting for him. I never want to lose you, he thought.
Keller was waiting for Lara when she walked into the office.
"Where have you been?" he asked. "There was a two o'clock meeting
that..."
"Tell me about junk bonds, Howard. We've never dealt with them. How
are bonds rated?"
"Well, at the top you have Triple A. That would be a company like AT
and T. Down the ladder you have Double A, Single A, BAA, and at the
bottom of the ladder, Double B-those are the junk bonds.
An investment
bond will pay nine percent. A junk bond will pay fourteen percent.
Why do you ask?" Lara told him.
"A casino, Lara? Jesus! Paul Martin is behind this, isn't he?"
"No, Howard. If I go ahead with this, I'm behind it.
Did we get an answer on our offer on the Battery Park property?"
"Yes. She won't sell to us."
"The property is up for sale, isn't it?" "In a way."
"Stop talking in circles."
"It's owned by a doctor's widow, Eleanor Royce. Every real estate
developer in town has been bidding on that property." "have we been outbid?"
"It isn't that. The old lady isn't interested in money. She's loaded."
"What is she interested in?"
"She wants some kind of monument to her husband.
Apparently she thinks she was married to Albert Schweitzer. She wants
to keep his flame burning. She doesn't want her property turned into
anything crass or commercial. I hear Steve Murchison has been trying
to talk her into selling." "Oh?"
Lara sat there quietly for a full minute. When she spoke, she said,
"Who's your doctor, Howard?" "What?"
"Who's your doctor?"
"Seymour Bennett. lIe's chief of staff at Midtown hospital."
The following morning Lara's attorney, Terry hill, was sitting in the
office of Dr. Seymour Bennett.
"My secretary told me that you wanted to see me urgently and that it
has nothing to do with a medical problem."
"In a sense," Terry Hill said, "it does concern a medical problem, Dr.
Bennett. I represent an investment group that wants to put up a
nonprofit clinic. We want to be able to take care of those unfortunate
people who can't afford regular medical care."
"That's a splendid idea," Dr. Bennett said. "What can I do to help
you?"
Terry Hill told him.
The following day Dr. Bennett was having tea in the home of Eleanor
Royce.
"They've asked me to approach you on behalf of this group, Mrs.
Royce.
They want to build a beautiful clinic, and they want to name it after
your late husband. They visualize it as sort of a shrine
to him."
Mrs. Royce's face lit up. "They do?"
They discussed the group's plans for an hour, and at the end of that
time Mrs. Royce said, "George would have loved this. You tell them
that they have a deal."
Construction began six months later. When it was completed, it was
gigantic. The entire square block was filled with huge apartment
buildings, an enormous shopping mall, and a theater complex. In a
remote corner of the property was a small one-story brick building. A
simple sign over the door read. GEORGE ROYCE MEDICAL CLINIC.
220
Chapter Eighteen.
ron Christmas Day Lara stayed home. She had been invited to a dozen
parties, but Paul Martin was going to drop by. "I have to be with Nina
and the kids today," he had explained, "but I want to come by and see
you."
She wondered what Philip Adler was doing on this Christmas Day.
It was a Currier & Ives postcard kind of day. New York was blanketed
in a beautiful white snowfall, wrapped in silence. When Paul Martin
arrived, he had a shopping bag full of gifts for Iara. "I had to stop at the office to pick these up," he said.
So his wife wouldn't know.
"You give me so much, Paul. You don't have to bring anything."
"I wanted to. Open them up now." Lara was touched by his eagerness to
see her reaction.
The gifts were thoughtful and expensive. A necklace from Cartier's,
scarves from Hermes, books from Rizzoli, an antique carriage clock, and
a small white envelope.
Lara opened it. It read: "Cameron Reno Hotel & Casino" in large block
letters. She looked up at him, in surprise. "I have the hotel?"
He nodded confidently. "You will have. The bidding starts next
week.
You're going to have fun with it," Paul Martin predicted. "I don't know anything about running a casino."
"Don't worry. I'll put some professionals in to manage it for you.
The hotel, you can handle yourself."
"I don't know how to thank you. You do so much formed."
He took her hands in his. "There isn't anything in the world that I
wouldn't do for you. Remember that." "I will," she said solemnly.
He was looking at his watch. "I have to get back home. I wish..." He
hesitated. "Yes?"
"Never mind. Merry Christmas, Lara." "Merry Christmas, Paul."
She went to the window and looked out. The sky had become a delicate
curtain of dancing snowfiakes. Restless, Lara walked to the radio and
turned it on. An announcer was saying, .... . and now, for its holiday
program, the Boston Symphony Orchestra presents Beethoven's Piano
Concerto No. Five in E flat, with Philip Adler, soloist."
Iara listened with her eyes, seeing him at the piano, handsome and
elegant. When the music ended, she thought, I've got to see him
again.
Bill Whitman was one of the best construction supervisors in the
business. He had risen through the ranks and was in great demand. He
worked steadily and earned good money, but he was dissatisfied. For
years he had watched builders reaping enormous fortunes while he got
nothing but a salary. In a way, he thought, they're making their money
off of me. The owner gets the cake; I get the crumbs. But the day
Lara Cameron had gone before the community board, everything changed.
She had lied to get the board's approval, and that lie could destroy
her.
If I went to the board and told them the truth, she'd be
out of business.
But Bill Whitman had no intention of doing that. He had a better
plan.
He intended to use what had happened as leverage. The boss lady was
going to give him anything he asked for. He could sense from their
first meeting at which he had asked for a promotion and raise that she
was going to give in. She had no choice. I'll start small, Bill
Whitman thought happily, and then I'll begin squeezing.
Two days after Christmas, work began again on the Eastside Plaza
project. Whitman looked around at the huge site and thought, This
one's going to be a real moneymaker. Only this time, I'm going to cash
in on it, too.
The site was crowded with heavy equipment. Cranes were digging into
the earth and lifting tons of it into waiting trucks. A crane wielding
a giant saw-toothed scoop bucket seemed to be stuck. The huge arm hung
suspended high in midair. Whitman strode toward the cab, under the
huge metal bucket.
"Hey, Jesse," he called. "What's the matter up there?"
The man in the cab mumbled something that Whitman could not hear.
Whitman moved closer. "What?"
Everything happened in a split second. A chain slipped, and the huge
metal bucket came crashing down on Whitman, smashing him to the
ground.
Men came running toward the body, but there was nothing to be done.
"The safety brake slipped," the operator explained later. "Gee, I feel
really awful. I liked Bill a lot."
* * When she heard the news, Lara immediately telephoned Paul Martin.
"Did you hear about Bill Whitman?" "Yes. It was on television." "Paul, you didn't...?"
He laughed. "Don't go getting any crazy ideas. You've been seeing too
many movies. Remember, the good guys always win in the end."
And Lara wondered, Am I one of the good guys?
There were more than a dozen bidders for the Reno hotel. "When do I bid?" Lara asked Paul.
"You don't. Not until I tell you. Let the others jump in first."
The bidding was secret, and the bids were sealed, to be opened on the
following Friday. By Wednesday Lara still had not made a bid. She
telephoned Paul Martin.
"Sit tight," he said. "I'll tell you when."
They stayed in touch by phone several times a day.
At 5:00 P.M one hour before the bidding was to close, Lara received a
phone call.
"Now! The high bid is a hundred and twenty million. I want you to go five million over it."
Lara gasped. "But if I do that, I'll lose money on the deal."
"Trust me," Paul said. "After you get the hotel and start redoing it,
you can cut corners on the changes.
They'll all be endorsed by the supervising engineer. You'll make up the five million and then some."
The following day Lara was notified that hers was the winning bid.
Now Lara and Keller were on their way to Reno.
* * * The hotel was called the Reno Palace. It was large and
sumptuous, with fifteen hundred rooms and a huge, glittering casino
that was empty. Iara and Howard Keller were being escorted through the
casino by a man named Tony Wilkie.
"The people who owned this got a bum deal," Wilkie said. "What kind of bum deal?" Keller asked.
"Well, it seems that a couple of the boys were pocketing a little money
from the cash cage "Skimming," Keller interjected.
"Yeah. Of course, the owners didn't know anything about it."
"Of course not."
"But someone blew the whistle, and the Gaming Commission pulled out the
rug. It's too bad. It was a very profitable operation." "I know." Keller had already studied the books.
When the tour of inspection was completed, and Lara and Howard were
alone, she said, "Paul was right. This is a gold mine."
She saw the
expression on Howard's face. "What's the matter?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I just don't like us getting involved in
anything like this."
"What's 'anything like this'? It's a cash cow, Howard." "Who's going to run the casino?"
"We'll find people," Lara said evasively.
"Where from? The Girl Scouts? It takes gamblers to run an operation
like this. I don't know any, do you?" Lara was silent.
"I'll bet Paul Martin does."
"Leave him out of this," Lara said.
"I'd like to, and I'd like to leave you out of it. I don't think this
is such a great idea."
"You didn't think the Queens project was a great idea either, did
you?
Or the shopping center on Houston Street.
But they're making money, aren't they?"
"Lara, I never said they weren't good deals. All I said was that I
think we're moving too fast. You're swallowing up everything in sight,
but you haven't digested anything yet." Lara patted his cheek.
"Relax."
The members of the Gaming Commission received Lara with elaborate
courtesy.
"We don't often meet a beautiful young woman in here," the chairman
said. "It brightens up our day." Lara did look beautiful. She was
wearing a Donna Karan beige wool suit, with a cream-colored silk blouse
and, for good luck, one of the scarves Paul had given her for
Christmas. She smiled. "Thank you."
"What can we do for you?" one of the gaming commissioners asked. They
all knew perfectly well what they could do for her.
"I'm here because I would like to do something for Reno,"
Lara said
earnestly. "I would like to give it the biggest, most beautiful hotel
in Nevada. I'd like to add five stories to the Reno Palace, and put up
a large convention center to attract more tourists here to gamble."
The members of the board glanced at one another.
The chairman said, "I think something like that would have a very
beneficial effect on the city. Of course, our job is to
make sure that
an operation like this would be run completely aboveboard."
"I'm not exactly an escaped convict," Lara smiled.
They chuckled at her little joke. "We know your record, Miss Cameron,
and it is admirable. However, you've had no experience in running a
casino."
"That's true," Lara admitted. "On the other hand, I'm sure it will be
easy to find fine, qualified employees who will meet the approval of
this commission. I would certainly welcome your guidance."
One of the members of the commission spoke up. "As far as the
financing is concerned, can you guarantee...?"
The chairman interrupted. "That's all right, Tom, Miss Cameron has
submitted the financials on it. I'll see that you each get a copy."
Lara sat there, waiting.
The chairman said, "I can't promise anything at this moment, Miss
Cameron, but I think I'm safe in saying that I don't see any obstacles
to your being granted a license."
Iara beamed. "That's wonderful. I'd like to get moving as quickly as
possible."
"I'm afraid things don't move quite that fast here.
There will be a one-month waiting period before we can give you a
definite answer." Lara was dismayed. "A month?" "Yes. We have a bit of checking to do."
"I understand," Lara said. "That will be fine."
There was a music store in the hotel's shopping complex.
In the window
was a large poster of Philip Adler, advertising his new compact disc.
Lara was not interested in the music. She bought the CD for Philip's
photograph on the back of the case.
On their way back to New York, Lara said, "Howard, what do you know
about Philip Adler?"
"Just what everybody else knows. He's probably the top concert pianist
in the world today. He plays with the finest symphony orchestras. I
read somewhere that he just set up a foundation for scholarships for
minority musicians in inner cities." "What's it called?"
"The Philip Adler Foundation, I think."
"I'd like to make a contribution," Lara said. "Send them a check for
ten thousand dollars in my name."
Keller looked at her in surprise. "I thought you didn't care for
classical music."
"I'm starting to get interested in it," Lara said.
The headline read: DISTRICT ATTORNEY PROBE OF PAUL MARTINATTORNEY
REPUTED TO HAVE MAFIA TIES Lara read the story with dismay
and
telephoned Paul immediately. "What's going on?" Lara asked.
He chuckled. "The DA is on another fishing expedition.
They've been
trying to tie me in with the boys for years, and they haven't had any
luck. Every time an election comes up, they try to use me as their
whipping boy. Don't worry about it. What about dinner tonight?"
"Fine," Lara said.
"I know a little place on Mulberry Street where no one will bother
us."
Over dinner Paul Martin said, "I hear that the meeting with the Gaming
Commission went well."
"I think it did. They seemed friendly, but I've never done anything
like this before."
"I don't think you'll have any problem. I'll get you some good boys
for the casino. The man who owned the license got greedy." He changed
the subject. "How are all the construction jobs going?" "Fine. I have three projects in the works, Paul." "You're not getting in over your head, are you, Lara?"
He sounded like Howard Keller. "No. Every job is on budget and on
schedule."
"That's good, baby. I wouldn't want anything to ever go wrong for
you."
"Nothing will." She put her hand on his. "You're my safety net."
"I'll always be there." He squeezed her hand.
Two weeks went by, and Lara had not heard from Philip Adler. She sent
for Keller. "Did you make that ten-thousand dollar contribution to the
Adler Foundation?"
"Yes, the day you mentioned it."
"Strange. I would have thought he would have called me." Keller shrugged. "He's probably traveling somewhere." "Probably." She tried to conceal her disappointment. "Let's talk about the building in Queens."
"That's going to take a big financial bite out of us," Keller said.
"I know how to protect us. I'd like to lock the deal in with one
tenant."
"Do you have anyone in mind?"
"Yes. Mutual Security Insurance. The president is a man named Horace
Guttman. I've heard they're looking for a new location.
I'd like it
to be our building."
"I'll check it out," Keller said.
Lara noticed that he made no notes. "You constantly amaze me. You
remember everything, don't you?"
Keller grinned. "I have a photographic memory. It used to be for
baseball statistics." It all seems so long ago, Howard thought. The
kid with the magic arm, the star of the Chicago Cubs minor league.
Someone else and another time. "Sometimes it's a curse.
There are a
few things in my life I'd like to forget."
"Howard, have the architect go ahead and draw up floors Mutual Security
will need, and how much floor space."
Two days later Keller walked into Lara's office. "I'm afraid I have
some bad news." "What's the problem?"
"I did a little snooping around. You were right about Mutual Security
Insurance. They are looking for a new headquarters, but Guttman is
thinking about a building in Union Square. It's your old friend Steve
Murchison's building."
Murchison again! She was sure that the box of dirt had been sent by
him. I'm not going to let him bluff me. "Has Guttman committed to it?" Lara asked. "Not yet."
"All right. I'll handle it."
That afternoon Lara made a dozen phone calls. She hit the jackpot on
the last call. Barbara Roswell.
"Horace Guttman? Sure, I know him, Lara. What's your
interest in him?"
"I'd like to meet him. I'm a big fan of his. I want you to do me a
favor. Could you please invite him to dinner next Saturday night,
Barbara?" "You've got it."
The dinner party was simple but elegant. There were fourteen people at
the Roswell residence. Alice Guttman wasn't feeling well that evening,
so Horace Guttman had come to the party alone. Lara had been seated
next to him. He was in his sixties, but he seemed much older.
He had a stern, worn face and a stubborn chin. Lara looked enchanting,
provocative. She was wearing a lowcut black Halston gown and simple
but stunning jewelry.
They had had their cocktails and were seated at the diningtable.
"I've been wanting to meet you," Lara confessed. "I've heard so much
about you."
"I've heard a lot about you, young lady. You've made quite a splash in
this town."
"I hope I'm making a contribution," Lara said modestly. "It's such a
wonderful town." "Where are you from?" "Gary, Indiana."
"Really?" He looked at her in surprise. "That's where I was born.
So, you're a Hoosier, eh?" Lara smiled. "That's right.
I have such
fond memories of Gary. My father worked for the Post-Tribune. I went
to Roosevelt High. On weekends we'd go to Gleason Park for picnics and
outdoor concerts, or we'd go bowling at the Twelve and Twenty. I hated
having to leave."
"You've done well for yourself, Miss Cameron." "Iara."
"Lara. What are you up to these days?"
"The project I'm most excited about," Lara told him, "is a new building
I'm putting up in Queens. It's going to have thirty stories and two
hundred thousand square feetoffloorspace." "That's interesting," Guttman said, thoughtfully. "Oh," Lara said innocently. "Why?"
"It happens that we're looking for a building just about that size for
our new headquarters."
"Really? Have you chosen one yet?" "Not exactly, but..."
"If you'd like, I can show you the plans for our new building. They've
already been drawn up."
He studied her a moment. "Yes, I'd like to see them."
"I can bring them to your office Monday morning." "I'll look forward to it."
The rest of the evening went well.
When Horace Guttman reached home that night, he walked into his wife's
bedroom.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Better, darling. How was the party?"
He sat down on the bed. "Well, they all missed you, but I had an
interesting time. Have you ever heard of Lara Cameron?" "Certainly. Everyone has heard of Lara Cameron."
"She's quite a woman. A little strange. Says she was born in Gary,
Indiana, same as me. Knew all about GaryGleason Park and the Twelve
and Twenty."
"What's strange about that?"
Guttman looked at his wife and grinned. "The little lady comes from
Nova Scotia."
Early Monday morning lara appeared at Horace Guttman's office, carrying
the blueprints for the Queens project. She was ushered in immediately.
"Nice to see you, Lara. Sit down."
She laid the blueprints on his desk and sat across from him.
"Before you look at these," Lara said, "I have something to confess,
Horace."
Guttman leaned back in his chair. "Yes?"
"That story I told on Saturday about Gary, India..... "What about it?"
"I've never even been to Gary, Indiana. I was trying to impress y)) He
laughed. "Now you've succeeded in confusing me.
I'm not sure I'm going to be able to keep up with you, young lady.
Let's look at these blueprints."
Half an hour later he was through examining them.
"You know," he said reflectively, "I was pretty well set on another
location." "Were you?"
"Why should I change my mind and move into your building?"
"Because you're going to be happier there. I'll see that you have
everything you need." She smiled. "Besides, it's going to cost your
company ten percent less."
"Really? You don't know what my deal is for the other building."
"It doesn't matter. I'll take your word for it."
"You could have come from Gary, Indiana," Guttman said. "You've got a
deal."
When Lara returned to her office, there was a message that Philip Adler
had telephoned. Chapter Nineteen.
The ballroom at the Waldorf-Astoria was crowded with patrons of
Carnegie Hall.
Lara moved through the crowd, looking for Philip. She recalled the
telephone conversation they had had a few days earlier. "Miss Cameron, this is Philip Adler."
Her throat went suddenly dry.
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to thank you earlier for the donation you made
to the foundation. I've just returned from Europe and learned about
it."
"It was my pleasure," Lara said. She had to keep him talking.
"As...
as a matter of fact, I'm interested in knowing more about the
foundation. Perhaps we could get together and discuss it."
There was a pause. "There's going to be a charity dinner at the
Waldorf Saturday evening. We could meet there. Are you free?" Lara
quickly glanced at her schedule. She had a dinner meeting that evening
with a banker from Texas.
She made a quick decision. "Yes. I'd be delighted to go."
"Wonderful. There will be a ticket at the door for you."
When Lara replaced the receiver, she was beaming.
Philip Adler was nowhere in sight. Lara moved through the huge
ballroom, listening to the conversations around her.
"... so the leading tenor said, 'Dr. Klemperer, I have only two high
C's left. Do you want to hear them now or tonight at the performance?"..."
.... . oh, I admit that he has a good stick. His dynamics and tonal
shadings are excellent... but the tempi! Tempi! Spare me!..."
..... you're insane! Stravinsky is too structured. His music could
have been written by a robot. He holds back his feelings.
Bartok, on
the other hand, lets loose the floodgates, and we're bathed in
emotions. "
"I simply can't stand her playing. Her Chopin is an exercise in
tortured rubato, butchered textures, and purple passion...
It was an arcane language that was beyond Lara's comprehension. And
then she saw Philip, surrounded by an admiring coterie.
Lara pushed
her way through the crowd. An attractive young woman was saying, "When
you played the B flat Minor Sonata, I felt that Rachmaninoff was
smiling. Your tone and voicing, and the softgrained readings...
Wonderful!"
Philip smiled. "Thank you."
A middle-aged dowager was gushing, "I keep listening to your recording
of the Hammerklavier over and over.
My God! The vitality is irresistible! I think you must be the only
pianist left in this world who really understands that Beethoven
sonata..."
Philip saw Lara. "Ah. Excuse me," he said.
He made his way over to where she was standing and took her hand. His
touch aroused her. "Hello. I'm glad you could come, Miss Cameron."
"Thank you." She looked around. "This is quite a crowd."
He nodded. "Yes. I assume that you're a lover of classical music?"
Lara thought of the music she had grown up with: "Annie Laurie,"
"Comin' through the Rye," "The Hills of Home"...
"Oh, yes," Lara said. "My father brought me up on classical music."
"I want to thank you again for your contribution. That was really very generous."
"Your foundation sounds so interesting. I would love to hear more
about it. If..."
"Philip, darling! There are no words! Magnificent!" He was surrounded again.
Lara managed to make herself heard. "If you're free one evening next
week Philip shook his head. "I'm sorry, I leave for Rome tomorrow."
Lara felt a sudden sense of loss. "Oh."
"But I'll be back in three weeks. Perhaps then we could..."
"Wonderful!" Lara said.
..... spend an evening discussing music."
Lara smiled. "Yes. I'll look forward to that."
At that moment they were interrupted by two middle-aged men. One wore
his hair in a ponytail; the other had on a single earring.
"Philip! You must settle an argument for us. When you're playing
Liszt, which do you think is more important-a piano with heavy action
that gives you a colorful sound or light action where you can do a
colorful manipulation?"
Lara had no idea what they were talking about. They went off into a
discussion about neutral sonority and long sounds and transparency.
Lara watched the animation in Philip's face as he talked, and she
thought, This is his world. I've got to find a way to get into it.
The following morning Lara appeared at the Manhattan School of Music.
She said to the woman at the reception desk, "I'd like to see one of
the music professors, please." "Anyone in particular?"
"No."
"Just a moment, please." She disappeared into another room.
A few minutes later a small gray-haired man appeared at Lara's side.
"Good morning. I'm Leonard Meyers. How may I help you?" "I'm interested in classical music."
"Ah, you wish to enroll here. What instrument do you play?"
"I don't play any instrument. I just want to learn about classical
music."
"I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place. This school is not for
beginners."
"I'll pay you five thousand dollars for two weeks of your time."
Professor Meyers blinked. "I'm sorry, Miss... I didn't get your
name."
"Cameron. Lara Cameron."
"You wish to pay me five thousand dollars for a two week discussion of
classical music?" He had trouble getting the words out.
"That's right. You can use the money for a scholarship fund if you
wish."
Professor Meyers lowered his voice. "That will not be necessary. This
can just be between you and me."
"That's fine."
"When... .... . would you like to begin?" "Now."
"I have a class at the moment, but give me five minutes..."
Lara and Professor Meyers were seated in a classroom alone.
"Let us start at the beginning. Do you know anything about classical
music?"
"Very little."
"I see. Well, there are two ways to understand music," the professor
began. "Intellectually and emotionally.
Someone once said that music reveals to man his hidden soul. Every
great composer was able to accomplish that." Lara was listening intently.
"Are you familiar with any composers, Miss Cameron?" She smiled. "Not too many."
The professor frowned. "I don't really understand your interest
in..."
"I want to get enough of a background so that I can talk intelligently
to a professional musician about the classics. I'm... particularly
interested in piano" "I see." Meyers thought for a moment. "I'll tell
you how we're going to begin. I'm going to give you some
CDs to play."
Lara watched him walk over to a shelf and pull down some compact
discs.
"We'll start with these. I want you to listen carefully to the allegro
in Mozart's Piano Concerto No. Twenty-one in C, Kochel 467, and the
adagio in Brahms Piano Concerto No. One, and the moderato in
Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. Two in C Minor, Opus Eighteen, and
finally, the romanze in Chopin's Piano Concerto No. One. They're all marked."
"Right."
"If you would like to play these and come back in a few days..."
"I'll be back tomorrow."
The following day, when Lara came in, she was carrying half a dozen CDs
of Philip Adler's concerts and recitals.
"Ah, splendid!" Professor Meyers said. "Maestro Adler is the best.
You are particularly interested in his playing?" "Yes."
"The maestro has recorded many beautiful sonatas." "Sonatas?"
He sighed. "You don't know what a sonata is?" "I'm afraid I don't."
"A sonata is a piece, usually in several movements, that has a certain
basic musical form. And when that form is used in a piece for a solo
instrument, like a piano or violin, the piece is called a sonata. A
symphony is a sonata for orchestra."
"I understand." That shouldn't be difficult to work into a
conversation.
"The piano was originally known as the pianoforte. That is Italian for 'soft-loud'..."
They spent the next few days discussing tapes that Philip had
recorded-Beethoven, Liszt, Bartok, Mozart, Chopin. Lara listened, and absorbed, and remembered.
"He likes Liszt. Tell me about him."
"Franz Liszt was a boy genius. Everyone admired him. He was
brilliant. He was treated like a pet by the aristocracy, and he
finally complained that he had become on par with a juggler or a
performing dog. "
"Tell me about Beethoven."
"A difficult man. He was such an unhappy person that in the middle of
his great success he decided he didn't like the work that he had done,
and he changed to longer and more emotional compositions, like the
Eroica and the Pathetique. "
"Chopin?"
"Chopin was criticized for writing music for the piano, so the critics
of his day called him limited..."
Later: "Liszt could play Chopin better than Chopin could. "
Another day: "There's a difference between French pianists and American
pianists. The French like clarity and elegance.
Traditionally, their
technical schooling is grounded in jeu perleperfectly pearly evenness
of articulation with a steady wrist. "
Each day they played one of Philip's recordings and discussed it.
At the end of the two weeks Professor Meyers said, "I must confess that
I'm impressed, Miss Cameron. You are a truly dedicated pupil. Perhaps
you should take up an instrument."
Lara laughed. "Let's not get carried away." She handed him a check.
"Here you are."
She could not wait for Philip to return to New York. Chapter Twenty.
The day started with good news. Terry Hill called. "Lara?"
"Yes?"
"We just heard from the Gaming Commission. You've got your license."
"That's wonderful, Terry!"
"I'll go over the details when I see you, but it's a green light.
Apparently you impressed the hell out of them." "I'll get everything started right away," Lara said. "Thanks."
Lara told Keller what had happened.
"That's great. We can sure use the cash flow. That will take care of
a lot of our problems..."
Lara looked at her calendar. "We can fly there on Tuesday and get
things moving."
Kathy buzzed her. "There's a Mr. Adler on line two. Shall I tell him ...?"
Lara was suddenly nervous. "I'll take it." She picked up the
telephone. "Philip?" "Hello. I'm back."
"I'm glad." I missed you.
"I know it's short notice, but I wondered whether you might be free for
dinner this evening."
She had a dinner engagement with Paul Martin. "Yes. I'm free."
"Wonderful. Where would you like to dine?" "It doesn't matter."
"La Cote Basque?" "Fine."
"Why don't we meet there? Eight o'clock?" "Yes."
"See you tonight."
When Lara hung up, she was smiling. "Was that Philip Adler?" Keller asked. "Uh-huh. I'm going to marry him."
Keller was looking at her, stunned. "Are you serious?" "Yes."
It was a jolt. I'm going to lose her, Keller thought. And then?: Who am I kidding? I could never have her. "Lara... you hardly know him!"
I've known him all my life.
"I don't want you to make a mistake."
"I'm not. I..." Her private telephone rang. The one she had had
installed for Paul Martin. Lara picked it up. "Hello, Paul."
"Hi, Lara. What time would you like to make dinner tonight? Eight?"
She felt a sudden sense of guilt. "Paul... I'm afraid I can't make it
tonight. Something came up. I was just going to call you."
"Oh? Is everything all right?"
"Yes. Some people just flew in from Rome"that part at least was
true-"and I have to meet with them." "My bad luck. Another night, then." "Of course."
"I hear the license came through for the Reno hotel." "Yes."
"We're going to have fun with that place."
"I'm looking forward to it. I'm sorry about tonight. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
The line went dead.
Lara replaced the receiver slowly.
Keller was watching her. She could see the disapproval on his face.
"Is something bothering you?"
"Yeah. It's all this modern equipment." "What are you talking about?"
"I think you have too many phones in your office. He's bad news, Lara."
Lara stiffened. "Mr. Bad News has saved our hides a few times,
Howard. Anything else?" Keller shook his head. "No."
"Right. Let's get back to work."
Philip was waiting for her when she arrived at La Cote Basque. People
turned to stare at Lara as she walked into the restaurant.
Philip
stood up to greet her, and Lara's heart skipped a beat. "I hope I'm not late," she said.
"Not at all." He was looking at her admiringly. His eyes were warm.
"You look lovely."
She had changed clothes half a dozen times. Should I wear something
simple or elegant or sexy? Finally, she had decided on a simple
Dior.
"Thank you."
When they were seated, Philip said, "I feel like an idiot."
"Oh? Why?"
"I never connected the name. You're that Cameron." She laughed. "Guilty."
"My God! You're a hotel chain, you're apartment buildings, office
buildings. When I travel, I see your name all over the country."
"Good." Lara smiled. "It will remind you of me."
He was studying her. "I don't think I need any reminding.
Do you get
tired of people telling you that you're very beautiful?" She started to say, "I'm glad you think I'm beautiful."
What came out was: "Are you married?" She wanted to bite her tongue.
He smiled. "No. It would be impossible for me to get married."
"Why?" For an instant she held her breath. Surely he's not...
"Because I'm on tour most of the year. One night I'm in Budapest, the
next night in London or Paris or Tokyo."
There was a sweeping sense of relief. "Ah. Philip, tell me about
yourself."
"What do you want to know?" "Everything."
Philip laughed. "That would take at least five minutes." "No, I'm serious. I really want to know about you."
He took a deep breath. "Well, my parents were Viennese.
My father was
a musical conductor, and my mother was a piano teacher. They left
Vienna to escape Hitler and settled in Boston. I was born there."
"Did you always know you wanted to be a pianist?" "Yes."
He was six years old. He was practicing the piano, and his father came
storming into the room. "No, no, no!
Don't you know a major chord from a minor?" His hairy finger slashed
at the sheet music. "That's a minor chord.
Minor. Do you understand?"
"Father, please, can I go? My friends are waiting for me outside."
"No. You will sit here until you get it right."
He was eight years old. He had practiced for four hours that morning
and had had a terrible fight with his parents. "I hate the piano," he
cried. "I never want to touch it again."
His mother said, "Fine. Now, let me hear the andante once more."
He was ten years old. The apartment was filled with guests, most of
them old friends of his parents from Vienna. All of them were
musicians.
"Philip is going to play something for us now," his mother announced.
"We'd love to hear little Philip play," they said in patronizing
voices.
"Play the Mozart, Philip."
Philip looked into their bored faces and sat down at the piano,
angry.
They went on chatting among themselves.
He began to play, his fingers flashing across the keyboard. The
talking suddenly stopped. He played a Mozart sonata, and the music was
alive. And at that moment he was Mozart, filling the room with the
magic of the master.
As Philip's fingers struck the last chord, there was an awed silence.
His parents' friends rushed over to the piano, talking excitedly,
effusive with their praise. He listened to their applause and
adulation, and that was the moment of his epiphany, when he knew who he
was and what he wanted to do with his life.
"Yes, I always knew I wanted to be a pianist," Philip told Lara.
"Where did you study piano?"
"My mother taught me until I was fourteen, and then they sent me to
study at the Curtis Institute in Philadelphia." "Did you enjoy that?"
"Very much."
He was fourteen years old, alone in the city with no friends. The
Curtis Institute of Music was located in four turn-of-the-century
mansions near Philadelphia's Rittenhouse Square. It was the closest
American equivalent to the Moscow Conservatory of Viardo, Egorov, and
Toradze.
Its graduates included Samuel Barber, Leonard Bernstein, Gian Carlo
Menotti, Peter Serkin, and dozens of other brilliant musicians.
"Weren't you lonely there?" "No."
He was miserable. He had never been away from home before. He had
auditioned for the Curtis Institute, and when they accepted him, the
realization struck him that he was about to begin a new life, that he
would never go home again. The teachers recognized the young boy's
talent immediately. His piano teachers were Isabelle Vengerova and
Rudolf Serkin, and Philip studied piano, theory, harmony, orchestration, and flute. When he was not in class, he played chamber
music with the other students. The piano, which he had been forced to
practice from the time he was three years old, was now the focus of his
life. To him, it had become a magical instrument out of which his
fingers could draw romance and passion and thunder. It spoke a
universal language.
"I gave my first concert when I was eighteen with the Detroit
Symphony."
"Were you frightened?"
He was terrified. He found that it was one thing to play before a
group of friends. It was another to face a huge auditorium filled with
people who had paid money to hear him. He was nervously pacing
backstage when the stage manager grabbed his arm and said, "Go. Y on.>
He had never forgotten the feeling he had when he walked out onto the
stage and the audience began to applaud him.
He sat down at the piano, and his nervousness vanished in an instant.
After that his life became a marathon of concerts. He toured all over
Europe and Asia, and after each tour his reputation grew. William
Ellerbee, an important artists' manager, agreed to represent him.
Within two years Philip Adler was in demand everywhere.
Philip looked at Lara and smiled. "Yes. I still get frightened before
a concert."
"What's it like to go on tour?"
"It's never dull. Once I was on a tour with the Philadelphia
Symphony.
We were in Brussels, on our way to give a concert in London. The
airport was closed because of fog, so they took us by bus to Schiphol
Airport in Amsterdam. The man in charge explained that the plane they
had chartered for us was small and that the musicians could take either
their instruments or their luggage. Naturally they chose their
instruments. We arrived in London just in time to begin the concert.
We played it in jeans, sneakers, and unshaven." Lara laughed. "And I'll bet the audience loved it."
"They did. Another time I was giving a concert in Indiana, and the
piano was locked away in a closet and no one had a key.
We had to
break the door down." Lara giggled.
"Last year I was scheduled to do a Beethoven concerto in Rome, and one
of the music critics wrote: 'Adler gave a ponderous performance, with
his phrasing in the finale completely missing the point.
The tempo was
too broad, rupturing the pulse of the piece."" "That's awful!" Lara
said sympathetically.
"The awful part was that I never even gave that concert.
I had missed the plane!"
Lara leaned forward, eagerly. "Tell me more."
"Well, one time in Sao Paulo the pedals fell off the piano in the
middle of a Chopin concert." "What did you do?"
"I finished the sonata without pedals. Another time the piano slid
clear across the stage."
When Philip talked about his work, his voice was filled with
enthusiasm.
"I'm very lucky. It's wonderful to be able to touch people and
transport them into another world. The music gives each of them a
dream. Sometimes I think music is the only sanity left in an insane
world." He laughed selfconsciously. "I didn't mean to sound
pompous."
"No. You make millions of people so happy. I love to hear you
play."
She took a deep breath. "When I hear you play Debussy's Voiles, I'm on
a lonely beach, and I see the mast of a ship sailing in the
distance..."
He smiled. "Yes, so do I."
"And when I listen to your Scarlatti, I'm in Naples, and I can hear the
horses and the carriages, and see the people walking through the
streets. ... ', She could see the pleasure in his face as he listened
to her.
She was dredging up every memory of her sessions with Professor
Meyers.
"With Bartok, you take me to the villages of Central Europe, to the
peasants of Hungary. You're painting pictures, and I lose myself in
them."
"You're very flattering," Philip said. "No. I mean every word of it."
Dinner arrived. It consisted of a chateaubriand with pommes frites, a
Waldorf salad, fresh asparagus, and a fruit tart for dessert. There
was a wine for each course.
Over dinner Philip said, "Lara, we keep talking about me.
Tell me
about you. What is it like to put up enormous buildings all over the
country?"
Lara was silent for a moment. "It's difficult to describe. You create
with your hands. I create with my mind. I don't physically put up a
building, but I make it possible. I dream a dream of bricks and
concrete and steel, and make it come true. I create jobs for hundreds
of people: architects and bricklayers and designers and carpenters and
plumbers. Because of me, they're able to support their families. I
give people beautiful surroundings to live in and make them
comfortable. I build attractive stores where people can shop and buy
things they need. I build monuments to the future." She smiled,
sheepishly. "I didn't mean to make a speech." "You're quite remarkable, do you know that?" "I want you to think so."
It was an enchanted evening, and by the time it was over,
Lara knew
that for the first time in her life she was in love. She had been so
afraid that she might be disappointed, that no man could live up to the
image in her imagination. But here was Lochinvar in the flesh, and she
was stirred.
When Lara got home, she so excited she was unable to go to sleep. She
went over the evening in her mind, replaying the conversation again and
again and again.
Philip Adler was the most fascinating man she had ever met. The
telephone rang. Lara smiled and picked it up.
She started to say, "Philip.." when Paul Martin said, "Just checking
to make sure you got home safely." "Yes," Lara said.
"How did your meeting go?" "Fine."
"Good. Let's have dinner tomorrow night."
Lara hesitated. "All right." I wonder if there's going to be a
problem.
Chapter Twenty-one.
The following morning, a dozen red roses were delivered to Lara's
apartment.
So, he enjoyed the evening, too, Lara thought happily. She hurriedly tore open the card attached to the flowers. It read: "Baby, looking forward to our dinner tonight.
Paul."
Lara felt a sharp sense of disappointment. She waited all morning for
a call from Philip. She had a busy schedule, but she was unable to
keep her mind on her work.
At two o'clock Kathy said, "The new secretaries are here for you to
interview."
"Start sending them" There were half a dozen of them, all of them
highly qualified. Gertrude Meeks was the choice of the day. She was
in her thirties, bright and upbeat, and obviously in awe of Lara.
Lara looked over her resume. It was impressive.
"You've worked in the real estate development field before."
"Yes, ma'am. But I've never worked for anyone like you.
To tell you
the truth, I'd take this job for no salary!"
Lara smiled. "That won't be necessary. These are good references.
All right, we'll give you a try."
"Thank you so much." She was almost blushing.
"You'll have to sign a form agreeing not to give any interviews or ever
to discuss anything that happens at this firm. Is that agreeable?"
"Of course."
"Kathy will show you to your desk."
There was an eleven o'clock publicity meeting with Jerry Townsend.
"How's your father?" Lara asked.
"He's in Switzerland. The doctor says he may have a chance." His
voice grew husky. "If he has, it's because of you." "Everyone deserves a chance, Jerry. I hope he gets well."
"Thanks." He cleared his throat. "I... I don't know how to tell you
how grateful I..."
Lara stood up. "I'm late for a g) And she walked out, leaving him
standing there, looking after her.
The meeting was with the architects on a New Jersey development.
"You've done a good job," Lara said, "but I'd like some changes. I
want an elliptical arcade with lobbies on three sides and marble
walls.
Change the roof to the shape of a copper pyramid, with a beacon to
light up at night. Any problem with that?" "I don't see any, Miss Cameron."
When the meeting was over, the intercom buzzed.
"Miss Cameron, Raymond Duffy, one of the construction foremen, is on
the line for you. He says it's urgent."
Lara picked up the telephone. "Hello, Raymond." "We have a problem, Miss Cameron."
"Go on."
"They just delivered a load of cement blocks. They won't pass
inspection. There are cracks in them. I'm going to send them back,
but I wanted to tell you first."
Lara was thoughtful for a moment. "How bad is it?"
"Bad enough. The point is, they don't meet our specifications,
and..."
"Can they be fixed?"
"I guess they could, but it would be expensive."
"Fix them," Lara said.
There was a silence at the other end of the line. "Right. You're the boss."
Lara replaced the receiver. There were only two cement suppliers in
the city, and it would be suicide to antagonize them.
By five o'clock Philip still had not called. Lara dialed the number at
his foundation. "Philip Adler, please."
"Mr. Adler is out of town on tour. Can I help you?"
He hadn't mentioned that he was leaving town. "Nv, thank you."
That's that, Lara thought. For now.
The day ended with a visit from Steve Murchison.
He was a huge man, built like a stack of bricks. He stormed into
Lara's office.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Murchison?" Lara asked.
"You can keep your nose out of my fucking business," Murchison said.
Lara looked at him calmly. "What's your problem?" "You. I don't like people horning in on my deals." "If you're talking about Mr. Guttman..."
"You're damn right I am."
.... . he preferred my building to yours."
"You suckered him into it, lady. You've been getting in my hair long
enough. I warned you once. I'm not going to warn you again. There's
not room enough for both of us in this town. I don't know where you
keep your balls, but hide 'em, because if you ever do that to me again,
I'm going to cut them off." And he stormed out.
The dinner at her apartment that evening with Paul was strained.
"You seem preoccupied, baby," Paul said. "Any probIems?"
Lara managed a smile. "No. Everything's fine." Why didn't Philip
tell me he was going away?
"When does the Reno project start?"
"Howard and I are going to fly there again next week. We should be able to open in about nine months."
"You could have a baby in nine months." Lara looked at him in surprise. "What?"
Paul Martin took her hand in his. "You know I'm crazy about you,
Lara.
You've changed my whole life. I wish things could have turned out
differently. I would have loved for us to have had kids together."
There was nothing Lara could say to that.
"I have a little surprise for you." He reached into his pocket and
pulled out a jewelry box. "Open it."
"Paul, you've already given me so much..." "Open it."
Inside the box was an exquisite diamond necklace. "It's lovely."
He stood up, and she felt his hands on her as he put the necklace
around her neck. His hands slid down, caressing her breasts, and he
said huskily, "Let's check it out."
Paul was leading her into the bedroom. Lara's mind was spinning. She
had never been in love with him, and going to bed with him had been
easy-the payment for all he had done for her-but now there was a
difference.
She was in love. I'm a fool, Lara thought. I'll probably never see
Philip again.
She undressed slowly, reluctantly, and then they were in bed, and Paul
Martin was on top of her, inside her, moaning, "Baby, I'm nuts about
you." And she looked up and it was Philip's face she saw.
Everything was progressing smoothly. The renovations on the Reno hotel
were proceeding rapidly, Cameron Towers was going to be finished on
schedule, and Lara's reputation kept growing. She had called Philip
Adler several times over the past few months, but he was always away on
tour.
"Mr. Adler is in Beijing..."
"Mr. Adler is in Paris... "Mr. Adler is in Sydney..."
To hell with him, Lara thought.
During the next six months Lara managed to outbid Steve Murchison on
three properties he was after.
Keller came to Lara, worried. "The word around town is that Murchison
is making threats against you. Maybe we should cool it with him. He's
a dangerous enemy, Lara."
"So am I," Lara said. "Maybe he should get into another business."
"It's not a joking matter, Lara. He..."
"Forget about him, Howard. I just got a tip about a property in Los
Angeles. It's not on the market yet. If we move fast, I think we can
get it. We'll fly out in the morning."
* * * The property was on the site of the old Biltmore Hotel and
consisted of five acres. A real estate agent was showing Lara and
Howard around the grounds.
"Prime property," he was saying. "Yes, sir. You can't go wrong with
this. You can build a beautiful little city in this area... apartment
buildings, shopping centers, theaters, malls..." "No."
He looked at Lara in surprise. "I beg your pardon?" "I'm not interested."
"You're not? Why?"
"The neighborhood," Lara said. "I don't think people are going to move
into this area. Los Angeles is moving west. People are like
lemmings.
You aren't going to get them to reverse direction." "But..."
"I'll tell you what I am interested in. Condos. Find me a good
location."
Lara turned to Howard. "I'm sorry I wasted our time. We'll fly back this afternoon."
When they returned to their hotel, Keller bought a newspaper at the
newsstand. "Let's see what the market is doing today."
They looked through the paper. In the entertainment section was a
large advertisement that read: "TONIGHT AT THE HOLLYWOOD BOwL-PHILIP
ADLER." Lara's heart gave a little jump. "Let's go back tomorrow," Lara said.
Keller studied her a moment. "Are you interested in the music or the
musician?"
"Get us two tickets."
Lara had never been to the Hollywood Bowl before.
The largest natural amphitheater in the world, it is surrounded by the
hills of Hollywood, the grounds a park, open year-round
for visitors to
enjoy. The Bowl itself seats eighteen thousand people.
It was filled
to capacity, and Lara could sense the anticipation of the crowd. The
musicians began to come onto the stage, and they were greeted with
expectant applause. Andre Previn appeared, and the applause grew more
enthusiastic. There was a hush, then loud applause from the audience
as Philip Adler walked out on the stage, elegant in white tie and
tails.
Lara squeezed Keller's arm. "Isn't he handsome?" she whispered.
Keller did not answer.
Philip sat down at the piano, and the program began. His magic took
over instantly, enveloping the audience. There was a mysticism about
the night. The stars were shining down, lighting the dark hills
surrounding the Bowl. Thousands of people sat there silently, moved by
the majesty of the music. When the last notes of the concerto died
away, there was a roar from the audience, as the people leaped to their
feet, applauding and cheering. Philip stood there, taking bow after
bow.
"Let's go backstage," Lara said.
Keller turned to look at her. Her voice was trembling with
excitement.
The backstage entrance was at the side of the orchestra shell. A guard
stood at the door, keeping the crowd out. Keller said, "Miss Cameron
is here to see Mr. Adler."
"Is he expecting you?" the guard asked. "Yes," Lara said.
"Wait here, please." A moment later the guard returned. "You can go
in, Miss Cameron."
Lara and Keller walked into the greenroom. Philip was in the center of
a crowd that was congratulating him.
"Darling, I've never heard Beethoven played so exquisitely. You were
unbelievable..."
Philip was saying, "Thank you..."
.... . thank you... with music like that, it's easy to be inspired..."
.... . thank you... Andre is such a brilliant conductor..."
..... thank you... I always enjoy playing at the Bowl..."
He looked up and saw Lara, and again there was that smile. "Excuse
me," he said. He made his way through the crowd, toward her. "I had
no idea you were in town."
"We just flew in this morning. This is Howard Keller, my associate."
"Hello," Keller said curtly.
Philip turned to a short, heavyset man, standing behind him. "This is
my manager, William Ellerbee." They exchanged hellos.
Philip was looking at Lara. "There's a party tonight at the Beverly
Hilton. I was wondering..." "We'd love to," Lara said.
When Lara and Keller arrived at the Beverly Hilton's International
Ballroom, it was filled with musicians and music lovers, talking
music.
.... . have you ever noticed that the closer you get to the equator,
the more demonstrative and hot-blooded the fans are..."
.... . when Franz Liszt played, his piano became an orchestra. "
.... . I disagree with you. De Groote's talent is not for Liszt or
Paganini etudes, but more for Beethoven.
..... you have to dominate the concerto's emotional landscape. "
Musicians speaking in tongues, Lara thought. Philip was surrounded, as usual, by adoring fans. Just watching him gave Lara a warm glow.
When Philip saw her arrive, he greeted her with a broad smile. "You
made it. I'm so glad."
"I wouldn't have missed it."
Howard Keller watched the two of them talking, and he thought, Maybe I
should have learned to play the piano.
Or maybe I should just wake up to reality. It seemed so
long ago when
he had first met the bright, eager, ambitious young girl.
Time had
been good to her, and it had stood still for him.
Lara was saying, "I have to go back to New York tomorrow, but perhaps
we could have breakfast."
"I wish I could. I'm leaving for Tokyo early in the morning."
She felt a sharp pang of disappointment. "Why?"
He laughed. "That's what I do, Lara. I give a hundred and fifty
concerts a year. Sometimes two hundred." "How long will you be gone this time?" "Eight weeks."
"I'll miss you," Lara said quietly. You have no idea how much.
Chapter Twenty-two.
During the next few weeks Lara and Keller flew to Atlanta to
investigate two sites at Ainsley Park and one at Dunwoody.
"Get me some prices on Dunwoody," Lara said. "We might put some condos
there."
From Atlanta they flew to New Orleans. They spent two days exploring
the central business district and a day at Lake Pontchartrain. Lara
found two sites she liked.
A day after they returned, Keller walked into Lara's office. "We had
some bad luck on the Atlanta project," he said.
"What do you mean?" "Someone beat us to it."
Lara looked at him, surprised. "How could they? Those properties weren't even on the market." "I know. Word must have leaked out."
Lara shrugged. "I guess you can't win them all."
That afternoon Keller had more bad news. "We lost the Lake
Pontchartrain deal."
The following week they flew to Seattle and explored Mercer Island and
Kirkland. There was one site that interested Lara, and when they
returned to New York, she said to Keller, "Let's go after it. I think
it could be a money-maker." "Right."
At a meeting the next day Lara asked, "Did you put in the bid on
Kirkland?"
Keller shook his head. "Someone got there ahead of us."
Lara was thoughtful. "Oh. Howard, see if you can find out who's
jumping the gun on us."
It took him less than twenty-four hours. "Steve Murchison."
"Did he get all those deals?" "Yes."
"So someone in this office has a big mouth." "It looks that way."
Her face was grim. The next morning she hired a detective agency to
find the culprit. They had no success.
"As far as we can tell, all your employees are clean, Miss Cameron.
None of the offices is bugged, and your phones haven't been tapped."
They had reached a dead end.
Maybe they were just coincidences, Lara thought. She did not believe
it.
The sixty-eight story residential tower in Queens was half completed,
and Lara had invited the bankers to come and inspect its progress. The
higher the number of floors, the more expensive the unit.
Lara's
sixty-eight stories had only fifty-seven actual floors.
It was a trick
she had learned from Paul Martin.
"Everybody does it," Paul had laughed. "All you do is change the floor
numbers."
"How do you do that?"
"It's very simple. Your first bank of elevators is from the lobby to
the twenty-fourth floor. The second bank of elevators is from the
thirty-fourth floor to the sixtyeighth. It's done all the time."
Because of the unions, the construction jobs had half a
dozen phantoms
on salary-people who did not exist.
There was a Director of Safety Practices, the Coordinator of
Construction, the Supervisor of Materials, and others with impressive-sounding titles. In the beginning Lara had questioned it.
"Don't worry about it," Paul had told her. "It's all part of the
CDB-the cost of doing business."
Howard Keller had been living in a small apartment in Washington
Square, and when Lara had visited him one evening, she had looked
around the tiny apartment and said, "This is a rattrap.
You've got to
move out of here." At Lara's urging, he had moved into a condominium
uptown.
One night Lara and Keller were working late, and when they finally
finished, Lara said, "You look exhausted. Why don't you go home and
get some sleep, Howard?"
"Good idea," Keller yawned. "See you in the morning." "Come in late," Lara told him.
Keller got into his car and started driving home. He was thinking
about a deal they had just closed and how well Lara had handled it. It
was exciting working with her. Exciting and frustrating.
Somehow, in
the back of his mind, he kept hoping that a miracle would happen.
I was blind not to have seen it before, Howard darling.
I'm not interested in Paul Martin or Philip Adler. It's you I've loved
all along.
Fat chance.
When Keller reached his apartment, he took out his key and put it in
the lock. It did not fit. Puzzled, he tried again.
Suddenly the door
flew open from the inside, and a stranger was standing there. "What
the hell do you think you're doing?" the man asked. Keller looked at him, bewildered. "I live here." "The hell you do."
"But I..." Realization suddenly hit him. "I... I'm sorry," he
stammered, red-faced. "I used to live here. I..."
The door was slammed in his face. Keller stood there, disconcerted.
How could I have forgotten that I moved? I've been working too hard.
Lara was in the middle of a conference when her private phone rang.
"You've been pretty busy lately, baby. I've missed you."
"I've been traveling a lot, Paul." She couldn't bring herself to say
that she had missed him. "Let's have lunch today."
Lara thought about all he had done for her.
"I'd like that," she said. The last thing in the world she wanted to
do was to hurt him.
They had lunch at Mr. Chow's.
"You're looking great," Paul said. "Whatever you've been doing agrees
with you. How's the Reno hotel coming?"
"It's coming along beautifully," Lara said enthusiastically. She spent
the next fifteen minutes describing how the work was progressing. "We
should be ready to open in two months."
A man and woman across the room were just leaving.
The man's back was to Lara, but he looked familiar. When he turned for
an instant, she caught a glimpse of his face.
Steve Murchison. The woman with him looked familiar also.
She stooped
to pick up her purse, and Lara's heart skipped a beat. Gertrude Meeks,
my secretary. "Bingo," Lara said softly. "Is anything wrong?" Paul asked.
"No. Everything's fine."
Lara went on describing the hotel.
When Lara returned from lunch, she sent for Keller.
"Do you remember the property in Phoenix we looked at a few months
ago?"
"Yeah, we turned it down. You said it was a g)) "I've changed my
mind." She pressed down the intercom. "Gertrude, would you come in
here, please?"
"Yes, Miss Gertrude Meeks came into the office.
"I want to dictate a memo," Lara said. "To the Baron Brothers in
Phoenix."
Gertrude started writing.
"Gentlemen, I have reconsidered the Scottsdale property and have
decided to go ahead with it immediately.
I think in time it is going to be my most valuable asset."
Keller was staring at her. "I'll be in touch with you regarding price
in the next few days. Best regards. I'll sign it." "Yes, Miss Cameron. Is that all?"
"That's all."
Keller watched Gertrude leave the room. He turned to Lara. "Lara,
what are you doing? We had that property analyzed. It's worthless!
If you..."
"Calm down. We're not making a deal for it." "Then why...?"
"Unless I miss my guess, Steve Murchison will. I saw Gertrude having
lunch with him today."
Keller was staring at Lara. "I'll be damned."
"I want you to wait a couple of days and then call Baron and ask about
the property."
Two days later Keller came into Lara's office, grinning.
"You were
right," he said. "Murchison took the bait-hook, line, and sinker.
He's now the proud owner of fifty acres of worthless land."
Lara sent for Gertrude Meeks. "Yes, Miss Cameron?"
"You're fired," Lara said.
Gertrude looked at her in surprise. "Fired? Why?"
"I don't like the company you keep. Go back to Steve Murchison and
tell him I said so."
Gertrude's face lost its color. "But I..." "That's all. I'll have you escorted out of here."
At midnight Lara buzzed Max, her chauffeur. "Bring the car around to
the front," Lara said. dYes, Miss Cameron."
The car was there waiting for her.
"Where would you like to go, Miss Cameron?" Max asked. "Drive around Manhattan. I want to see what I've done." He was staring at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"I want to look at my buildings."
They drove around the city and stopped at the shopping mall, the
housing center, and the skyscraper. There was Cameron Square, Cameron
Plaza, Cameron Center, and the skeleton of Cameron Towers.
Lara sat in
the car, staring at each building, thinking about the people living
there and working there. She had touched all their lives.
I've made this city better, Lara thought. I've done everything I
wanted to do. Then why am I restless? What is missing?
But she knew.
The following morning Lara telephoned William ElIerbee,
Philip's
concert manager.
"Good morning, Mr. Ellerbee."
"Good morning, Miss Cameron. What can I do for you?"
"I was wondering where Philip Adler is playing this week."
"Philip has a pretty heavy schedule. Tomorrow night he'll be in
Amsterdam, then he goes on to Milan, Venice, and... do you want to know
the rest of his...?"
"No, no. That's fine. I was just curious. Thank you." "No problem."
Lara walked into Keller's office. "Howard, I have to go to
Amsterdam."
He looked at her in surprise. "What do we have going on there?"
"It's just an idea," Lara said evasively. "I'll let you know if it
checks out. Have them get the jet ready for me, will you?"
"You sent Bert to London on it, remember? I'll tell them
to have it
back here tomorrow, and..."
"I want to leave today." There was an urgency in her that took her
completely by surprise. "I'll fly commercial."
She returned to her office and said to Kathy, "Get me a seat on the
first flight to Amsterdam on KLM." "Yes, Miss Cameron."
"Are you going to be gone long'?" Keller asked. "We have some
meetings coming up that..." "I'll be back in a day or two."
"Do you want me to come with you?" "Thanks, Howard. Not this time."
"I talked to a senator friend of mine in Washington.
He thinks there's a chance they're going to pass a bill that will
remove most of the tax incentives for building.
If it passes, it's going to kill capital gains taxes and stop
accelerated depreciation."
"That would be stupid," Lara said. "It would cripple the real estate
industry."
"I know. He's against the bill."
"A lot of people will be against it. It will never pass,"
Lara
predicted. "In the first place..."
The private phone on the desk rang. Lara stared at it.
It rang agaIn.
"Aren't you going to answer it?" Keller asked. Lara's mouth was dry. "No."
Paul Martin listened to the hollow ring a dozen times before he
replaced the receiver. He sat there a long time thinking about Lara.
It seemed to him that lately she had been less accessible, a little
cooler. Could there be someone else? No. Paul Martin thought. She
belongs to me. She'll always belong to me.
The flight on KLM was pleasant. The first-class seats in the
wide-bodied 747 were spacious and comfortable, and the cabin attendants
were attentive.
Lara was too nervous to eat or drink anything. What am I doing? she
wondered. I'm going to Amsterdam uninvited, and he'll probably be too
busy to even see me.
Running after him is going to ruin whatever chance I might have had.
Too late.
She checked in at the Grand Hotel on Oudezijds Voorburgwal 197, one of
the most beautiful hotels in Amsterdam.
"We have a lovely suite for you, Miss Cameron," the clerk said.
"Thank you. I understand that Philip Adler is giving a recital this
evening. Do you know where he would be playing?" "Of course, Miss Cameron. At the Concertgebouw." "Could you arrange a ticket for me?"
"It will be my pleasure."
As Lara entered her suite, the telephone was ringing. It was Howard Keller.
"Did you have a nice flight?" "Yes, thanks."
"I thought you'd like to know that I've spoken to the two banks about
the Seventh Avenue deal." "And?"
His voice was vibrant. "They're jumping at it."
Lara was elated. "I told you! This is going to be a big one. I want
you to start assembling a team of architects, builders-our construction
group-the works."
"Right. I'll talk to you tomorrow." She replaced the receiver and
thought about Howard Keller. He was so dear. I'm so lucky. He's
always there for me. I have to find someone wonderful for him.
Philip Adler was always nervous before playing. He had rehearsed with
the orchestra in the morning, and had a light lunch, and then, to take
his mind off the concert, had gone to see an English movie. As he
watched the picture, his mind was filled with the music he
was going to
play that evening. He was unaware that he was drumming his fingers on
the arm of his seat until the person next to him said, "Would you mind
stopping that awful sound?"
"I beg your pardon," Philip said politely.
He got up and left the theater and roamed the streets of Amsterdam. He
visited the Rijksmuseum, and he strolled through the Botanical Gardens
of the Free University, and window-shopped along the P. C. Hooftstraat.
At four o'clock he went back to his hotel to take a nap.
He was unaware that Lara Cameron was in the suite directly above him.
At 7:00 P.M. Philip arrived at the artists' entrance of the
Concertgebouw, the lovely old theater in the heart of Amsterdam. The
lobby was already crowded with early arrivals.
Backstage, Philip was in his dressing room, changing into tails. The
director of the Concertgebouw bustled into the room.
"We're completely sold out, Mr. Adler! And we had to turn away so
many people. If it were possible for you to stay another day or two, I
would... I know you are fully booked... I will talk to Mr.
Ellerbee
about your return here next year and perhaps..."
Philip was not listening. His mind was focused on the recital that lay
ahead. The director finally shrugged apologetically and bowed his way
out. Philip played the music over and over in his mind.
A page
knocked at the dressing-room door.
"They're ready for you on stage, Mr. Adler." "Thank you."
It was time. Philip rose to his feet. He held out his hands. They
were trembling slightly. The nervousness before playing never went
away. It was true of all the great pianists-Horowitz, Rubenstein,
Serkin. Philip's stomach was churning, and his heart was pounding.
Why do I put myself through this agony? he asked himself.
But he knew
the answer. He took one last look in the mirror, then stepped out of
the dressing room, and walked through the long corridor, and started to
descend the thirty-three steps that led onto the stage.
There was a
spotlight on him as he moved toward the piano. The applause grew
thunderous.
He sat down at the piano, and as if by magic, his nervousness
disappeared. It was as though another person were taking his place,
someone calm, and poised, and completely in charge. He began to
play.
Lara, seated in the audience, felt a thrill as she watched Philip walk
out on the stage. There was a presence about him that was mesmerizing.
I am going to marry him, Lara thought. I know it. She sat back in her
seat and let his playing wash over her.
The recital was a triumph, and afterward the greenroom was packed.
Philip had long ago learned to divide the crowd invited to the
greenroom into two groups: the fans and other musicians.
The fans were
always enthusiastic. If the performance was a success, the
congratulations of the other musicians were cordial. If it was a
failure, their congratulations were very cordial.
Philip had many avid fans in Amsterdam, and on this particular evening
the greenroom was crowded with them. He stood in the center of the
room, smiling, signing autographs, and being patiently polite to a
hundred strangers. Invariably someone would say, "Do you remember
me?"
And Philip would pretend to. "Your face looks so familiar..."
He remembered the story of Sir Thomas Beecham, who had hit upon a
device to conceal his bad memory.
When someone asked, "Do you remember me?" the great conductor would
reply, "Of course, I do! How are you, and how is your father, and what
is he doing?" The device worked well until a concert in London when a
young woman in the greenroom said, "Your performance was wonderful,
Maestro. Do you remember me?" and Beecham gallantly replied, "Of
course, I do, my dear. How is your father, and what is he doing?" The
young woman said, "Father is fine, thank you. And he's still king
ofEngland."
Philip was busily signing autographs, listening to the familiar
phrases-"You made Brahms come alive for me!"... "I can't tell you how
moved I was!"... "I have all your albums"... "Would you sign an
autograph for my mother too? She's your biggest fan... "-when
something made him look up. Lara was standing in the doorway,
watching. His eyes widened in surprise. "Excuse me." He made his way over to her and took her hand.
"What a wonderful surprise! What are you doing in Amsterdam?"
Careful, Lara. "I had some business to attend to here, and when I
heard you were giving a recital, I had to come." That was innocent
enough. "You were wonderful, Philip."
"Thank you... I..." He stopped to sign another autograph. "Look, if
you're free for supper..." "I'm free," Lara said quickly.
They had supper at the Bali restaurant on Leidsestraat.
As they
entered the restaurant, the patrons rose and applauded. In the United
States, Lara thought, the excitement would have been for me. But she
felt a warm glow, simply being at Philip's side.
"It's a great honor to have you with us, Mr. Adler," the maitre d'
said as he led them to their table.
"Thank you."
As they were being seated, Lara looked around at all the people staring
admiringly at Philip. "They really love you, don't they?"
He shook his head. "It's the music they love. I'm just the
messenger.
I learned that a long time ago. When I was very young and perhaps a
little arrogant, I gave a concert, and when I had finished my solo,
there was tremendous applause, and I was bowing to the audience and
smugly smiling at them, and the conductor turned to the audience and
held up the score over his head to remind everyone that they were
really applauding Mozart. It's a lesson I've never forgotten."
"Don't you ever get tired of playing the same music over and over,
night after night?"
"No, because no two recitals are the same. The music may be the same,
but the conductor is different, and the orchestra is different."
They ordered a rijsttafel dinner, and Philip said, "We try to make each
recital perfect, but there's no such thing as a completely successful
one because we're dealing with music that is always better than we
are.
We have to rethink the music each time in order to recreate the sound
of the composer."
"You're never satisfied?"
"Never. Each composer has his own distinctive sound. Whether it's
Debussy, Brahms, Haydn, Beethoven ... our goal is to capture that
particular sound."
Supper arrived. The rijsttafel was an Indonesian feast, consisting of
twenty-one courses, including a variety of meats, fish, chicken,
noodles, and two desserts.
"How can anyone eat all this?" Lara laughed. "The Dutch have hearty appetites."
Philip found it difficult to take his eyes off Lara. He found himself
ridiculously pleased that she was there. He had been involved with
more than his share of beautiful women, but Lara was like no one he had
ever known. She was strong and yet very feminine and totally
unselfconscious about her beauty. He liked her throaty, sexy voice.
In fact, I like everything about her, Philip admitted to himself.
"Where do you go from here?" Lara was asking.
"Tomorrow I'll be in Milan. Then Venice and Vienna, Paris and London,
and finally New York." "It sounds so romantic."
Philip laughed. "I'm not sure romantic is the word I would choose.
We're talking about iffy airline schedules, strange hotels, and eating
out in restaurants every night.
I don't really mind because the act of playing is so wonderful. It's
the 'say cheese' syndrome that I hate." "What's that?"
"Being put on exhibit all the time, smiling at people you care nothing
about, living your life in a world of strangers." "I know what that's like," Lara said slowly.
As they were finishing supper, Philip said, "Look, I'm always keyed up
after a concert. Would you care to take a ride on the canal?"
"I'd love to."
They boarded a canalbus that cruised the Amstel.
There was no moon, but the city was alive with thousands of sparkling
lights. The canal trip was an enchantment.
A loudspeaker poured out information in four languages: "We are now
passing centuries-old merchants' houses with their richly decorated
gables. Ahead are ancient church towers. There are twelve hundred
bridges on the canals, all in the shade of magnificent avenues of elm
trees..."
They passed the Smalste Huis-the narrowest house in Amsterdam-which was
only as wide as the front door, and the Westerkerk with the crown of
the Hapsburg emperor Maximilian, and they went under the
wooden lift
bridge over the Amstel and the Magere Brug-the skinny bridge-and passed
scores of houseboats that served as home for hundreds of families.
"This is such a beautiful city," Lara said. "You've never been here before?"
"No."
"And you're here on business." Lara took a deep breath. "No."
He looked at her puzzled. "I thought you said..." "I came to Amsterdam to see you."
He felt a sudden frisson of pleasure. "I... I'm very flattered."
"And I have another confession to make. I told you I was interested in
classical music. That's not true."
A smile touched the corner of Philip's lips. "I know." Lara looked at him in surprise. "You know?"
"Professor Meyers is an old friend of mine," he said gently. "He
called to tell me that he was giving you a crash course on Philip
Adler. He was concerned that you might have designs on me."
Lara said softly, "He was right. Are you involved with anyone?"
"You mean seriously?"
Lara was suddenly embarrassed. "If you're not interested,
I'll leave
and He took her hand in his. "Let's get off at the next stop."
When they arrived back at the hotel, there were a dozen messages from
Howard Keller. Lara put them in her purse, unread. At this moment
nothing else in her life seemed important. "Your room or mine?" Philip asked lightly. "Yours."
There was a burning urgency in her.
It seemed to Lara that she had waited all her life for this moment.
This was what she had been missing. She had found the stranger she was
in love with. They reached Philip's room, and there was an urgency in
both of them.
Philip took her in his arms and kissed her softly and tenderly,
exploring, and Lara murmured, "Oh, my God," and they began to undress
each other.
The silence of the room was broken by a sudden clap of thunder
outside.
Slowly, gray clouds in the sky spread their skirts open, wider and
wider, and soft rain began to fall. It started quietly and gently,
caressing the warm air erotically, licking at the sides of buildings,
sucking at the soft grass, kissing all the dark corners of the night.
It was a hot rain, wanton and sensuous, sliding down slowly, slowly,
until the tempo began to increase and it changed to a driving, pounding
storm, fierce and demanding, an orgiastic beat in a steady, savage
rhythm, plunging down harder and harder, moving faster and faster until
it finally exploded in a burst of thunder. Suddenly, as quickly as it
had started, it was over.
Lara and Philip lay in each other's arms, spent.
Philip held Lara close, and he could feel the beating of her heart. He
thought of a line he had once heard in a movie. "Did the earth move
for you?" By God, it did. Philip thought. If she were music, she
would be Chopin's Barcarolle or Schumann's Fantasy.
He could feel the soft contours of her body pressed against him, and he
began to get aroused again. "Philip..." Her voice was husky. "Yes?"
"Would you like me to go with you to Milan?" He found himself grinning. "Oh, my God, yes!"
"Good," Lara murmured. She leaned over him, and her soft hair started
to trail down his lean, hard body. It began to rain again.
When Lara finally returned to her room, she telephoned Keller. "Did I
wake you up, Howard?"
"No." His voice was groggy. "I'm always up at four in the morning.
What's going on there?"
Lara was bursting to tell him, but she said, "Nothing. I'm leaving for Milan."
"What? We aren't doing anything in Milan." Oh, yes, we are, Lara thought happily. "Did you see my messages?"
She had forgotten to look at them. Guiltily, she said, "Not yet."
"I've been hearing rumors about the casino." "What's the problem?"
"There have been some complaints about the bidding."
"Don't worry about it. If there's any problem, Paul Martin will take
care of it." "You're the boss."
"I want you to send the plane to Milan. Have the pilots wait for me
there. I'll get in touch with them at the airport." "All right, but..."
"Go back to sleep."
At four o'clock in the morning, Paul Martin was wideawake.
He had left
several messages on Lara's private answering machine at her apartment,
but none of his calls had been returned. In the past, she had always
let him know when she was going to be away. Something was happening.
What was she up to? "Be careful, my darling," he whispered. "Be very
careful."
Chapter Twenty-three.
Milan, Lara and Philip Adler checked into the Antica Locanda Solferino,
a charming hotel with only twelve rooms, and they spent the morning
making passionate love. Afterward, they took the drive to Cernobbia
and had lunch at Lake Como, at the beautiful Villa d'Este.
The concert that night was a triumph, and the greenroom at La Scala
Opera House was packed with wellwishers.
Lara stood to one side, watching as Philip's fans surrounded him,
touching him, adoring him, asking for autographs, handing him little
gifts. Lara felt a sharp pang ofjealousy. Some of the women were
young and beautiful, and it seemed to Lara that all of them were
obvious. An American woman in an elegant Fendi gown was saying, coyly,
"If you're free tomorrow, Mr. Adler, I'm having an intimate little
dinner at my villa. Very intimate." Lara wanted to strangle the bitch.
Philip smiled. ....... thank you, but I'm afraid I'm not free."
Another woman tried to slip Philip her hotel key. He shook his head.
Philip looked over at Lara and grinned. Women kept
crowding around him.
"Lei era magnifico, maestro!"
"Molto gentile da parte sua," Philip replied. "L'ho sentita suonare iI anno scorso. Bravo!" "Grazie." Philip smiled.
A woman was clutching his arm. "Sarebbe possibile cenare insieme?"
Philip shook his head. "Ma non credo che sarai impossibile."
To Lara, it seemed to go on forever. Finally, Philip made his way over
to Lara and whispered, "Let's get out ofhere." "Si!" Lara grinned.
They went to Biffy, the restaurant in the opera house, and the moment
they walked in, the patrons, dressed in black tie for the concert, rose
to their feet and began applauding. The maitre d' led Philip and Lara
toward a table in the center of the room. "It's such an honor to have
you with us, Mr. Adler."
A complimentary bottle of champagne arrived, and they drank a toast.
"To us," Philip said warmly. "To us."
Philip ordered two of the specialties of the house, 0550 buco and penne
all'arrabbiata. All during supper they talked, and it was as though
they had known each other forever.
They were constantly interrupted by people coming up to the table to
compliment Philip and to ask for autographs. "It's always like this, isn't it?" Lara asked.
Philip shrugged. "It goes with the territory. For every two hours you
spend on stage, you spend countless more signing autographs or giving
interviews."
As if to punctuate what he was saying, he stopped to sign another
autograph.
"You've made this tour wonderful for me." Philip sighed. "The bad
news is that I have to leave for Venice tomorrow. I'm going to miss
you a lot."
"I've never been to Venice," Lara said.
Lara's jet was waiting for them at Linate Airport.
When they arrived there, Philip looked at the huge jet in astonishment.
"This is your plane?"
"Yes. It's going to take us to Venice." "You're going to spoil me, lady."
Lara said softly, "I intend to."
They landed in Venice thirty-five minutes later at Marco Polo Airport
where a limousine waited to drive them the short distance to the
dock.
From the dock they would take a motorboat to the island of Giudecca,
where the Cipriani Hotel was located.
"I arranged for two suites for us," Lara said. "I thought it would be
more discreet that way.
In the motorboat on the way to the hotel, Lara asked, "How long will we
be here?"
"Only one night, I'm afraid. I'm giving a recital at La Fenice, and
then we head for Vienna."
The "we" gave Lara a little thrill. They had discussed it the night
before. "I'd like you to stay with me as long as you can," Philip had
said, "but are you sure I'm not keeping you from something more
important?"
"There is nothing more important."
"Are you going to be all right by yourself this afternoon?
I'm going
to be busy rehearsing."
"I'll be fine," Lara assured him.
After they had checked into their suites, Philip took Lara in his
arms.
"I have to go to the theater now, but there's a lot to see here.
Enjoy Venice. I'll see you later this afternoon." They kissed. It
was meant to be a brief one, but it turned into a long, lingering
kiss.
"I'd better get out of here while I can," Philip murmured, "or I'll
never be able to make it through the lobby." "Happy rehearsal." Lara grinned.
And Philip was gone.
Lara telephoned Howard Keller.
"Where are you?" Keller demanded. "I've been trying to reach you."
"I'm in Venice."
There was a pause. "Are we buying a canal?" "I'm checking it out." Lara laughed.
"You really should be back here," Keller said.
"There's a lot going on. Young Frank Rose brought in some new plans.
I like them, but I need your approval so we can get..." "If you like them," Lara interrupted, "go ahead."
"You don't want to see them?" Keller's voice was filled with
surprise.
"Not now, Howard."
"All right. And on the negotiations for the West Side property, I need
your okay to..." "You have it."
"Lara... are you feeling all right?"
"I've never felt better in my life." "When are you coming home?"
"I don't know. I'll stay in touch. Good-bye, Howard."
* * * Venice was the kind of magical city that Prospero might have
created. Lara spent the rest of the morning and all afternoon
exploring. She roamed through St. Mark's Square, and visited the
Doge's Palace and the Bell Tower, and wandered along the crowded Riva
degli Schiavoni, and everywhere she went she thought of Philip. She
walked through the winding little side streets, crammed with jewelry
shops and leather goods and restaurants, and stopped to buy expensive
sweaters and scarves and lingerie for the secretaries at the office,
and wallets and ties for Keller and some of the other men.
She stopped
in at a jeweler's to buy Philip a Piaget watch with a gold band.
"Would you please inscribe it 'To Philip with Love from Lara'?" Just
saying his name made her miss him.
When Philip returned to the hotel, they had coffee in the verdant
garden of the Cipriani.
Lara looked across at Philip and thought, What a perfect place this
would be for a honeymoon.
"I have a present for you," Lara said. She handed him the box with the
watch in it.
He opened it and stared. "My God! This must have cost a
fortune. You
shouldn't have, Lara." "Don't you like it?"
"Of course I do. It's beautiful, but..." "Ssh! Wear it and think of me."
"I don't need this to think of you, but thank you." "What time do we have to leave for the theater?" Lara asked.
"Seven o'clock."
Lara glanced at Philip's new watch and said innocently, "That gives us
two hours."
The theater was packed. The audience was volatile, applauding and
cheering each number.
When the concert was over, Lara went back to the greenroom to join
Philip. It was London and Amsterdam and Milan all over again, and the
women seemed even more nubile and eager. There were at least half a
dozen beautiful women in the room, and Lara wondered which one Philip
would have spent the night with if she were not there.
They had supper at the storied Harry's Bar and were warmly greeted by
the affable owner, Arrigo Cipriani.
"What a pleasure to see you, signore. And signorina. Please!"
He led them to a corner table. They ordered Bellinis, the
specialty of
the house. Philip said to Lara, "I recommend starting with the pasta e
fagioli. It's the best in the world."
Later Philip had no memory of what he had eaten for dinner. He was
mesmerized by Lara. He knew he was falling in love with her, and it
terrified him. I can't make a commitment, he thought.
It's
impossible. I'm a nomad.
He hated to think about the moment when she would leave him to go back
to New York. He wanted to prolong their evening as long as possible.
When they had finished supper, Philip said, "There's a casino out on
the Lido. Do you gamble?" Lara laughed aloud. "What's so funny?"
Lara thought about the hundreds of millions of dollars she gambled on
her buildings. "Nothing," she said. "I'd love to go."
They took a motorboat to Lido Island. They walked past the Excelsior
Hotel and went to the huge white building that housed the casino. It
was filled with eager gamblers. "Dreamers," Philip said.
Philip played roulette and within half an hour had won two thousand
dollars. He turned to Lara. "I've never won before. You're my
good-luck charm."
They played until 3:00 A.M and by that time they were hungry again.
A motorboat took them back to St. Mark's Square, and they wandered
through the side streets until they came to the Cantina do Mori.
"This is one of the best bacaros in Venice," Philip said. Lara said, "I believe you. What's a bacaro?"
"It's a wine bar where they serve cicchetti-little nibbles of local
delicacies."
Bottle-glass doors led to a dark, narrow space where copper pots hung
from the ceiling and dishes gleamed on a long banquette.
It was dawn before they got back to their hotel. They got undressed,
and Lara said, "Speaking of nibbles..."
Early the following morning Lara and Philip flew to Vienna.
"Going to Vienna is like going into another century,"
Philip explained.
"There's a legend that airline pilots say, 'Ladies and gentlemen, we're
on our final approach to Vienna Airport. Please make sure your seat
backs and table trays are in the upright position, refrain from smoking
until inside the terminal, and set your watches back one hundred
years."" Lara laughed.
"My parents were born here. They used to talk about the
old days, and
it made me envious."
They were driving along the Ringstrasse, and Philip was filled with
excitement, like a small boy eager to share his treasures with her.
"Vienna is the city of Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven, Brahms." He looked at
Lara and grinned. "Oh, I forgotyou're an expert on classical music."
They checked into the Imperial Hotel.
"I have to go to the concert hall," Philip told Lara, "but I've decided
that tomorrow we're going to take the whole day off. I'm going to show
you Vienna."
"I'd like that, Philip."
He held Lara in his arms. "I wish we had more time now," he said
ruefully. "So do I."
He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "We'll make up for it
tonight."
She held him close. "Promises, promises."
The concert that evening took place at the Musikverein.
The recital
consisted of compositions by Chopin, Schumann, and Prokofiev, and it
was another triumph for Philip.
The greenroom was packed again, but this time the language was
German.
"Sie waren wunderbar, Herr Adler!"
Philip smiled. "Das ist sehr nett von Ihnen. Danke." "Ich bin ein grosser Anhanger von Ihnen."
Philip smiled again. "Sie sind sehr freundlich."
He was talking to them, but he could not take his eyes off Lara.
After the recital Lara and Philip had a late supper in the hotel. They
were greeted by the maitre d'.
"What an honor!" he exclaimed. "I was at the concert tonight. You
were magnificent! Magnificent!"
"You're very kind," Philip said modestly.
The dinner was delicious, but they were both too excited by each other
to eat. When the waiter asked, "Would you like some dessert?" Philip
said quickly, "Yes." And he was looking at Lara. His instincts told him that something was wrong.
She had never been gone this long without telling him where she was.
Was she deliberately avoiding him? If she was, there could only be one
reason. And I can't allow that, Paul Martin thought.
A beam of pale moonlight streamed through the window, making soft
shadows on the ceiling. Lara and Philip lay in bed, naked, watching
their shadows move above their heads. The ripple of the curtains made
the shadows dance, in a soft, swaying motion. The shadows
came slowly
together and separated and came together again, until the two became
entwined, became one, and the movement of the dance became faster, and
faster, a wild savage pounding, and suddenly it stopped, and there was
only the gentle ripple of the curtains.
Early the following morning Philip said, "We have a whole day and an
evening here. I have a lot to show you."
They had breakfast downstairs in the hotel dining room, then walked
over to the Karntnerstrasse, where no cars were permitted.
The shops
there were filled with beautiful clothes and jewelry and antiques.
Philip hired a horse-drawn Fiaker, and they rode through the wide
streets of the city along the Ring Road.
They visited Schonbrunn Palace and looked at the colorful imperial
coach collection. In the afternoon they got tickets for the Spanish
Riding School and saw the Lipizzaner stallions. They rode the huge
Ferris wheel at the Prater, and afterward Philip said, "Now we're going
to sin!" "Ooh!"
"No," Philip laughed. "I had something else in mind."
He took Lara to Demel's for its incomparable pastry and coffee.
* * Lara was fascinated by the mix of architecture in Vienna: beautiful
baroque buildings centuries old that faced neomodern
buildings.
Philip was interested in the composers. "Did you know that Franz
Schubert started as a singer here, Lara?
He was in the Imperial Chapel choir, and when his voice changed at
seventeen, he was thrown out. That's when he decided to compose
music."
They had a leisurely dinner at a small bistro, and stopped at a wine
tavern in Grinzing. Afterward Philip said, "Would you like to go for a
cruise on the Danube?" "I'd love to."
It was a perfect night, with a bright full moon and a soft summer
breeze. The stars were shining down.
They're shining down on us, Lara thought, because we're so happy. Lara
and Philip boarded one of the cruise ships, and from the ship's
loudspeaker came the soft strains of "The Blue Danube."
In the
distance they saw a falling star. "Quick! Make a wish," Philip said.
Lara closed her eyes and was silent for a moment. "Did you make your wish?"
"Yes."
"What did you wish for?"
Lara looked up at him and said seriously, "I can't tell you, or it
won't come true." I'm going to make it come true, Lara thought.
Philip leaned back and smiled at Lara. "This is perfect, isn't it?"
"It can always be this way, Philip." "What do you mean?"
"We could get married."
And there it was, out in the open. He had been thinking of nothing
else for the past few days. He was deeply in love with Lara, but he
knew he could not make a commitment to her. "Lara, that's impossible."
"Is it? Why?"
"I've explained it to you, darling. I'm almost always on tour like
this. You couldn't travel with me all the time, could you?"
"No," Lara said, "but..."
"There you are. It would never work. Tomorrow in Paris,
I'll show you..."
"I'm not going to Paris with you, Philip." He thought he had misunderstood her. "What?"
Lara took a deep breath. "I'm not going to see you again."
It was like a blow to the stomach. "Why? I love you, Lara.I..."
"And I love you. But I'm not a groupie. I don't want to
be just
another one of your fans, chasing you around. You can have all those you want."
"Lara, I don't want anyone but you. But don't you see, darling, our
marriage could never work. We have separate lives that are important
to both of us. I would want us to be together all the time, and we
couldn't be."
"That's it then, isn't it?" Lara said tightly. "I won't see you
again, Philip."
"Wait. Please! Let's talk about this. Let's go to your room, and
..."
"No, Philip. I love you very much, but I won't go on like this. It's
over."
"I don't want it to be over," Philip insisted. "Change your mind."
"I can't. I'm sorry. It's all or nothing."
They were silent the rest of the way back to their hotel.
When they reached the lobby, Philip said, "Why don't I come up to your
room? We can talk about this and..."
"No, my darling. There's nothing more to talk about." He watched Lara get into the elevator and disappear.
When Lara reached her suite, the telephone was ringing.
She hurried to
pick it up. "Philip..."
"It's Howard. I've been trying to reach you all day."
She managed to hide her disappointment. "Is anything wrong?"
"No. Just checking in. There's a lot going on around here. When do
you think you'll be coming back?"
"Tomorrow," Lara said. "I'll be back in New York tomorrow." Slowly,
Lara replaced the receiver.
She sat there, staring at the telephone, willing it to ring. Two hours
later, it was still silent. I made a mistake, Lara thought
miserably.
I gave him an ultimatum, and I lost him. If I had only waited...
Ifonly I had gone to Paris with him... if... if. .. She tried to
visualize her life without Philip. It was too painful to think
about.
But we can't go on this way, Lara thought. I want us to belong to each
other.
Tomorrow she would have to return to New York.
Lara lay down on the couch, fully dressed, the telephone by her side.
She felt drained. She knew it would be impossible to get any sleep.
She slept.
In his room Philip was pacing back and forth like a caged animal. He
was furious with Lara, furious with himself. He could not bear the
thought of not seeing her again, not holding her in his arms. Damn all
women! he thought. His parents had warned him. "Your life is
music.
If you want to be the best, there's no room for anything else." And
until he met Lara, he had believed it. But now everything had
changed.
Damn it! What we had was wonderful. Why did she have to destroy it?
He loved her, but he knew he could never marry her. Lara was awakened by the ringing of the telephone.
She sat up the couch, groggy, and looked at the clock on the wall. It
was five o'clock in the morning. Sleepily, Lara picked up the
telephone. "Howard?"
It was Philip's voice. "How would you like to get married in Paris?"
Chapter Twenty-four.
The marriage of Lara Cameron to Philip Adler made headlines around the
world.
When Howard Keller heard the news, he went out and got drunk for the
first time in his life. He had kept telling himself that Lara's
infatuation with Philip Adler would pass. Lara and I are a team. We
belong together. No one can come between us. He stayed drunk for two
days, and when he sobered up, he telephoned Lara in Paris.
"If it's true," he said, "tell Philip I said he's the luckiest man who
ever lived."
"It's true," Lara assured him brightly. "You sound happy."
"I've never been happier in my life!"
"I... I'm pleased for you, Lara. When are you coming home?"
"Philip is giving a concert in London tomorrow, and then we'll be back
in New York."
"Did you talk to Paul Martin before the wedding?" She hesitated. "No."
"Don't you think you should do it now?"
"Yes, of course." She had been more concerned about that than she
wanted to admit to herself. She was not sure how he was going to take
the news of her marriage.
"I'll talk to him when I get back."
"I'll sure be glad to see you. I miss you."
"I miss you, too, Howard." And it was true. He was very dear. He had
always been a good and loyal friend.
I don't know what I would have done without him, Lara thought.
When the 727 taxied up to the Butler Aviation Terminal at New York's La
Guardia Airport, the press was there in full force. There were
newspaper reporters and television cameras.
The airport manager led Lara and Philip into the reception office. "I
can sneak you out of here," he said, or...
Lara turned to Philip. "Let's get this over with, darling. Otherwise,
they'll never let us have any peace." "You're probably right."
The press conference lasted for two hours. "Where did you two
meet...?"
"Have you always been interested in classical music, Mrs. Adler...?"
"How long have you known each other...?" "Are you going to live in New York.
"Will you give up your touring, Mr. Adler...?" Finally, it was over.
There were two limousines waiting for them. The second one was for
luggage.
"I'm not used to traveling in this kind of style," Philip said.
Lara laughed. "You'll get used to it."
When they were in the limousine, Philip asked, "Where are we going? I
have an apartment on Fiftyseventh Street..."
"I think you might be more comfortable at my place, darling. Look it
over, and if you like it, we'll have your things moved"
They arrived at
the Cameron Plaza. Philip looked up at the huge building. "You own this?"
"A few banks and I." "I'm impressed."
Lara squeezed his arm. "Good. I want you to be." The lobby had been freshly decorated with flowers. A half dozen employees were waiting to greet them. "Welcome home, Mrs. Adler, Mr. Adler."
Philip looked around and said, "My God! All this is yours?"
"Ours, sweetheart."
The elevator took them up to the penthouse. It covered the whole
forty-fifth floor. The door was opened by the butler. "Welcome home, Mrs. Adler."
"Thank you, Simms."
Lara introduced Philip to the rest of the staff and showed him through
the duplex penthouse. There was a large white drawing room, filled
with antiques, a large enclosed terrace, a dining room, four master
bedrooms and three staff bedrooms, six bathrooms, a kitchen, a library,
and an office.
"Do you think you could be comfortable here, darling?"
Lara asked.
Philip grinned. "It's a little small-but I'll manage."
In the middle of the drawing room was a beautiful new Bechstein
piano.
Philip walked over to it and ran his fingers over the keys.
"It's wonderful!" he said.
Lara moved to his side. "It's your wedding present."
"Really?" He was touched. He sat down at the piano and began to
play.
"I just had it tuned for you." Lara listened as the cascade of notes
filled the room. "Do you like it?" "I love it! Thank you, Lara."
"You can play here to your heart's content."
Philip rose from the piano bench. "I'd better give Ellerbee a call,"
Philip said. "He's been trying to reach me." "There's a telephone in the library, darling."
Lara went into her office and turned on the answering machine. There
were half a dozen messages from Paul Martin. "Lara, where are you? I
miss you, darling...
"Lara, I assume you're out of the country, or I would have heard from
you"... "I'm worried about you, Lara. Call me..." Then the tone
changed. "I just heard about your marriage. Is it true?
Let's talk."
Philip had walked into the room. "Who's the mysterious caller?" he
asked.
Lara turned. "An... an old friend of mine."
Philip walked up to her and put his arms around her. "Is he someone I should be jealous of?"
Lara said softly, "You don't have to be jealous of anyone in the
world.
You're the only man I've ever loved." And it's true.
Philip held her closely. "You're the only woman I've ever loved."
Later that afternoon, while Philip sat at the piano, Lara went back
into her office and returned Paul Martin's telephone calls.
He came on the line almost immediately. "You're back."
His voice was tight.
"Yes." She had been dreading this conversation.
"I don't mind telling you that the news was quite a shock, Lara."
"I'm sorry, Paul... I... it happened rather suddenly." "It must have."
"Yes." She tried to read his mood.
"I thought we had something pretty good going for us. I thought it was
something special." "It was, Paul, but..."
"We'd better talk about it." "Well, I..."
"Let's make it lunch tomorrow. Vitello's. One o'clock."
It was an order.
Lara hesitated. It would be foolish to antagonize him any further.
"All right, Paul. I'll be there."
The line went dead. Lara sat there worried. How angry was Paul, and
was he going to do anything about it? Chapter Twenty-five.
The following morning when Lara arrived at Cameron Center, the entire
staff was waiting to congratulate her. "It's wonderful news!"
"It was such a big surprise to all of us!..." "I'm sure you'll be very happy. "
And on it went.
Howard Keller was waiting in Lara's office for her.
He gave her a big hug. "For a lady who doesn't like classical music,
you sure went and did it!"
Lara smiled. "I did, didn't I?"
"I'll have to get used to calling you Mrs. Adler."
Lara's smile faded. "I think it might be better for business reasons
if I keep using Cameron, don't you?"
"Whatever you say. I'm sure glad you're back. Everything is piling up
here."
Lara settled in a chair opposite Howard. "Okay, tell me what's been
happening."
"Well, the West Side hotel is going to be a moneylosing proposition.
We have a buyer lined up from Texas who's interested in it, but I went
over to the hotel yesterday. It's in terrible shape. It needs a
complete refurbishing, and that's going to run into five or six million
dollars."
"Has the buyer seen it yet?"
"No. I told him I'd show it to him tomorrow."
"Show it to him next week. Get some painters in there.
Make it look
squeaky clean. Arrange for a crowd to be in the lobby when he's
there."
He grinned. "Right. Frank Rose is here with some new sketches. He's
waiting in my office." "I'll take a look at them."
"The Midland Insurance Company that was going into the new building?"
"Yes."
"They haven't signed the deal yet. They're a little shaky."
Lara made a note. "I'll talk to them about it. Next?"
"Gotham Bank's seventy-five million loan on the new project?"
"Yes?"
"They're pulling back. They think you're getting overextended."
"How much interest were they going to charge us?" "Seventeen percent."
"Set up a meeting with them. We're going to offer to pay twenty
percent."
He was looking at her, aghast. "Twenty percent? My God,
Lara! No one
pays twenty percent."
"I would rather be alive at twenty percent than dead at seventeen
percent. Do it, Howard." "All right."
The morning went by swiftly. At twelve-thirty Lara said, "I'm going to
meet Paul Martin for lunch."
Howard looked worried. "Make sure you aren't lunch." "What do you mean?"
"I mean he's Sicilian. They don't forgive and they don't forget."
"You're being melodramatic. Paul would never do anything to harm
me."
"I hope you're right."
Paul Martin was waiting for Lara at the restaurant when she arrived.
He looked thin and haggard, and there were circles under his eyes, as
though he had not been sleeping well. "Hello, Lara." He did not get up. "Paul." She sat down across from him.
"I left some stupid messages on your answering machine.
I'm sorry. I
had no idea..." He shrugged.
"I should have let you know, Paul, but it all happened so fast."
"Yeah." He was studying her face. "You're looking great."
"Thank you."
"Where did you meet Adler?" "In London."
"And you fell in love with him just like that?" There was a bitter
undertone to his words.
"Paul, what you and I had was wonderful, but it wasn't enough for me.
I needed something more than that.
I needed someone to come home to every night."
He was listening, watching her.
"I would never do anything in the world to hurt you, but this just..
.just happened." More silence. "Please understand."
"Yeah." A wintry smile crossed his face. "I guess I have no choice,
have I? What's done is done. It was just kind of a shock to read
about it in the newspapers and see it on television. I thought we were
closer than that."
"You're right," Lara said again. "I should have told you."
His hand reached out and caressed her chin. "I was crazy about you,
Lara. I guess I still am. You were my miracolo. I could have given
you anything in the world you wanted except what he could give you-a
wedding ring. I love you enough to want you to be happy."
Lara felt a wave of relief sweep through her. "Thank you, Paul."
"When am I going to meet your husband?"
"We're giving a party next week for our friends. Will you come?"
"I'll be there. You tell him that he had better treat you right, or
he'll have to answer to me." Lara smiled. "I'll tell him."
When Lara returned to her office, Howard Keller was waiting for her.
"How did the luncheon go?" he asked nervously.
"Fine. You were wrong about Paul. He behaved beautifully."
"Good. I'm glad I was wrong. Tomorrow morning I've set up some
meetings for you with..."
"Cancel them," Lara said. "I'm staying home with my husband
tomorrow.
We're honeymooning for the next few days." "I'm glad you're so happy," Howard said.
"Howard, I'm so happy it scares me. I'm afraid that I'll wake up and
find this is all a dream. I never knew anyone could be this happy."
He smiled. "All right, I'll handle the meetings."
"Thank you." She kissed him on the cheek. "Philip and I are giving a
party next week. We expect you there."
* * * The party took place the following Saturday at the penthouse.
There was a lavish buffet and more than a hundred guests.
Lara had
invited the men and women she worked with: bankers, builders,
architects, construction chiefs, city officials, the city planners, and
the heads of unions. Philip had invited his musician friends and music
patrons and benefactors. The combination proved to be
disastrous.
It wasn't that the two groups did not try to mix. The problem was that
most of them had nothing in common.
The builders were interested in construction and architecture, and the
musicians were interested in music and composers.
Lara introduced a city planner to a group of musicians.
The
commissioner stood there, trying to follow the discussion.
"Do you know what Rossini felt about Wagner's music? One day he sat
his ass on the piano keys and said, 'That's what Wagner sounds like to
me."" "Wagner deserved it. When a fire broke out at the Ring Theater
in Vienna during a performance of Tales ofHoffmann, four hundred people
burned to death. When Wagner heard about it, he said, 'That's what
they get for listening to an Offenbach operetta."" The commissioner
hastily moved on.
Lara introduced some of Philip's friends to a group of real estate
men.
"The problem," one of the men said, "is that you need thirty-five
percent of the tenants signed up before you can go co-op. "If you want my opinion, that's a pretty stupid rule."
"I agree. I'm switching to hotels. Do you know the hotels in
Manhattan now are averaging two hundred dollars a room per night? Next
year..."
The musicians moved on.
Conversations seemed to be going on in two different languages.
"The trouble with the Viennese is that they love dead composers. "
"There's a new hotel going up on two parcels, between Forty-seventh and
Forty-eighth streets. Chase Manhattan is financing it. "
"He might not be the greatest conductor in the world, but his stick
technique is. "
.... . I remember a lot of the mavens said that the 1929 stock market
crash wasn't a bad thing. It would teach people to put their money in
real estate. "
.... . and Horowitz wouldn't play for years because he thought his
fingers were made of glass. "
.... . I've seen the plans. There's going to be a classic base rising
from three floors from Eighth Avenue, and inside an elliptical arcade
with lobbies on three sides. "
.... . Einstein loved the piano. He used to play with Rubenstein, but
Einstein kept playing off beat. Finally, Rubenstein couldn't stand it
anymore, and he yelled, 'Albert, can't you count?". "
.... . Congress must have been drunk to pass the Tax Reform Act. It's
going to cripple the building industry. "
"...and at the end of the evening when Brahms left the
party he said,
'If there's anyone here I've forgotten to insult, I apologize."" The
Tower of Babel.
Paul Martin arrived alone, and Lara hurried over to the door to greet
him. "I'm so glad you could come, Paul."
"I wouldn't have missed it." He looked around the room. "I want to
meet Philip."
Lara took him over to where Philip was standing with a group. "Philip,
this is an old friend of mine, Paul Martin."
Philip held out his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you." The two men shook hands.
"You're a lucky man, Mr. Adler. Lara's a remarkable woman."
"That's what I keep telling him." Lara smiled.
"She doesn't have to tell me," Philip said. "I know how lucky I am."
Paul was studying him. "Do you?"
Lara could feel the sudden tension in the air. "Let me get you a
cocktail," she said to Paul.
"No, thanks. Remember? I don't drink."
Lara bit her lip. "Of course. Let me introduce you to some people."
She escorted him around the room, introducing him to some of the
guests.
One of the musicians was saying, "Leon Fleisher is giving a recital
tomorrow night. I wouldn't miss it for the world." He turned to Paul
Martin, who was standing next to Howard Keller. "Have you heard him
play?" "No."
"He's remarkable. He plays only with his left hand, of course."
Paul Martin was puzzled. "Why would he do that?"
"Fleisher developed carpal-tunnel syndrome in his right hand about ten
years ago."
"But how can he give a recital with one hand?"
"Half a dozen composers wrote concertos for the left hand.
There's one
by Demuth, Franz Schmidt, Korngold, and a beautiful concerto by
Ravel."
Some of the guests were asking Philip to play for them.
"All right. This is for my bride." He sat down at the piano and began
to play a theme from a Rachmaninoff piano concerto. The room was
hushed. Everyone seemed mesmerized by the lovely strains that filled
the penthouse. When Philip rose, there was loud applause.
An hour later the party began to break up. When they had seen the last
guest to the door, Philip said, "That was quite a party." "You hate big parties, don't you?" Lara said.
Philip took her in his arms and grinned. "Did it show?"
"We'll only do this every ten years," Lara promised.
"Philip, did you have a feeling that our guests were from two different
planets?"
He put his lips to her cheek. "It doesn't matter. We have our own
planet. Let's make it spin. "
Chapter Twenty-six.
Lara decided to work at home mornings.
"I want us to be together as much as possible," she told Philip.
Lara asked Kathy to arrange for some secretaries to be interviewed at
the penthouse. Lara talked to half a dozen before Marian Bell
appeared. She was in her middle twenties with soft blond hair,
attractive features, and a warm personality. "Sit down," Lara said.
"Thank you."
Lara was looking over her resume. "You were graduated from Wellesley
College?" "Yes."
"And you have a B.A. Why do you want a job as a secretary?"
"I think I can learn a lot working for you. Whether I get this job or
not, I'm a big fan of yours, MissCameron." "Really? Why?"
"You're my role model. You've accomplished a lot, and you've done it
on your own."
Lara was studying the young woman. "This job would mean long hours. I
get up early. You'd be working at my apartment. You'd start at six in
the morning."
"That wouldn't be a problem. I'm a hard worker."
Lara smiled. She liked Marian. "I'll give you a oneweek trial," she
said.
By the end of the week Lara knew that she had found a jewel. Marian
was capable and intelligent and pleasant. Gradually, a routine was
established. Unless there was an emergency, Lara spent the mornings
working at the apartment. In the afternoon she would go to the
office.
Each morning Lara and Philip had breakfast together and afterward
Philip would go to the piano and sit in a sleeveless athletic shirt and
jeans and practice for two or three hours while Lara went into her
office and dictated to Marian. Sometimes Philip would play old
Scottish tunes for Lara: "Annie Laurie," and "Comin' Through the
Rye."
She was touched. They would have lunch together.
"Tell me what your life was like in Glace Bay," Philip said.
"It would take at least five minutes." Lara smiled. "No, I'm serious. I really want to know."
She talked about the boardinghouse, but she could not bring herself to
talk about her father. She told Philip the story of Charles Colin, and
Philip said, "Good for him. I'd like to meet him one day." "I'm sure you will."
Lara told him about her experience with Sean MacAllister, and Philip
said, "That bastard! I'd like to kill him!" He held Lara close and
said, "No one is ever going to hurt you again."
* * * Philip was working on a concerto. She would hear him play three
notes at a time, over and over and then move on, practicing slowly and
picking up the tempo until the different phrases finally flowed into
one.
In the beginning Lara would walk into the drawing room while Philip was
playing and interrupt him.
"Darling, we're invited to Long Island for the weekend.
Would you like to go?"
Or, "I have theater tickets for the new Neil Simon play."
Or, "Howard Keller would like to take us out to dinner Saturday
night."
Philip had tried to be patient. Finally, he said, "Lara, please don't
interrupt me while I'm at the piano. It breaks my concentration."
"I'm sorry," Lara said. "But I don't understand why you practice every
day. You're not giving a concert now."
"I practice every day so I can give a concert. You see, my darling,
when you put up a building and a mistake is made, it can be
corrected.
You can change the plans or you can redo the plumbing or the lighting
or whatever.
But at a recital there is no second chance. You're live in front of an
audience and every note has to be perfect." "I'm sorry," Lara apologized. "I understand."
Philip took her in his arms. "There's the old joke about a man in New
York carrying a violin case. He was lost. He stopped a stranger and
said, 'How do you get to Carnegie Hall?" 'Practice,' the stranger
said, 'practice."" Lara laughed. "Go back to your piano.
I'll leave you alone."
She sat in her office listening to the faint strains of Philip playing
and she thought, I'm so lucky. Thousands of women would envy me
sitting here listening to Philip Adler play.
She just wished he did not have to practice so often.
* * * They both enjoyed playing backgammon, and in the evening, after
dinner, they would sit in front of the fireplace and have
mock-fierce
contests. Lara treasured those moments of being alone with him.
The Reno casino was getting ready to open. Six months earlier Lara had
had a meeting with Jerry Townsend. "I want them to read about this
opening in Timbuktu," Lara said. "I'm flying in the chef from Maxim's
for the opening. I want you to get me the hottest talent available.
Start with Frank Sinatra and work your way down. I want the invitation
list to include the top names in Hollywood, New York, and Washington.
I want people fighting to get on that list."
Now, as Lara looked it over, she said, "You've done a good job. How
many turndowns have we had?"
"A couple dozen," Townsend said. "That's not bad from a list of six
hundred."
"Not bad at all," Lara agreed.
Keller telephoned Lara in the morning. "Good news," he said. "I got a
call from the Swiss bankers. They're flying in to meet with you
tomorrow to discuss the joint venture." "Great," Lara said. "Nine o'clock, my office." "I'll set it up."
At dinner that evening Philip said, "Lara, I'm doing a recording
session tomorrow. You've never been to one, have you?"
"No."
"Would you like to come and watch?"
Lara hesitated, thinking about the meeting with the Swiss. "Of
course," she said.
Lara telephoned Keller. "Start the meeting without me.
I'll get there
as soon as I can."
The recording studio was located on West Thirtyfourth Street, in a
large warehouse filled with electronic equipment. There were 130
musicians seated in the room and a glass-enclosed control booth where
the sound engineers worked. It seemed to Lara that the recording was
going very slowly. They kept stopping and starting again. During one of the breaks she telephoned Keller.
"Where are you?" he demanded. "I'm stalling but they want to talk to
y "I'll be there in an hour or two," she said. "Keep them talking."
Two hours later the recording session was still going on. Lara telephoned Keller again.
"I'm sorry, Howard, I can't leave. Have them come back tomorrow."
"What's so important?" Keller demanded.
"My husband," Lara said. And she replaced the receiver.
When they returned to the apartment, Lara said, "We're going to Reno
next week."
"What's in Reno?"
"It's the opening of the hotel and casino. We'll fly down on
Wednesday."
Philip's voice was filled with distress. "Damn!" "What's the matter?"
"I'm sorry, darling, I can't."
She was staring at him. "What do you mean?"
"I thought I had mentioned it. I'm leaving on a tour Monday."
"What are you talking about?"
"Ellerbee has booked me on a six-week tour. I'm going to Australia
and..." "Australia?"
"Yes. Then Japan and Hong Kong."
"You can't, Philip. I mean... why are you doing this? You don't have to. I want to be with you."
"Well, come with me, Lara. I'd love that."
"You know I can't. Not now. There's too much happening here." Lara
said miserably, "I don't want you to leave me."
"I don't want to. But, darling, I warned you before we were married
that this is what my life is about."
"I know," Lara said, "but that was before. Now it's different.
Everything has changed."
"Nothing has changed," Philip said gently, "except that I'm absolutely
crazy about you, and when I go away, I'll miss you like the devil."
There was nothing Lara could say to that.
Philip was gone, and Lara had never known such loneliness.
In the
middle of a meeting she would suddenly think about Philip and her heart
would melt.
She wanted him to go on with his career, but she needed him with her.
She thought of the wonderful times they had together, and of his arms
around her, and his warmth and gentleness. She had never known she
could love anyone so much. Philip telephoned her every day, but
somehow it made the loneliness worse. "Where are you, darling?"
"I'm still in Tokyo." "How's the tour going?" "Beautifully. I miss you."
"I miss you, too.-" Lara could not tell him how much she missed him.
"I leave for Hong Kong tomorrow and then..."
"I wish you'd come home." She regretted it the moment she said it.
"You know I can't."
There was a silence. "Of course not."
They talked for half an hour and when Lara put the receiver down, she
was lonelier than ever. The time differences were maddening.
Sometimes her Tuesday would be his Wednesday, and he would call in the
middle of the night or in the early hours of the morning. "How's Philip?" Keller asked.
"Fine. Why does he do it, Howard?" "Why does he do what?"
"This tour of his. He doesn't have to do it. I mean, he certainly
doesn't need the money."
"Whoa. I'm sure he's not doing it for the money. It's what he does,
Lara."
The same words that Philip had used. She understood it intellectually,
but not emotionally.
"Lara," Keller said, "you only married the man-you don't own him."
"I don't want to own him. I was just hoping that I was more important
to him than..." She stopped herself in mid-sentence. "Never mind. I
know I'm being silly."
Lara telephoned William Ellerbee.
"Are you free for lunch today?" Lara asked.
"I can make myself free," Ellerbee said. "Is anything wrong?"
"No, no. I just thought we should have a talk." They met at Le Cirque.
"Have you talked to Philip lately?" Ellerbee asked. "I talk to him every day."
"He's having a successful tour." "Yes."
Ellerbee said, "Frankly, I never thought Philip would get married.
He's like a priest-dedicated to what he does."
"I know"-Lara hesitated-"but don't you think he's traveling too
much?"
"I don't understand."
"Philip has a home now. There's no reason for him to be running all
over the world." She saw the expression on Ellerbee's face. "Oh, I
don't mean he should just stay in New York. I'm sure you could arrange
concerts for him in Boston, Chicago, Los Angeles. You know... where he
wouldn't have to travel so far from home."
Ellerbee said carefully, "Have you discussed this with Philip?"
"No. I wanted to talk to you first. It would be possible, wouldn't
it? I mean, Philip doesn't need the money, not anymore."
"Mrs. Adler, Philip makes thirty-five thousand dollars a performance.
Last year he was on tour for forty weeks." "I understand, but..."
"Do you have any idea how few pianists make it to the top, or how hard
they have to struggle to get there?
There are thousands of pianists out there, playing their fingers to the
bone, and there are only about four or five superstars.
Your husband
is one of them. You don't know much about the concert world. The
competition is murderous. You can go to a recital and see a soloist on
the stage dressed in tails, looking prosperous and glamorous, but when
he gets off that stage, he can barely afford to pay his rent or buy a
decent meal. It took Philip a long time to become a world class
pianist. Now you're asking me to take that away from him."
"No, I'm not. I'm merely suggesting..."
"What you're suggesting would destroy his career. You don't really want to do that, do you?"
"Of course not, "Lara said. She hesitated. "I understand that you get
fifteen percent of what Philip earns." "That's right."
"I wouldn't want you to lose anything if Philip gave fewer concerts,"
Lara said carefully. "I'd be glad to make up the difference and..."
"Mrs. Adler, I think this is something you should discuss with
Philip.
Shall we order?" Chapter Twenty-seven.
Liz Smith's column read: "IRON BUTTERFLY ABOUT TO GET HER WINGS
CLIPPED...
What beautiful real estate tycoon is about to hit her penthouse roof
when she learns that a book about her, written by a former employee, is
going to be published by Candlelight Press? The word is that it's
going to be hot! Hot! Hot!"
Lara slammed the newspaper down. It had to be Gertrude Meeks, the
secretary she had fired! Lara sent for Jerry Townsend. "Have you seen
Liz Smith's column this morning?"
"Yes, I just read it. There isn't much we can do about it, boss. If
you..."
"There's a lot we can do. All my employees sign an agreement that they
will not write anything about me during or after their employment
here.
Gertrude Meeks has no right to do this. I'm going to sue the publisher
for all he's worth."
Jerry Townsend shook his head. "I wouldn't do that." "Why not?"
"Because it will create a lot of unfavorable publicity.
If you let it ride, it becomes a small wind that will blow over. If
you try to stop it, it will become a hurricane."
She listened, unimpressed. "Find out who owns the company," Lara
ordered.
One hour later Lara was speaking on the phone to Henry Seinfeld, the
owner and publisher of Candlelight Press.
"This is Lara Cameron. I understand you intend to publish a book about
me."
"You read the Liz Smith item, huh? Yes, it's true, Miss Cameron."
"I want to warn you that if you publish the book, I'm going to sue you
for invasion of privacy."
The voice at the other end of the phone said, "I think perhaps you
should check with your attorney. You're a public figure, Miss
Cameron.
You have no right of privacy. And according to Gertrude Meeks's
manuscript, you're quite a colorful character."
"Gertrude Meeks signed a paper forbidding her to write anything about
me."
"Well, that's between you and Gertrude. You can sue her But by then,
of course, the book would be out.
"I don't want it published. If I can make it worth your while not to
publish it "Hold on. I think you're treading on dangerous
ground. I
would suggest that we terminate this conversation.
Good-bye." The line went dead.
Damn him! Lara sat there thinking. She sent for Howard Keller.
"What do you know about Candlelight Press?"
He shrugged. "They're a small outfit. They do exploitation books.
They did a hatchet job on Cher, Madonna..." "Thanks. That's all."
* * * Howard Keller had a headache. It seemed to him that he was
getting a lot of headaches lately. Not enough sleep.
He was under pressure, and he felt that things were moving too
rapidly.
He had to find a way to slow Lara down.
Maybe this was a hunger headache. He buzzed his secretary.
"Bess, order some lunch in for me, would you?" There was a silence.
"Bess?"
"Are you joking, Mr. Keller?" "Joking? No, why?"
"You just had your lunch."
Keller felt a chill go through him.
"But if you're still hungry..."
"No, no." He remembered now. He had had a salad and a roast beef
sandwich and... My God, he thought, what's happening to me?
"Just kidding, Bess," he said. Who am I kidding?
The opening of the Cameron Palace in Reno was a smash.
The hotel was
fully booked, and the casino was crowded with players.
Lara had spared
no expense to see that the invited celebrities were well taken care
of.
Everyone was there. There's only one person missing. Lara thought.
Philip. He had sent an enormous bouquet of flowers with a note:
"You're the music in my life. I adore you and miss you. Hub."
Paul Martin arrived. He came up to Lara. "Congratulations. You've
outdone yourself."
"Thanks to you, Paul. I couldn't have done it without you."
He was looking around. "Where's Philip?" "He couldn't be here. He's on tour."
"He's out playing piano somewhere? This is a big night for you,
Lara.
He should be at your side."
Lara smiled. "He really wanted to be."
The manager of the hotel came up to Lara. "This is quite a night,
isn't it? The hotel is fully booked for the next three months."
"Let's keep it that way, Donald."
Lara had hired a Japanese and a Brazilian agent to bring in big players
from abroad. She had spent a million dollars on each of the luxury
suites, but it was going to pay off.
"You've got a gold mine here, Miss Cameron," the manager said. He
looked around. "By the way, where's your husband? I've been looking
forward to meeting him."
"He couldn't be here," Lara said. He's out playing the piano
somewhere.
The entertainment was brilliant, but Lara was the star of the vening.
Sammy Cahn had written special lyrics for "My Kind of Town." It went,
"My kind of gal, Lara is..." She got up to make a speech, and there
was enthusiastic applause. Everyone wanted to meet her, to touch
her.
The press was there in full force, and Lara gave interviews for
television, radio, and the press. It all went well until the
interviewers asked, "Where's your husband tonight?" And Lara found
herself getting more and more upset. He should have been at my side.
The concert could have waited. But she smiled sweetly and
said,
"Philip was so disappointed he couldn't be here."
When the entertainment was over, there was dancing. Paul Martin walked
up to Lara's table. "Shall we?"
Lara rose and stepped into his arms.
"How does it feel owning all this?" Paul asked. "It feels wonderful. Thanks for all your help."
"What are friends for? I notice that you have some heavyweight
gamblers here. Be careful with them, Lara.
Some of them are going to lose big, and you have to make them feel like
they're winners. Get them a new car or girls or anything that will
make them feel important." "I'll remember," Lara said.
"It's good to hold you again," Paul said. "Paul..."
"I know. Do you remember what I said about your husband taking good
care of you?" "Yes."
"He doesn't seem to be doing a very good job." "Philip wanted to be here," Lara said defensively. And even as she said it, she thought, Did he really?
He telephoned her late that night, and the sound of his voice made her
twice as lonely.
"Lara, I've been thinking about you all day, darling. How did the opening go?"
"Wonderfully. I wish you could have been here, Philip." "So do I. I miss you like crazy."
Then why aren't you here with me? "I miss you, too. Hurry home."
Howard Keller walked into Lara's office carrying a thick manila
envelope.
"You're not going to like this," Keller said. "What's up?"
Keller laid the envelope on Lara's desk. "This is a copy of Gertrude
Meeks's manuscript. Don't ask me how I got hold of it.
We could both go to jail."
"Have you read it?" He nodded. "Yes." "And?"
"I think you'd better read it yourself. She wasn't even working here
when some of these things happened. She must have done a lot of
digging." "Thanks, Howard."
Lara waited until he left the office; then she pressed down the key on
the intercom. "No calls."
She opened the manuscript and began to read.
It was devastating. It was a portrait of a scheming, domineering woman
who had clawed her way to the top.
It depicted her temper tantrums and her imperious manner with her
employees. It was meanspirited, filled with nasty little anecdotes.
What the manuscript left out was Lara's independence and courage, her
talent and vision and generosity. She went on reading.
.... . One of the Iron Butterfly's tricks was to schedule her business
meetings early on the first morning of negotiations, so that the others
were jet-lagged and Cameron was fresh.
.... . At a meeting with the Japanese, they were served tea with Valium
in it, while Lara Cameron drank coffee with Ritalin, a stimulant that
speeds up the thought process.
.... . At a meeting with some German bankers, they were served coffee
with Valium, while she drank tea with Ritalin.
.... . When Lara Cameron was negotiating for the Queens property and
the community board turned her down, she got them to change their mind
by making up a story that she had a young daughter who was going to
live in one of the buildings..."
.... . When tenants refused to leave the building at the Dorchester
Apartments, Lara Cameron filled it with homeless people. "
Nothing had been left out. When Lara finished reading it, she sat at
her desk for a long time, motionless. She sent for Howard Keller.
"I want you to run a Dun and Bradstreet on Henry Seinfeld. He owns
Candlelight Press." "Right."
He was back fifteen minutes later. "Seinfeld has a D-C rating."
"Which means?"
"That's the lowest rating there is. A fourth-line credit rating is
poor, and he's four notches below that. A good stiff wind would blow
him over. He lives from book to book. One flop and he's out of
business."
"Thanks, Howard." She telephoned Terry Hill, her attorney.
"Terry, how would you like to be a book publisher?" "What did you have in mind?"
"I want you to buy Candlelight Press in your name. It's owned by Henry Seinfeld."
"That should be no problem. How much do you want to pay?"
"Try to buy him out for five hundred thousand. If you have to, go to a
million. Make sure that the deal includes all the literary properties
he owns. Keep my name out of it."
The offices of Candlelight Press were downtown in an old building on
Thirty-fourth Street. Henry Seinfeld's quarters consisted of a small
secretarial office and a slightly larger office for himself.
Seinfeld's secretary said, "There's a Mr. Hill to see you, Mr.
Seinfeld."
"Send him" Terry Hill had called earlier that morning.
He walked into the shabby little office. Seinfeld was sitting behind
the desk.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Hill?"
"I'm representing a German publishing company that might be interested
in buying your company."
Seinfeld took his time lighting a cigar. "My company's not for sale,"
he said.
"Oh, that's too bad. We're trying to break into the American market,
and we like your operation."
"I've built this company up from scratch," Seinfeld said. "It's like
my baby. I'd hate to part with it."
"I understand how you feel," the lawyer said sympathetically. "We'd be
willing to give you five hundred thousand dollars for it." Seinfeld almost choked on his cigar. "Five hundred?
Hell, I've got one book coming out that's going to be worth a million
dollars alone. No, sir. Your offer's an insult."
"My offer's a gift. You have no assets, and you're over a hundred
thousand dollars in debt. I checked. Tell you what I'll do. I'll go
up to six hundred thousand. That's my final offer."
"I'd never forgive myself. Now, if you could see your way clear to
going to seven..."
Terry Hill rose to his feet. "Good-bye, Mr. Seinfeld. I'll find another py)) He started toward the door. "Wait a minute," Seinfeld said. "Let's not be hasty.
The fact is, my wife's been after me to retire. Maybe this would be a
good time."
Terry Hill walked over to the desk and pulled a contract out of his
pocket. "I have a check here for six hundred thousand dollars. Just
sign where the X is." Lara sent for Keller.
"We just bought Candlelight Press." "Great. What do you want to do with it?"
"First of all, kill Gertrude Meeks's book. See that it doesn't get
published. There are plenty of ways to keep stalling. If she sues to
get her rights back, we can tie her up in court for years."
"Do you want to fold the company?"
"Of course not. Put someone in to run it. We'll keep it
as a tax loss."
When Keller returned to his office, he said to his secretary, "I want
to give you a letter. Jack Hellman, Hellman Realty. Dear Jack, I
discussed your offer with Miss Cameron, and we feel that it would be
unwise to go into your venture at this time. However, we want you to
know that we would be interested in any future..." His secretary had stopped taking notes.
Keller looked up. "Do you have that?" She was staring at him. "Mr. Keller?" "Yes."
"You dictated this letter yesterday." Keller swallowed. "What?"
"It's already gone out in the mail."
Howard Keller tried to smile. "I guess I'm on overload."
At four o'clock that afternoon Keller was being examined by Dr.
Seymour Bennett.
"You seem to be in excellent shape," Dr. Bennett said. "Physically, there's nothing wrong with you at all." "What about these lapses of memory?"
"How long since you've had a vacation, Howard?"
Keller tried to think. "I guess it's been quite a few years," he
said.
"We've been pretty busy."
Dr. Bennett smiled. "There you are. You're on overload."
That word
again. "This is more common than you think. Go somewhere where you
can relax for a week or two. Get business off your mind.
When you
come back, you'll feel like a new man." Keller stood up, relieved.
Keller went to see Lara in her office. "Could you spare me for a
week?"
"About as easily as I can spare my right arm. What did you have in
mind?"
"The doctor thinks I should take a little vacation, Lara.
To tell you
the truth, I've been having some problems with my memory." She was watching him, concerned. "Anything serious?"
"No, not really. It's just annoying. I thought I might go to Hawaii
for a few days." "Take the jet."
"No, no, you'll be using it. I'll fly commercial." "Charge everything to the company."
"Thanks. I'll check in every "No, you won't. I want you to forget
about the office.
Just take care of yourself. I don't want anything to happen to you."
I hope he's all right, Lara thought. He's got to be all right.
Philip telephoned the next day. When Marian Bell said, "Mr. Adler is
calling from Taipei," Lara hurriedly picked up the telephone.
"Philip...?"
"Hello, darling. There's been a phone strike. I've been trying to
reach you for hours. How do you feel?" Lonely. "Wonderful. How is the tour going?" "It's the usual. I miss you."
In the background Lara could hear music and voices. "Where are you?"
"Oh, they're giving a little party for me. You know how it is."
Lara could hear the sound of a woman laughing. "Yes, I know how it is."
"I'll be home Wednesday." "Philip?"
"Yes?"
"Nothing, darling. Hurry home." "I will. Good-bye."
She replaced the receiver. What was he going to do after the party?
Who was the woman? She was filled with a sense of jealousy so strong
that it almost smothered her. She had never been jealous of anyone in
her life.
Everything is so perfect, Lara thought. I don't want to lose it. I
can't lose it.
She lay awake thinking about Philip and what he was doing.
Howard Keller was stretched out on Kona Beach at a small hotel on the
big island of Hawaii. The weather had been ideal. He had gone
swimming every day. He had gotten a tan, played some golf, and had
daily massages. He was completely relaxed and had never felt better.
Dr. Bennett was right, he thought. Overload. I'm going to have to
slow down a little when I get back. The truth was that the episodes of
memory loss had frightened him more than he wanted to admit.
Finally, it was time to return to New York. He took a midnight flight
back and was in Manhattan at four o'clock in the afternoon. He went
directly to the office.
His secretary was there, smiling. "Welcome back, Mr.
Keller. You look great."
"Thank you..." He stood there, and his face drained of color.
He could not remember her name. Chapter Twenty-eight.
Philip arrived home Wednesday afternoon, and Lara took the
limousine to
the airport to meet him. Philip stepped off the plane, and the image
of Lochinvar instantly sprang to Lara's mind.
My God, but he's handsome! She ran into his arms. "I've missed you," she said, hugging him.
"I've missed you, too, darling." "How much?"
He held his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. "This much."
"You beast," she said. "Where's your luggage?" "It's coming."
One hour later they were back at the apartment.
Marian Bell opened the door for them. "Welcome back, Mr. Adler."
"Thanks, Marian." He looked around. "I feel as though I've been away
for a year."
"Two years, "Lara said. She started to add, "Don't ever leave me
again," and bit her lip.
"Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Adler?" Marian asked.
"No. We're fine. You can run along now. I'll dictate some letters in
the morning. I won't be going into the office today." "Very well. Good-bye." Marian left.
"Sweet girl," Philip said.
"Yes, isn't she?" Lara moved into Philip's arms. "Now show me how
much you missed me."
Lara stayed away from the office for the next three days.
She wanted
to be with Philip, to talk to him, touch him, assure herself that he
was real. They had breakfast in the morning, and while Lara dictated
to Marian, Philip was at the piano practicing.
At lunch on the third day Lara told Philip about the casino opening.
"I wish you could have been there, darling. It was fantastic."
"I'm so sorry I missed it."
He's out playing the piano somewhere. "Well, you'll have your chance
next month. The mayor is giving me the keys to the city."
Philip said unhappily, "Darling, I'm afraid I'm going to have to miss
that, too."
Lara froze. "What do you mean?"
"Ellerbee's booked me for another tour. I leave for Germany in three
weeks."
"You can't!" Lara said.
"The contracts have already been signed. There's nothing I can do
about it."
"You just got back. How can you go away again so soon?" "It's an important tour, darling."
"And our marriage isn't important?" "Lara..."
"You don't have to go," Lara said angrily. "I want a husband, not a
part-time..."
Marian Bell came into the room carrying sbme letters. "Oh, I'm
sorry.
I didn't mean to interrupt. I have these letters ready for you to
sign."
"Thank you," Lara said stiffly. "I'll call you when I need you."
"Yes, Miss Cameron."
They watched Marian retreat to her office.
"I know you have to give concerts," Lara said, "but you don't have to
give them this often. It's not as though you were some kind of
traveling salesman."
"No, it isn't, is it?" His tone was cool.
"Why don't you stay here for the ceremony and then go on your tour?"
"Lara, I know that it's important to you, but you must understand that
my concert tours are important to me.
I'm very proud of you and what you're doing, but I want you to be proud
of me."
"I am," Lara said. "Forgive me, Philip, I just..." She was trying
hard not to cry.
"I know, darling." He took her in his arms. "We'll work it out. When
I come back, we'll take a long vacation together."
A vacation's impossible, Lara thought. There are too many projects in
the works.
"Where are you going this time, Philip?"
"I'll be going to Germany, Norway, Denmark, England, and then back
here."
Lara took a deep breath. "I see."
"I wish you could come with me, Lara. It's very lonely out there
without you."
She thought of the laughing lady. "Is it?" She shook herself out of
her mood and managed to smile. "I'll tell you what. Why don't you
take the jet? It will make it more comfortable for you." "Are you sure you're...?"
"Absolutely. I'll manage without it until you're back." "There's no one in the world like you," Philip said.
Lara rubbed a finger slowly along his cheek. "Remember that."
Philip's tour was a huge success. In Berlin the audiences went wild
and the reviews were ecstatic.
Afterward the greenrooms were always crowded with eager fans, most of
them female: "I've traveled three hundred miles to hear
you play..."
"I have a little castle not far from here, and I was wondering...
"I've prepared a midnight supper just for the two of us..."
Some of them were rich and beautiful, and most of them were very
willing. But Philip was in love. He called Lara after the concert in
Denmark. "I miss you."
"I miss you, too, Philip. How did the concert go?" "Well, no one walked out while I was playing."
Lara laughed. "That's a good sign. I'm right in the middle of a
meeting now, darling. I'll call you at your hotel in an hour."
Philip said, "I won't be going right to the hotel, Lara.
The manager of the concert hall is giving a dinner party for me
and..."
"Oh? Really? Does he have a beautiful daughter?" She regretted it the moment the words were out. "What?"
"Nothing. I have to go now. I'll talk to you later." She hung up and turned to the men in the office.
Keller was watching her. "Is everything all right?"
"Fine," Lara said lightly. She found it difficult to concentrate on
the meeting. She visualized Philip at the party,
beautiful women
handing him their hotel keys.
She was consumed with jealousy, and she hated herself for it.
The mayor's ceremony honoring Lara was a standing-room-only event. The
press was out in force.
"Could we get a shot of you and your husband together?"
And Lara was forced to say, "He wanted so much to be here..."
Paul Martin was there. "He's gone again, huh?"
"He really wanted to be here, Paul."
"Bullshit! This is a big honor for you. He should be at your side.
What the hell kind of husband is he? Someone should have a talk with
him!"
That night she lay in bed alone, unable to sleep.
Philip was ten thousand miles away. The conversation with Paul Martin
ran through Lara's mind. "What the hell kind of husband is he?
Someone should have a talk with him!"
When Philip returned from Europe, he seemed happy to be home. He
brought Lara an armload of gifts. There was an exquisite porcelain
figurine from Denmark, lovely dolls from Germany, silk blouses, and a
gold purse from England. In the purse was a diamond
bracelet.
"It's lovely," Lara said. "Thank you, darling."
The next morning Lara said to Marian Bell, "I'm going to work at home
all day."
Lara sat in her office dictating to Marian, and from the drawing room
she could hear the sounds of Philip at the piano. Our life is so
perfect like this, Lara thought. Why does Philip want to spoil it?
William Ellerbee telephoned Philip. "Congratulations," he said. "I
hear the tour went wonderfully."
"It did. The Europeans are great audiences."
"I got a call from the management at Carnegie Hall.
They have an unexpected opening a week from Friday, on the seventeenth.
They would like to book you for a recital. Are you interested?"
"Very much."
"Good. I'll work out the arrangements. By the way," Ellerbee said,
"are you thinking of cutting back on your concerts?" Philip was taken aback. "Cutting back? No. Why?"
"I had a talk with Lara, and she indicated that you might want to just
tour the United States. Perhaps it would be best if you talked to her
and..."
Philip said, "I will. Thank you."
Philip replaced the receiver and walked into Lara's office. She was
dictating to Marian.
"Would you excuse us?" Philip asked.
Marian smiled. "Certainly." She left the room.
Philip turned to Lara. "I just had a call from William Ellerbee. Did
you talk to him about my cutting down on foreign tours?" "I might have mentioned something like that, Philip.
I thought it might be better for both of us if..."
"Please, don't do that again," Philip said. "You know how much I love
you. But apart from our lives together, you have a career and I have a
career. Let's make a rule.
I won't interfere in yours, and you won't interfere in mine.
Is that fair enough?"
"Of course, it is," Lara said. "I'm sorry, Philip. It's just that I
miss you so much when you're away." She went into his arms. "Forgive
me?"
"It's forgiven and forgotten."
Howard Keller came to the penthouse to bring Lara contracts to sign.
"How's everything going?" "Beautifully," Lara said.
"The wandering minstrel is home?" "Yes."
"So music is your life now, huh?"
"The musician is my life. You have no idea how wonderful he is,
Howard."
"When are you coming into the office? We need you." "I'll come in a few days."
Keller nodded. "Okay."
They began to examine the papers he had brought.
The following morning Terry Hill telephoned. "Lara, I just received a
call from the Gaming Commission in Reno," the attorney said. "There's
going to be a hearing on your casino license." "Why?" Lara asked.
"There have been some allegations that the bidding was rigged. They
want you to go there and testify on the seventeenth." "How serious is this?" Lara asked.
The lawyer hesitated. "Are you aware of any irregularities in the
bidding?"
"No, of course not."
"Then you have nothing to worry about. I'll fly to Reno with you."
"What happens if I don't go?"
"They'll subpoena you. It would look better if you went
on your own."
"All right."
Lara telephoned Paul Martin's private number at the office. He picked
up the phone immediately. "Lara?"
"Yes, Paul."
"You haven't used this number in a long time." "I know. I'm calling about Reno..."
"I heard."
"Is there a real problem?"
He laughed. "No. The losers are upset that you beat them to it."
"Are you sure it's all right, Paul?" She hesitated. "We did discuss
the other bids."
"Believe me, it's done all the time. Anyway, they have no way of
proving that. Don't worry about a thing." "All right. I won't."
She replaced the receiver and sat there, worried.
At lunch Philip said, "By the way, they offered me a concert at
Carnegie Hall. I'm going to do it."
"Wonderful." Lara smiled. "I'll buy a new dress. When is it?"
"The seventeenth."
Lara's smile faded. "Oh." "What's the matter?"
"I'm afraid I won't be able to be there, darling. I have to be in
Reno. I'm so sorry."
Philip put his hands over hers. "Our timing seems to be off, doesn't
it? Oh, well. Don't worry. There will be plenty more recitals."
Lara was in her office at Cameron Center. Howard Keller had called her
at home that morning.
"I think you'd better get down here," he had said. "We have a few problems."
"I'll be there in an hour."
They were in the middle of a meeting. "A couple of deals have gone
sour," Keller told her. "The insurance company that was moving into
our building in Houston has gone bankrupt. They were our only
tenant."
"We'll find someone else," Lara said.
"It's not going to be that simple. The Tax Reform Act is hurting us.
Hell, it's hurting everybody. Congress has wiped out corporate tax
shelters and eliminated most deductions. I think we're heading for a
goddamned recession. The savings and loan companies we're dealing with
are in trouble. Drexel Burnham Lambert may go out of business. Junk
bonds are turning into land mines. We're having problems with half a
dozen of our buildings. Two of them are only half finished. Without
financing, those costs are going to be eating us up."
Lara sat there, thinking. "We can handle it. Sell whatever properties
we have to to keep up our mortgage payments."
"The bright side of it," Keller said, "is that we have a cash flow from
Reno that's bringing us in close to fifty million a year." Lara said nothing.
On Friday the seventeenth Lara left for Reno. Philip rode with her to
the airport. Terry Hill was waiting at the plane. "When will you be back?" Philip said.
"Probably tomorrow. This shouldn't take long." "I'll miss you," Philip said.
"I'll miss you, too, darling."
He stood there watching the plane taking off. I am going to miss her,
Philip thought. She's the most fantastic woman in the world.
In the offices of the Nevada Gaming Commission, Lara was facing the
same group of men she had met with during the application for a casino
license. This time, however, they were not as friendly.
Lara was sworn in, and a court reporter took down her testimony.
The chairman said, "Miss Cameron, some rather disturbing allegations
have been made concerning the licensing of your casino." "What kind of allegations?" Terry Hill demanded.
"We'll come to those in due course." The chairman turned his attention
back to Lara. "We understood that this was your first experience in
acquiring a gambling casino."
"That's right. I told you that at the first hearing."
"How did you arrive at the bid you put in? I mean ... how did you come
to that precise figure?"
Terry Hill interrupted. "I'd like to know the reason for the
question."
"In a moment, Mr. Hill. Will you permit your client to answer the
question?"
Terry Hill looked at Lara and nodded.
Lara said, "I had my comptroller and accountants give me an estimate on
how much we could afford to bid, and we figured in a small profit we
could add to that, and that became my bid."
The chairman scanned the paper in front of him.
"Your bid was five million dollars more than the next highest bid."
"Was it?"
"You weren't aware of that at the time you made your bid?" "No. Of course not."
"Miss Cameron, are you acquainted with Paul Martin?"
Terry Hill interrupted. "I don't see the relevance of this line of
questioning."
"We'll come to that in a moment. Meanwhile, I'd like Miss Cameron to
answer the question."
"I have no objection," Lara said. "Yes. I know Paul Martin."
"Have you ever had any business dealings with him?" Lara hesitated. "No. He's just a friend."
"Miss Cameron, are you aware that Paul Martin is reputed to be involved
with the Mafia, that..."
"Objection. It's hearsay, and it has no place in this record."
"Very well, Mr. Hill. I'll withdraw that. Miss Cameron, when was the
last time you saw or talked to Paul Martin?"
Lara hesitated. "I'm not sure, exactly. To be perfectly candid, since
I got married, I've seen very little of Mr. Martin. We run into each
other at parties occasionally, that's all."
"But it wasn't your habit to speak regularly with him on the
telephone?"
"Not after my marriage, no."
"Did you ever have any discussions with Paul Martin regarding this
casino?"
Lara looked over at Terry Hill. He nodded. "Yes, I believe that after
I won the bid for it, he called to congratulate me. And then once
again after I got the license to operate the casino." "But you did not talk to him at any other time?" "No."
"I'll remind you that you're under oath, Miss Cameron." "Yes."
"You're aware of the penalty for perjury?" "Yes."
He held up a sheet of paper. "I have here a list of fifteen telephone
calls between you and Paul Martin, made during the time sealed bids
were being submitted for the casino." Chapter Twenty-nine.
Most soloists are dwarfed by the huge twenty-eight-hundred-seat space
at Carnegie EtaIl. There are not many musicians who can fill the
prestigious hall, but on Friday night it was packed.
Philip Adler
walked out onto the vast stage to the thunderous applause of the
audience. He sat down at the piano, paused a moment, then began to
play. The program consisted of Beethoven sonatas. Over the years he
had disciplined himself to concentrate only on the music.
But on this
night Philip's thoughts drifted away to Lara and their problems, and
for a split second his fingers started to fumble, and he
broke out in a
cold sweat. It happened so swiftly that the audience did not notice.
There was loud applause at the end of the first part of the recital.
At intermission Philip went to his dressing room.
The concert manager said, "Wonderful, Philip. You held them
spellbound. Can I get anything for you?"
"No, thanks." Philip closed the door. He wished the recital were
over. He was deeply disturbed by the situation with Lara.
He loved
her a great deal, and he knew she loved him, but they seemed to have
come to an impasse. There had been a lot of tension between them
before Lara had left for Reno. I've got to do something about it,
Philip thought. But what? How do we compromise? He was still
thinking about it when there was a knock at the door, and the stage
manager's voice said, "Five minutes, Mr. Adler." "Thank you."
The second half of the program consisted of the Hammerklavier sonata.
It was a stirring, emotional piece, and when the last notes had
thundered out through the vast hall, the audience rose to its feet with
wild applause.
Philip stood on the stage bowing, but his mind was elsewhere. I've got
to go home and talk to Lara. And then he remembered that she was
away.
We'll have to settle this now, Philip thought. We can't go on like
this.
The applause continued. The audience was shouting "bravo" and
"encore." Ordinarily, Philip would have played another selection, but
on this evening he was too upset. He returned to his dressing room and
changed into his street clothes. From outside he could hear the
distant rumble of thunder. The papers had said rain, but that had not
kept the crowd away. The greenroom was filled with well-wishers
waiting for him. It was always exciting to feel and hear the approval
of his fans, but tonight he was in no mood for them. He stayed in his
dressing room until he was sure the crowd had gone.
When he came out, it was almost midnight. He walked through the empty
backstage corridors and went out the stage door. The limousine was not
there. I'll find a taxi, Philip decided.
He stepped outside into a pouring rain. There was a cold wind blowing,
and Fifty-seventh Street was dark. As Philip moved toward Sixth
Avenue, a large man in a raincoat approached from the shadows.
"Excuse me," he said, "how do you get to Carnegie Hall?"
Philip thought of the old joke he had told Lara and was tempted to say
"practice," but he pointed to the building behind him. "It's right
there."
As Philip turned, the man shoved him hard up against the building. In
his hand was a deadly-looking switchblade knife. "Give me your
wallet."
Philip's heart was pounding. He looked around for help.
The rainswept
street was deserted. "All right," Philip said. "Don't get excited.
You can have it."
The knife was pressing against his throat. "Look, there's no need to..."
"Shut up! Just give it to me."
Philip reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.
The man
grabbed it with his free hand and put it in his pocket.
He was looking
at Philip's watch. He reached down and tore it from Philip's wrist.
As he took the watch, he grabbed Philip's left hand, held it tightly,
and slashed the razor-sharp knife across Philip's wrist, slicing it to
the bone. Philip screamed aloud with pain. Blood began to gush out.
The man fled.
Philip stood there in shock, watching his blood mingling with the rain,
dripping into the street. He fainted.
Chapter Thirty.
Lara received the news about Philip in Reno. Marian Bell was on the phone, near hysteria. "Is he badly hurt?" Lara demanded.
"We don't have any details yet. He's at Roosevelt Hospital in the
emergency room."
"I'll come back immediately."
When Lara arrived at the hospital six hours later, Howard Keller was
waiting there for her. He looked shaken. "What happened?" Lara asked.
"Apparently, Philip was mugged after he left Carnegie Hall. They found
him in the street, unconscious." "How bad is it?"
"His wrist was slashed. He's heavily sedated, but he's conscious."
They went into the hospital room. Philip was lying "Philip...
Philip."
It was Lara's voice calling to him from a long way off.
He opened his
eyes. Lara and Howard Keller were there. There seemed to be two of
each. His mouth was dry, and he felt groggy. "What happened?" Philip mumbled.
"You were hurt," Lara said. "But you're going to be all right."
Philip looked down and saw that his left wrist was heavily
bandaged.
Memory came flooding back. "I was... how bad is it?"
"I don't know, darling," Lara said. "I'm sure it will be fine. The
doctor is coming in to see you."
Keller said reassuringly, "Doctors can do anything these days."
Philip was drifting back to sleep. "I told him to take what he
wanted.
He shouldn't have hurt my wrist," he mumbled. "He shouldn't have hurt
my wrist..."
Two hours later Dr. Dennis Stanton walked into Philip's room, and the
moment Philip saw the expression on his face he knew what he was going
to say.
Philip took a deep breath. "Tell me."
Dr. Stanton sighed. "I'm afraid I don't have very good news for you,
Mr. Adler."
"How bad is it?"
"The flexor tendons have been severed, so you'll have no motion in your
hand, and there will be a permanent numbness. In addition to that,
there's median and ulnar nerve damage." He illustrated on his hand.
"The median nerve affects the thumb and first three fingers. The ulnar
nerve goes to all the fingers."
Philip closed his eyes tightly against the wave of sudden despair that
engulfed him. After a moment he spoke. "Are you saying that I'll...
I'll never have the use of my left hand again?"
"That's right. The fact is that you're lucky to be alive.
Whoever did this cut the artery. It's a wonder you didn't bleed to
death. It took sixty stitches to sew your wrist together again."
Philip said in desperation, "My God, isn't there anything you can
do?"
"Yes. We could put in an implant in your left hand so you would have
some motion, but it would be very limited."
He might as well have killed me, Philip thought despairingly.
"As your hand starts to heal, there's going to be a great deal of
pain.
We'll give you medication to control it, but I can assure you that in
time the pain will go away."
Not the real pain, Philip thought. Not the real pain.
He was caught up in a nightmare. And there was no escape.
A detective came to see Philip at the hospital. He stood by the side
of Philip's bed. He was one of the old breed, in his sixties and
tired, with eyes that had already seen it all twice.
"I'm Lieutenant Mancini. I'm sorry about what happened, Mr. Adler,"
he said. "It's too bad they couldn't have broken your leg instead. I
mean... if it had to happen...
"I know what you mean," Philip said curtly.
Howard Keller came into the room. "I was looking for Lara." He saw
the stranger. "Oh, sorry."
"She's around here somewhere," Philip said. "This is Lieutenant
Mancin,. Howard Keller."
Mancini was staring at him. "You look familiar. Have we met before?"
"I don't think so."
Mancini's face lit up. "Keller! My God, you used to play baseball in
Chicago."
"That's right. How do you...?"
"I was a scout for the Cubs one summer. I still remember your sliders
and your change-ups. You could have had a big career."
"Yeah. Well, if you'll excuse me..." He looked at Philip. "I'll wait
for Lara outside." He left.
Mancini turned to Philip. "Did you get a look at the man who attacked
you?"
"He was a male Caucasian. A large man. About six foot two. Maybe
fifty or so."
"Could you identify him if you saw him again?" "Yes." It was a face he would never forget.
"Mr. Adler, I could ask you to look through a lot of mug shots, but
frankly, I think it would be a waste of your time. I mean, this isn't
exactly a high-tech crime.
There are hundreds of muggers all over the city. Unless someone nabs
them on the spot, they usually get away with it." He took out his
notebook. "What was taken from you?" "My wallet and my wristwatch."
"What kind of watch was it?" "A Piaget."
"Was there anything distinctive about it? Did it have an inscription,
for example?"
It was the watch Lara had given him. "Yes. On the back of the case,
it read 'To Philip with Love from Lara."" He made a note. "Mr.
Adler... I have to ask you this. Had you ever seen this man before?"
Philip looked up at him in surprise. "Seen him before? No. Why?"
"I just wondered." Mancini put the notebook away.
"Well, we'll see what we can do. You're a lucky man, Mr. Adler."'
"Really?" Philip's voice was filled with bitterness.
"Yeah. We have thousands of muggings a year in this city, and we can't
afford to spend much time on them, but our captain happens to be a fan
of yours. He collects all your records. He's going to do everything
he can to catch the SOB who did this to you. We'll send out a
description of your watch to pawnshops around the country."
"If you catch him, do you think he can give me my hand back?" Philip
asked bitterly. "What?" "Nothing."
"You'll be hearing from us. Have a nice day."
Lara and Keller were waiting in the corridor for the detective.
"You said you wanted to see me?" Lara asked.
"Yes. I'd like to ask you a couple of questions,"
Lieutenant Mancini
said. "Mrs. Adler, does your husband have any enemies that you know
of?"
Lara frowned. "Enemies? No. Why?"
"No one who might be jealous of him? Another musician maybe? Someone
who wants to hurt him?"
"What are you getting at? It was a simple street mugging, wasn't
it?"
"To be perfectly frank, this doesn't fit the pattern of an ordinary
mugging. He slashed your husband's wrist after he took his wallet and
watch."
"I don't see what difference..."
"That was a pretty senseless thing to do, unless it was deliberate.
Your husband didn't put up any resistance. Now, a kid on dope might do
a thing like that, but..." He shrugged. "I'll be in touch."
They watched him walk away.
"Jesus!" Keller said. "He thinks it was a setup." Lara had turned pale.
Keller looked at her and said slowly, "My God! One of Paul Martin's
hoods! But why would he do this?"
Lara found it difficult to speak. "He... he might have thought he was
doing it for me. Philip has... has been away a lot, and Paul kept
saying that it... it wasn't right, that someone should have a talk with
him. Oh, Howard!"
She buried her head in his shoulder, fighting back the tears.
"That son of a bitch! I warned you to stay away from that man."
Lara took a deep breath. "Philip is going to be all right. He has to
be."
Three days later Lara brought Philip home from the hospital. He looked
pale and shaken. Marian Bell was at the door, waiting for them. She
had gone to the hospital every day to see Philip and to bring him his
messages.
There had been an outpouring of sympathy from all around the
world-cards and letters and telephone calls from distraught fans. The
newspapers had played the story up, condemning the violence on the
streets of New York.
Lara was in the library when the telephone rang.
"It's for you," Marian Bell said. "A Mr. Paul" "I... I can't talk to
him," Lara told her. And she stood there, fighting to keep her body
from trembling. hapter Thirty-one.
Overnight their lives together changed.
Lara said to Keller, "I'm going to be working at home from now on.
Philip needs me." "Sure. I understand."
The calls and get-well cards kept pouring in, and Marian Bell proved to
be a blessing. She was self-effacing and never got in the way. "Don't
worry about them, Mrs. Adler. I'll handle them, if you like."
"Thank you, Marian."
William Ellerbee called several times, but Philip refused to take his
calls. "I don't want to talk to anyone," he told Lara.
Dr. Stanton had been right about the pain. It was excruciating.
Philip tried to avoid taking pain pills until he could no longer stand
it.
Lara was always at his side. "We're going to get you the best doctors
in the world, darling. There must be someone who can fix your hand. I
heard about a doctor in Switzerland..."
Philip shook his head. "It's no use." He looked at his bandaged
hand.
"I'm a cripple."
"Don't talk like that," Lara said fiercely. "There are a thousand
things you can still do. I blame myself. If I hadn't gone to Reno
that day, if I had been with you at the concert, this never would have
happened. If..."
Philip smiled wryly. "You wanted me to stay home more.
Well, now I
have nowhere else to go."
Lara said huskily, "Someone said, 'Be careful what you wish for,
because you might get it." I did want you to stay home, but not like
this. I can't stand to see you in pain."
"Don't worry about me," Philip said. "I just have to work a few things
out in my mind. It's all happened so suddenly. I... I don't think
I've quite realized it, yet."
Howard Keller came to the penthouse with some contracts. "Hello,
Philip. How do you feel?"
"Wonderful," Philip snapped. "I feel just wonderful." "It was a stupid question. I'm sorry."
"Don't mind me," Philip apologized. "I haven't been myself lately."
He pounded his right hand against the chair. "If the bastard had only
cut my right hand. There are a dozen left-handed concertos I could
have played."
And Keller remembered the conversation at the party. "Ha If a dozen
composers wrote concertos for the left hand. There's one by Demuth,
Franz Schmidt, Korngold, and a beautiful concerto by Ravel."
And Paul Martin had been there and heard it.
Dr. Stanton came to the penthouse to see Philip.
Carefully, he removed the bandage, exposing a long angry scar.
"Can you flex your hand at all?" Philip tried. It was impossible. "How's the pain?" Dr. Stanton asked.
"It's bad, but I don't want to take any more of those damned pain
pills."
"I'll leave another prescription anyway. You can take them if you have
to. Believe me, the pain will stop in the next few weeks." He rose to
leave. "I really am sorry. I happen to be a big fan of yours."
"Buy my records," Philip said curtly.
Marian Bell made a suggestion to Lara. "Do you think it might help Mr.
Adler if a therapist came to work on his hand?"
Lara thought about it. "We can try. Let's see what happens."
When Lara suggested it to Philip, he shook his head. "No. What's the point? The doctor said..."
"Doctors can be wrong," Lara said firmly. "We're going to try
everything."
The next day a young therapist appeared at the apartment.
Lara brought
him in to Philip. "This is Mr. Rossman. He works at Columbia
Hospital. He's going to try to help you, Philip." "Good luck," Philip said bitterly.
"Let's take a look at that hand, Mr. Adler."
Philip held out his hand. Rossman examined it carefully. "Looks as
though there's been quite a bit of muscle damage, but we'll see what we
can to. Can you move your fingers?" Philip tried.
"There's not much motion, is there? Let's try to exercise it."
It was unbelievably painful.
They worked for half an hour, and at the end of that time Rossman said,
"I'll come back tomorrow."
"No," Philip said. "Don't bother."
Lara had come into the room. "Philip, won't you try?"
"I tried," he snarled. "Don't you understand? My hand is dead.
Nothing's going to bring it back to life." "Philip..." Her eyes filled with tears.
"I'm sorry," Philip said. "I just... Give me time."
That night Lara was awakened by the sound of the piano.
She got out of
bed and quietly walked over to the entrance of the drawing room.
Philip was in his robe, seated at the piano, his right hand softly
playing. He looked up when he saw Lara. "Sorry if I woke you up."
Lara moved toward him. "Darling..."
"It's a big joke, isn't it? You married a concert pianist and you
wound up with a cripple."
She put her arms around him and held him close.
"You're not a cripple. There are so many things you can do."
"Stop being a goddamn Pollyanna!" "I'm sorry. I just meant..."
"I know. Forgive me, I"-he held up his mutilated hand-"I just can't
get used to this." "Come back to bed."
"No. You go ahead. I'll be all right."
He sat up all night, thinking about his future, and he wondered
angrily, What future?
Lara and Philip had dinner together every evening, and after dinner
they read or watched television and then went to sleep.
Philip said apologetically, "I know I'm not being much of a husband,
Lara. I just... I just don't feel like sex. Believe me, it has
nothing to do with you."
Lara sat up in bed, her voice trembling. "I didn't marry you for your
body. I married you because I was wildly head over heels in love with
you. I still am. If we never make love again, it will be fine with
me. All I want is for you to hold me and love me." "I do love you," Philip said.
Invitations to dinner parties and charity events came in constantly,
but Philip refused them all. He did not want to leave the apartment.
"You go," he would tell Lara. "It's important to your business."
"Nothing is more important to me than you. We'll have a nice quiet
dinner at home."
Lara saw to it that their chef prepared all of Philip's favorite
dishes. He had no appetite. Lara arranged to hold her meetings at the
penthouse. When it was necessary for her to go out during the day, she
would say to Marian, "I'll be gone for a few hours. Keep an eye on Mr.
Adler."
"I will," Marian promised.
One morning Lara said, "Darling, I hate to leave you, but I have to go
to Cleveland for a day. Will you be all right?"
"Of course," Philip said. "I'm not helpless. Please go. Don't worry about me."
Marian brought in some letters she had finished answering for Philip.
"Would you like to sign these, Mr. Adler?"
Philip said, "Sure. It's a good thing I'm right-handed, isn't it?"
There was a bitter edge to his voice. He looked at Marian and said,
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take it out on you."
Marian said quietly, "I know that, Mr. Adler. Don't you think it
would be a good idea for you to go outside and see some friends?"
"My friends are all working," Philip snapped.
"They're musicians. They're busy playing concerts. How can you be so
stupid?"
He stormed out of the room.
Marian stood there looking after him.
An hour later Philip walked back into the office. Marian was at the
typewriter. "Marian?"
She looked up. "Yes, Mr. Adler?"
"Please forgive me. I'm not myself. I didn't mean to be rude."
"I understand," she said quietly.
He sat down opposite her. "The reason I'm not going out," Philip said,
"is that I feel like a freak. I'm sure that everybody's going to be
staring at my hand. I don't want anyone's pity." She was watching him, saying nothing.
"You've been very kind, and I appreciate it, I really do.
But there's
nothing anyone can do. You know the expression 'The bigger they are,
the harder they fall'?
Well, I was big, Marian-really big. Everybody came to hear me
play...
kings and queens and..." He broke off.
"People all over the world heard my music. I've given recitals in
China and Russia and India and Germany."
His voice choked up, and tears began rolling down his cheeks. "Have
you noticed I cry a lot lately?" he said. He was fighting to control
himself.
Marian said softly, "Please don't. Everything's going to be all
right."
"No! Nothing's going to be all right. Nothing! I'm a goddamn
cripple."
"Don't say that. Mrs. Adler is right, you know. There are a hundred
things you can do. When you get over this pain, you'll begin to do
them."
Philip took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. "Jesus Christ, I'm becoming a damn crybaby."
"If it helps you," Marian said, "do it."
He looked up at her and smiled. "How old are you?" "You're a pretty wise twenty-six, aren't you?"
"No. I just know what you're going through, and I'd give anything if
it hadn't happened. But it has happened, and I know that you're going
to figure out the best way to deal with it."
"You're wasting your time here," Philip said. "You should have been a
shrink."
"Would you like me to make a drink for you?"
"No, thanks. Are you interested in a game of backgammon?"
Philip asked.
"I'd love it, Mr. Adler."
"If you're going to be my backgammon partner, you'd better start
calling me Philip." "Philip."
From that time on, they played backgammon every day. Lara received a telephone call from Terry Hill. "Lara, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you." Lara readied herself. "Yes?"
"The Nevada Gaming Commission has voted to suspend your gambling
license until further investigation. You may be facing criminal charges."
It was a shock. She thought of Paul Martin's words "Don't worry. They
can't prove anything."
"Isn't there something we can do about it, Terry?"
"Not for the present. Just sit tight. I'm working on it."
When Lara told Keller the news, he said, "My God!
We're counting on the cash flow from the casino to pay off the
mortgages on three buildings. Are they going to reinstate your
license?"
"I don't know."
Keller was thoughtful. "All right. We'll sell the Chicago hotel and
use the equity to pay the mortgage on the Houston property. The real
estate market has gone to hell. A lot of banks and savings and loans
are in deep trouble. Drexel Burnham Lambert has folded.
It's the end
of Milken honey."
"It will turn around," Lara said.
"It had better turn around fast. I've been getting calls from the
banks about our loans."
"Don't worry," Lara said confidently. "If you owe a bank a million
dollars, they own you. If you owe a bank a hundred million dollars,
you own them. They can't afford to let anything happen to me."
The following day, an article appeared in Business Week.
It was
headlined: CAMERON EMPIRE SHAKY-LARA CAMERON FACING POSSIBLE CRIMINAL
INDICTMENT IN RENO.
CAN THE IRON BUTTERFLY KEEP HER EMPIRE TOGETHER?
Lara slammed her fist against the magazine. "How dare they print
that?
I'm going to sue them."
Keller said, "Not a great idea."
Lara said earnestly, "Howard, Cameron Towers is almost fully rented,
right?"
"Seventy percent, so far, and climbing. Southern Insurance has taken
twenty floors, and International Investment Banking has taken ten
floors."
"When the building is finished, it will throw off enough money to take
care of all our problems. How far away are we from completion?"
"Six months."
Lara's voice was filled with excitement. "Look what we'll have then.
The biggest skyscraper in the world! It's going to be beautiful."
She turned to the framed sketch of it behind her desk.
It showed a towering glass-sheathed monolith, whose facets reflected
the other buildings around it. On the lower floors were a promenade
and atrium, with expensive shops. Above were apartments and Lara's
offices.
"We'll have a big publicity promotion," Lara said. "Good idea." He frowned.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking about Steve Murchison. He wanted that
site pretty bad."
"Well, we beat him to it, didn't we?"
"Yes," Keller said slowly. "We beat him to it." Lara sent for Jerry Townsend.
"Jerry, I want to do something special for the opening of Cameron
Towers. Any ideas?"
"I have a great idea. The opening is September tenth?" "Yes."
"Doesn't that ring a bell?" "Well, it's my birthday..."
"Right." A smile lit up Jerry Townsend's face. "Why don't we give you
a big birthday party to celebrate the completion of the skyscraper?"
Lara was thoughtful for a moment. "I like it. It's a wonderful
idea.
We'll invite everybody! We'll make a noise that will be heard around
the world. Jerry, I want you to make up a guest list.
Two hundred
people. I want you to handle it personally."
Townsend grinned. "You've got it. I'll give you the guest list to
approve.
Lara slammed her fist down on the magazine again. "We're going to show them!"
"Excuse me, Mrs. Adler," Marian said. "I have the secretary of the
National Builders Association on line three. You haven't responded to
their invitation for the dinner Friday night."
"Tell them I can't make it," Lara said. "Give them my apologies."
"Yes, ma'am." Marian left the room.
Philip said, "Lara, you can't turn yourself into a hermit because of
me. It's important for you to go to those things." "Nothing is more important than my being here with you.
That funny
little man who married us in Paris said, 'For better or for worse.""
She frowned. "At least I think that's what he said. I don't speak
French."
Philip smiled. "I want you to know how much I appreciate you. I feel
like I'm putting you through hell."
Lara moved closer to him. "Wrong word," she said. "Heaven."
Philip was getting dressed. Lara was helping him with the buttons on
his shirt. Philip looked in the mirror.
"I look like a damned hippie,ú" he said. "I need a haircut."
"Do you want me to have Marian make an appointment with your barber?"
He shook his head. "No. I'm sorry, Lara. I'm just not ready to go
out."
The following morning Philip's barber and a manlcurist appeared at the
apartment. Philip was taken aback. "What's all this?"
"If Mohammed won't go to the mountain, the mountain comes to
Mohammed.
They'll be here every week for you." "You're a wonder," Philip said.
"You ain't seen nothin' yet." Lara grinned.
The following day, a tailor arrived with some sample
swatches for suits and shirts.
"What's going on?" Philip asked.
Lara said, "You're the only man I know who has six pairs of tails, four
dinner jackets, and two suits. I think it's time we got you a proper
wardrobe."
"Why?" Philip protested. "I'm not going anywhere."
But he allowed himself to be fitted for the suits and shirts.
A few days later a custom shoemaker arrived. "Now what?" Philip asked.
"It's time you had some new shoes." "I told you, I'm not going out."
"I know, baby. But when you do, your shoes will be ready."' Philip
held her close. "I don't deserve you." "That's what I keep telling you."
They were in a meeting at the office. Howard Keller was saying, "We're
losing the shopping mall in Los Angeles. The banks have decided to
call in the loans." "They can't do that."
"They're doing it," Keller said. "We're overleveraged."
"We can pay the loans off by borrowing on one of the other buildings."
Keller said, patiently, "Lara, you're already leveraged to
the hilt.
You have a sixty-million-dollar payment coming up on the skyscraper."
"I know that, but completion is only four months away now.
We can roll
the loan over. The building's on schedule, isn't it?"
"Yes." Keller was studying her thoughtfully. It was a question she
never would have asked one year ago. Then she would have known exactly
where everything stood.
"I think it might be better if you spent more time here in the office,"
Keller told her. "Too many things are becoming unraveled.
There are
some decisions that only you can make."
Lara nodded. "All right," she said reluctantly. "I'll be in tomorrow
morning.
"William Ellerbee is on the telephone for you," Marian announced.
"Tell him I can't talk to him." Philip watched her as she returned to
the phone.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Ellerbee. Mr. Adler is not available just now. Can
I take a message?" She listened a moment.
"I'll tell him. Thank you." She replaced the receiver and looked up
at Philip. "He's really anxious to have lunch with you."
"He probably wants to talk about the commissions he's not getting
anymore."
"You're probably right," Marian said mildly. "I'm sure he must hate
you because you were attacked."
Philip said quietly, "Sorry. Is that the way I sounded?" "Yes."
"How do you put up with me?"
Marian smiled. "It's not that difficult."
The following day William Ellerbee called again.
Philip was out of the room. Marian spoke to Ellerbee for a few
minutes, then went to find Philip. "That was Mr. Ellerbee," Marian said. "Next time tell him to stop calling."
"Maybe you should tell him yourself," Marian said. "You're having lunch with him Thursday at one o'clock." "I'm what?"
"He suggested Le Cirque, but I thought a smaller restaurant might be
better." She looked at the pad in her hand. "He's going to meet you
at Fu's at one. I'll arrange for Max to drive you there."
Philip was staring at her, furious. "You made a lunch date for me
without asking me?"
She said calmly, "If I had asked you, you wouldn't have gone. You can
fire me if you want to."
He glared at her for a long moment, and then he broke into a slow
smile. "You know something? I haven't had Chinese food in a long
time."
* * * When Lara arrived from the office, Philip said, "I'm going out
for lunch on Thursday with Ellerbee."
"That's wonderful, darling! When did you decide that?"
"Marian decided it for me. She thought it would be a good idea for me
to get out."
"Oh, really?" But you wouldn't go out when I suggested it. "That was
very thoughtful of her." "Yes. She's quite a woman."
I've been stupid, Lana thought. I shouldn't have thrown them together
like this. And Philip is so vulnerable right now.
That was the moment when Lara knew she had to get rid of Mar,an.
When Lara arrived home the following day, Philip and Marian were
playing backgammon in the game room. Our game, Lara thought.
"How can I beat you if you keep rolling doubles?" Philip was saying, laughing.
Lara stood in the doorway watching. She had not heard Philip laugh in
a long time.
Marian looked up and saw her. "Good evening, Mrs. Adler."
Philip sprang to his feet. "Hello, darling." He kissed her. "She's
beating the pants off me."
Not if I can help it, Lara thought. "Will you need me tonight, Mrs. Adler?"
"No, Marian. You can run along. I'll see you in the morning."
"Thank you. Good night." "Good night, Marian." They watched her leave.
"She's good company," Philip said.
Lara stroked his cheek. "I'm glad, darling." "How's everything at the office?"
"Fine." She had no intention of burdening Philip with her problems.
She would have to fly to Reno and talk to the Gaming Commission
again.
If she were forced to, she would find a way to survive their cutting
off the gambling at the hotel, but it would make it a lot easier if she
could dissuade them.
"Philip, I'm afraid I'm going to have to start spending more time at
the office. Howard can't make all the decisions himself." "No problem. I'll be fine."
"I'm going to Reno in the next day or two," Lara said.
"Why don't you come with me?"
Philip shook his head. "I'm not ready yet." He looked at his crippled
left hand. "Not yet."
"All right, darling. I shouldn't be gone more than two or three
days."
Early the following morning when Marian Bell arrived for work, Lara was
waiting for her. Philip was still asleep.
"Marian... you know the diamond bracelet that Mr. Adler gave me for my
birthday?"
"Yes, Mrs. Adler?"
"When did you see it last?"
She stopped to think. "It was on the dressing table in your
bedroom."
"So you did see it?"
"Why, yes. Is something wrong?"
"I'm afraid there is. The bracelet is missing."
Marian was staring at her. "Missing? Who could have...?"
"I've questioned the staff here. They don't know anything about it."
"Shall I call the police and...?"
"That won't be necessary. I don't want to do anything that might
embarrass you."
"I don't understand."
"Don't you? For your sake, I think it would be best if we dropped the
whole matter."
Marian was staring at Lara in shock. "You know I didn't take that
bracelet, Mrs. Adler."
"I don't know anything of the kind. You'll have to leave." And she
hated herself for what she was doing.
But no one is going to take Philip away from me. No one.
When Philip came down to breakfast, Lara said, "By the way, I'm getting
a new secretary to work here at the apartment."
Philip looked at her in surprise. "What happened to Marian?"
"She quit. She was offered a... a job in San Francisco." He looked at Lara in surprise. "Oh. That's too bad.
I thought she liked it here."
"I'm sure she did, but we wouldn't want to stand in her way, would
we?"
Forgive me, Lara thought.
"No, of course not," Philip said. "I'd like to wish her luck. Is she
" "She's gone."
Philip said, "I guess I'll have to find a new backgammon partner."
"When things settle down a bit, I'll be here for you." Philip and William Ellerbee were seated in a corner table
at Fu's restaurant.
Ellerbee said, "It's so good to see you, Philip. I've been calling
you, but "I know, I'm sorry. I haven't felt like talking to anyone,
Bill."
"I hope they catch the bastard who did this to you."
"The police have been good enough to explain to me that muggings are
not a high priority in their lives. They equate it just below lost
cats. They'll never catch him."
Ellerbee said hesitantly, "I understand that you're not going to be
able to play again.
"You understand right." Philip held up his crippled hand. "It's
dead."
Ellerbee leaned forward and said earnestly, "But you're not, Philip.
You still have your whole life ahead of you." "Doing what?"
"Teaching."
There was a wry smile on Philip's lips. "It's ironic, isn't it? I had
thought about doing that one day when I was through giving concerts."
Ellerbee said quietly, "Well, that day is here, isn't it?
I took the
liberty of talking to the head of the Eastman School of Music in
Rochester. They would give anything to have you teach
there."
Philip frowned. "That would mean my moving up there.
Lara's
headquarters are in New York." He shook his head. "I couldn't do that
to her. You don't know how wonderful she's been to me, Bill."
"I'm sure she has."
"She's practically given up her business to take care of me. She's the
most thoughtful, considerate woman I've ever known. I'm crazy about
her."
"Philip, would you at least think about the offer from Eastman?"
"Tell them I appreciate it, but I'm afraid the answer is no."
"If you change your mind, will you let me know?" Philip nodded. "You'll be the first."
When Philip returned to the penthouse, Lara had gone to the office. He
wandered around the apartment, restless. He thought about his
conversation with Ellerbee. I would love to teach, Philip thought, but
I can't ask Lara to move to Rochester, and I can't go there without
her.
He heard the front door open. "Lara?"
It was Marian. "Oh, I'm sorry, Philip. I didn't know anyone was
here.
I came to return my key."
"I thought you'd be in San Francisco by now."
She looked at him, puzzled. "San Francisco? Why?" "Isn't that where your new job is?"
"I have no new job." "But Lara said..."
Marian suddenly understood. "I see. She didn't tell you why she fired
me?"
"Fired you? She told me that you quit... that you had a better
offer."
"That's not true."
Philip said slowly, "I think you'd better sit They sat across from each
other. "What's going on here?" Philip asked.
Marian took a deep breath. "I think your wife believes that I... that
I had designs on you."
"What are you talking about?"
"She accused me of stealing the diamond bracelet you gave her, as an
excuse to fire me. I'm sure she has it put away somewhere."
"I can't believe this," Philip protested. "Lara would never do
anything like that."
"She would do anything to hold on to you."
He was studying her, bewildered. "I... I don't know what to say. Let
me talk to Lara and..."
"No. Please don't. It might be better if you didn't let her know I
was here." She rose.
"What are you going to do now?" "Don't worry. I'll find another job."
"Marian, if there's anything I can do..." "There is nothing."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. Take care of yourself, Philip." And she was gone.
Philip watched her leave, disturbed. He couldn't believe that Lara
could be guilty of such a deception, and he wondered why she hadn't
told him about it. Perhaps, he thought, Marian did steal the bracelet,
and Lara had not wanted to upset him. Marian was lying. Chapter Thirty-two.
The pawnshop was on South State Street in the heart of the Loop. When
Jesse Shaw walked through the door, the old man behind the counter
looked up.
"Good morning. Can I help you?"
Shaw laid a wristwatch on the counter. "How much will you give me for
this?"
The pawnbroker picked up the watch and studied it. "A Piaget. Nice watch."
"Yeah. I hate like hell to part with it, but I've run into a little
bad luck. You understand what I mean?"
The pawnbroker shrugged. "It's my business to understand.
You
wouldn't believe the hard-luck stories I hear."
"I'll redeem it in a few days. I'm starting a new job Monday.
Meanwhile, I need to get as much cash as I can for it."
The pawnbroker was looking at the watch more closely. On the back of
the case, some writing had been scratched off. He looked at the
customer. "If you'll excuse me a minute, I'll take a look at the
movement. Sometimes these watches are made in Bangkok, and they forget
to put anything inside."
He took the watch into the back room. He put a loupe to his eye and
studied the scratch marks. He could faintly make out the letters "T
Philip Wi h L v from Lara." The old man opened a drawer and took out a
police flyer. It had a description of the watch and the engraving on
the back, "To Philip with Love from Lara." He started to pick up the
telephone when the customer yelled, "Hey, I'm in a hurry.
Do you want
the watch or don't you?"
"I'm coming," the pawnbroker said. He walked back into the next
room.
"I can loan you five hundred dollars on it."
"Five hundred? This watch is worth..." "Take it or leave it."
"All right," Shaw said grudgingly. "I'll take it." "You'll have to fill out this form," the pawnbroker said. "Sure." He wrote down "John Jones, 21 Hunt Street."
As far as he knew, there was no Hunt Street in Chicago, and he sure as
hell was not John Jones. He pocketed the cash. "Much obliged. I'll
be back in a few days for it." "Right."
The pawnbroker picked up the telephone and made acall.
A detective arrived at the pawnshop twenty minutes later. "Why didn't you call while he was here?" he demanded.
"I tried. He was in a hurry, and he was jumpy."
The detective studied the form the customer had filled out.
"That won't do you no good," the pawnbroker said. "It's probably a false name and address."
The detective grunted. "No kidding. Did he fill this out himself?"
"Yes."
"Then we'll nail" At police headquarters it took the computer less than
three minutes to identify the thumbprint on the form. Jesse Shaw.
The butler came into the drawing room. "Excuse me, Mr.
Adler, there's
a gentleman on the telephone for you. A Lieutenant Mancini. Shall I.
"I'll take it." Philip picked up the telephone. "Hello?" "Philip Adler?"
"Yes...?"
"This is Lieutenant Mancini. I came to see you in the hospital."
"I remember."
"I wanted to bring you up-to-date on what's happening. We had a bit of
luck. I told you that our chief was going to send out flyers to
pawnshops with a description of your watch?" "Yes."
"They found it. The watch was pawned in Chicago.
They're tracking down the person who pawned it. You did say that you
could identify your assailant, didn't you?" "That's right."
"Good. We'll be in touch."
Jerry Townsend came into Lara's office. He was excited. "I've worked
out the party list we talked about. The more I think about the idea,
the better I like it. We'll celebrate your fortieth birthday on the
day the tallest skyscraper in the world opens." He handed Lara the
list. "I've included the Vice President. He's a big
admirer ofyours."
Lara scanned it. It read like a who's who from Washington, Hollywood,
New York, and London. There were government officials, motion picture
celebrities, rock stars... it was impressive. "I like it," Lara said. "Let's go with it."
Townsend put the list in his pocket. "Right. I'll have the
invitations printed up and sent out. I've already called Carlos and
told him to reserve the Grand Ballroom and arrange your favorite
menu.
We're setting up for two hundred people. We can always add or subtract
a few if we have to. By the way, is there any more news on the Reno
situation?"
Lara had talked to Terry Hill that morning. "A grand jury is
investigating, Lara. There's a possibility that they'll hand down a
criminal indictment."
"How can they? The fact that I had some conversations with Paul Martin
doesn't prove anything. We could have been talking about the state of
the world, or his ulcers, or a dozen other damned things." "Lara, don't get angry with me. I'm on your side."
"Then do something. You're my lawyer. Get me the hell out of th
is."
"No. Everything's fine," Lara told Townsend.
"Good. I understand that you and Philip are going to the mayor's
dinner Saturday night."
"Yes." She had wanted to turn down the invitation at first, but Philip
had insisted.
"You need these people. You can't afford to offend them.
I want you to go."
"Not without you, darling."
He had taken a deep breath. "All right. I'll go with you. I guess
it's time I stopped being a hermit."
* * * Saturday evening Lara helped Philip get dressed.
She put his studs and cuff links in his shirt and tied his tie for
him.
He stood there, silently, cursing his helplessness. "It's like Ken and Barbie, isn't it?"
"What?" "Nothing."
"There you are, darling. You'll be the most handsome man there."
"Thanks."
"I'd better get dressed," Lara said. "The mayor doesn't like to be
kept waiting."
"I'll be in the library," Philip told her.
Thirty minutes later Lara walked into the library.
She looked ravishing. She was dressed in a beautiful white Oscar de Ia
Renta gown. On her wrist was the diamond bracelet Philip had given
her.
Philip had difficulty sleeping Saturday night. He looked across the
bed at Lara and wondered how she could have falsely accused Marian of
stealing the bracelet. He knew he had to confront her with it, but he
wanted to speak with Marian first.
Early Sunday morning, while Lara was still asleep, Philip quietly got
dressed and left the penthouse. He took a taxi to Marian's
apartment.
He rang the bell and waited.
A sleepy voice said, "Who is it?" "It's Philip. I have to talk to you."
The door opened and Marian stood there. "Philip? Is something wrong?"
"We have to talk." "Come in."
He entered the apartment. "I'm sorry if I woke you up," Philip said,
"but this is important." "What's happened?"
He took a deep breath. "You were right about the bracelet. Lara wore
it last night. I owe you an apology.
I thought... perhaps that you... I just wanted to say I'm sorry."
Marian said quietly, "Of course, you would have believed her. She's
your wife."
"I'm going to confront Lara with it this morning, but I wanted to talk
to you first."
Marian turned to him. "I'm glad you did. I don't want you to discuss
it with her."
"Why not?" Philip demanded. "And why would she do such a thing?"
"You don't know, do you?" "Frankly, no. It makes no sense."
"I think I understand her better than you do. Lara is madly in love
with you. She would do anything to hold on to you.
You're probably
the only person she has ever really loved in her life.
She needs you.
And I think you need her. You love her very much, don't you,
Philip?" "Yes."
"Then let's forget all this. If you bring it up to her, it won't do
any good, and it will only make things worse between the two of you. I
can easily find another job."
"But it's unfair to you, Marian."
She smiled wryly. "Life isn't always fair, is it?" If it were, I
would be Mrs. Philip Adler. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."
"At least let me do something for you. Let me give you some money to
make up for..." "Thank you, but no."
There was so much she wanted to say, but she knew that it was
hopeless.
He was a man in love. What she said was: "Go back to her, Philip."
* * * The construction site was on Chicago's Wabash Avenue, south of
the Loop. It was a twenty-five story office building, and it was half
finished. An unmarked police car pulled up to the corner, and two
detectives got out.
They walked over to the site and stopped one of the workers passing
by.
"Where's the foreman?"
He pointed to a huge, burly man cursing out a workman. "Over there."
The detectives went over to him. "Are you in charge here?"
He turned and said impatiently, "I'm not only in charge,
I'm very busy.
What do you want?"
"Do you have a man in your crew named Jesse Shaw?"
"Shaw? Sure. He's up there." The foreman pointed to a man working on
a steel girder a dozen stories up.
"Would you ask him to come down, please?" "Hell, no. He has work to..."
One of the detectives pulled out a badge. "Get him down here."
"What's the problem? Is Jesse in some kind of trouble?" "No, we just want to talk to him."
"Okay." The foreman turned to one of the men working nearby. "Go up
top and tell Jesse to come down here." "Right."
A few minutes later Jesse Shaw was approaching the two detectives.
"These men want to talk to you," the foreman said, and walked away.
Jesse grinned at the two men. "Thanks. I can use a break. What can I
do for you?"
One of the detectives pulled out a wristwatch. "Is this your watch?"
Shaw's grin faded. "No." "Are you sure?"
"Yeah." He pointed to his wrist. "I wear a Seiko."
"But you pawned this watch."
Shawn hesitated. "Oh, yeah. I did. The bastard only gave me five
hundred for it. It's worth at least..." "You said it wasn't your watch." "That's right. It's not."
"Where did you get it?" "I found it."
"Really? Where?"
"On the sidewalk near my apartment building." He was warming up to his
story. "It was in the grass, and I got out of my car, and there it
was. The sun hit the band and made it sparkle. That's how I happened
to see it."
"Lucky it wasn't a cloudy day." "Yeah."
"Mr. Shaw, do you like to travel?" "No."
"That's too bad. You're going to take a little trip to New York.
We'll help you pack."
When they got to Shaw's apartment, the two detectives began looking
around.
"Hold it!" Shaw said. "You guys got a search warrant?" "We don't need one. We're just helping you pack your
things."
One of the men was looking in a clothes closet. There was a shoe box
high up on a shelf. He took it down and opened it. "Jesus!" he
said.
"Look what Santa Claus left."
Lara was in her office when Kathy's voice came over the intercom. "Mr.
Tilly is on line four, Miss Cameron."
Tilly was the project manager on Cameron Towers. Lara picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"We had a little problem this morning, Miss Cameron." "Yes?"
"We had a fire. It's out now." "What happened?"
"There's was an explosion in the air-conditioning unit. A transformer
blew. There was a short circuit. It looks like someone wired it up
wrong."
"How bad is it?"
"Well, it looks like we'll lose a day or two. We should be able to
clean everything up and rewire it by then." "Stay on it. Keep me informed."
Lara came home late each evening, worried and exhausted.
"I'm concerned about you," Philip told her. "Is there anything I can
do?"
"Nothing, darling. Thank you." She managed a smile. "Just a few
problems at the office."
He took her in his arms. "Did I ever tell you that I'm mad about
you?"
She looked up at him and smiled. "Tell me again." "I'm mad about you."
She held him close and thought, This is what I want.
This is what I need. "Darling, when my little problems are over, let's
go away somewhere. Just the two of us." "It's a deal."
Someday, Lara thought, I must tell him what I did to Marian. I know it
was wrong. But I would die if I lost him.
The following day Tilly called again. "Did you cancel the order for
the marble for the lobby floors?"
Lara said slowly, "Why would I do that?"
"I don't know. Somebody did. The marble was supposed to have been
delivered today. When I called, they said it was canceled two months
ago by your order."
Lara sat there fuming. "I see. How badly are we delayed?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"Tell them to put a rush on it."
Keller came into Lara's office.
"I'm afraid the banks are getting nervous, Lara. I don't know how much
longer I can hold them off."
"Just until Cameron Towers is finished. We're almost there, Howard.
We're only three months away from completion."
"I told them that," he sighed. "All right. I'll talk to them
again."
Kathy's voice came over the intercom. "Mr. Tilly's on line one."
Lara looked at Keller. "Don't go." She picked up the phone. "Yes?"
Lara said.
"We're having another problem here, Miss Cameron." "I'm listening," Lara said.
"The elevators are malfunctioning. The programs are out of sync, and
the signals are all screwed up. You press the button for down, and it
goes up. Press the eighteenth floor, and it will take you to the
basement. I've never seen anything like this before." "Do you think it was done deliberately?"
"It's hard to say. Could have been carelessness." "How long will it take to straighten it out?"
"I have some people on the way over now."
"Get back to me." She replaced the receiver. "Is everything all right?" Keller asked.
Lara evaded the question. "Howard, have you heard anything about Steve
Murchison lately?"
He looked at her, surprised. "No. Why?" "I just wondered."
* * * The consortium of bankers financing Cameron Enterprises had good
reason to be concerned. It was not only Cameron Enterprises that was
in trouble; a majority of their corporate clients had serious
problems.
The decline in junk bonds had become a full-fledged disaster, and it
was a crippling blow to the corporations that had depended on them.
There were six bankers in the room with Howard Keller, and the
atmosphere was grim.
"We're holding overdue notes for almost a hundred million dollars,"
their spokesman said. "I'm afraid we can't accommodate Cameron
Enterprises any longer."
"You're forgetting a couple of things," Keller reminded them. "Number
one, we expect the casino gambling license in Reno to be renewed any
day now. That cash flow will more than take care of any deficit.
Number two, Cameron Towers is right on schedule. It's going to be
finished in ninety days. We already have a seventy percent tenancy,
and you can be assured that the day it's finished everybody is going to
be clamoring to get in.
Gentlemen, your money couldn't be more secure. You're dealing with the
Lara Cameron magic."
The men looked at one another.
The spokesman said. "Why don't we discuss this among ourselves and
we'll get back to you?"
"Fine. I'll tell Miss Cameron." Keller reported back to Lara.
"I think they'll go along with us," he told her. "But in the meantime,
we're going to have to sell off a few more assets to stay afloat."
"Do it."
Lara was getting to the office early in the morning and leaving late at
night, fighting desperately to save her empire. She and Philip saw
very little of each other. Lara did not want him to know how much
trouble she was facing. He has enough problems, Lara thought. I can't
burden him with any more.
At six o'clock Monday morning Tilly was on the phone. "I think you'd
better get over here, Miss Cameron."
Lara felt a sharp sense of apprehension. "What's wrong?" "I'd rather you saw it for yourself."
"I'm on my way."
Lara telephoned Keller. "Howard, there's another problem at Cameron
Towers. I'll pick you up."
Half an hour later they were on their way to the construction site.
"Did Tilly say what the trouble was?" Keller asked.
"No, but I don't believe in accidents anymore. I've been thinking
about what you said. Steve Murchison wanted that property badly. I
took it away from" When they arrived at the site, they saw large sheets
of crated tinted glass lying on the ground, and more glass being
delivered by trucks. Tilly hurried over to Lara and Keller.
"I'm glad you're here." "What's the problem?"
"This isn't the glass we ordered. It's the wrong tint and the wrong
cut. There's no way it will fit the sides of our building."
Lara and Keller looked at each other. "Can we recut it here?" Keller
asked.
Tilly shook his head. "Not a chance. You'd wind up with a mountain of
silicate."
Lara said, "Who did we order this from?" "The New Jersey Panel and Glass Company."
"I'll call them," Lara said. "What's our deadline on this?"
Tilly stood there calculating. "If it got here in two weeks, we could
be back on schedule. It would be a push, but we'd be okay."
Lara turned to Keller, "Let's go."
Otto Karp was the manager of the New Jersey Panel and Glass Company.
He came on the phone almost immediately. "Yes, Miss Cameron? I
understand you have a problem."
"No," Lara snapped. "You have a problem. You shipped us the wrong
glass. If I don't get the right order in the next two weeks, I'm going
to sue your company out of business. You're holding up a three-hundred-million-dollar project."
"I don't understand. Will you hold on, please?"
He was gone almost five minutes. When he came back on the line, he
said, "I'm terribly sorry, Miss Cameron, the order was written up
wrong. What happened is..."
"I don't care what happened," Lara interrupted. "All I want you to do
is to get our order filled and shipped out. "I'll be happy to do that."
Lara felt a sharp sense of relief. "How soon can we have it?"
"In two to three months."
"Two to three months! That's impossible! We need it now.
"I'd be happy to accommodate you," Karp said, "but unfortunately we're
way behind in our orders."
"You don't understand," Lara said. "This is an emergency and..."
"I certainly appreciate that. And we'll do the best we can. You'll
have the order in two to three months. I'm sorry we can't do
better..."
Lara slammed down the receiver. "I don't believe this," Lara said.
She looked over at Tilly. "Is there another company we can deal
with?"
Tilly rubbed his hand across his forehead. "Not at this late date. If
we went to anyone else, they'd be starting from scratch, and their
other customers would be ahead of us."
Keller said, "Lara, could I talk to you for a minute?" He took her aside. "I hate to suggest this, but..." "Go ahead."
..... your friend Paul Martin might have some connections over there.
Or he might know someone who knows someone." Lara nodded. "Good idea, Howard. I'll find out."
Two hours later Lara was seated in Paul Martin's office.
"You don't know how happy I am that you called," the lawyer said.
"It's been too long. God, you look beautiful, Lara." "Thank you, Paul."
"What can I do for you?"
Lara said hesitantly, "I seem to come to you whenever I'm in
trouble."
"I've always been there for you, haven't I?"
"Yes. You're a good friend." She sighed. "Right now I need a good
friend."
"What's the problem? Another strike?" "No. It's about Cameron Towers."
He frowned. "I heard that was on schedule."
"It is. Or it was. I think Steve Murchison is out to sabotage the
project. He has a vendetta against me.
Things have suddenly started to go wrong at the building.
Up to now we ve been able to handle them. Now... We have a big
problem. It could put us past our completion date. Our two biggest
tenants would pull out. I can't afford to let that happen."
She took a deep breath, trying to control her anger.
"Six months ago we ordered tinted glass from the New Jersey Panel and
Glass Company. We received our delivery this morning. It wasn't our
glass."
"Did you call them?"
"Yes, but they're talking about two or three months.
I need that glass in four weeks. Until it's in, there's nothing for
the men to do. They've stopped working. If that building isn't
completed on schedule, I'll lose everything I have."
Paul Martin looked at her and said quietly, "No, you won't. Let me see
what I can do."
Lara felt an overwhelming sense of relief. "Paul, I..."
It was
difficult to put into words. "Thank you."
He took her hand in his and smiled. "The dinosaur isn't dead yet," he
said. "I should have some word for you by tomorrow."
The following morning Lara's private phone rang for the first time in
months. She picked it up eagerly. "Paul?"
"Hello, Lara. I had a little talk with some of my friends. It's not
going to be easy, but it can be done. They promised a delivery a week
from Monday."
On the day the glass shipment was scheduled to arrive, Lara telephoned
Paul Martin again.
"The glass hasn't come yet, Paul," Lara said.
"Oh?" There was a silence. "I'll look into it." His voice
softened.
"You know, the only good thing about this, baby, is that I get to talk
to you again."
"Yes. I...Paul... if I don't get that glass on time... "You'll have it. Don't give up."
By the end of the week there was still no word.
Keller came into Lara's office. "I just talked to Tilly.
Our deadline is Friday. If the glass arrives by then, we'll be okay.
Otherwise we're dead."
By Thursday nothing had changed.
Lara went to visit Cameron Towers. There were no workmen there. The
skyscraper rose majestically into the sky, overshadowing everything
around it. It was going to be a beautiful building. Her monument.
I'm not going to let it fail, Lara thought fiercely. Lara telephoned Paul Martin again.
"I'm sorry," his secretary said. "Mr. Martin is out of the office.
Is there any message?"
"Please ask him to call me," Lara said. She turned to Keller, "I have
a hunch I'd like you to check out. See if the owner of that glass
factory happens to be Steve Murchison."
Thirty minutes later Keller returned to Lara's office. His face was pale.
"Well? Did you find out who owns the glass company?" "Yes," he said slowly. "It's registered in Delaware. It's owned by Etna Enterprises."
"Etna Enterprises?"
"Right. They bought it a year ago. Etna Enterprises is Paul" Chapter
Thirty-three.
The bad publicity about Cameron Enterprises continued.
The reporters
who had been so eager to praise Lara before now turned on her.
Jerry Townsend went in to see Howard Keller. "I'm worried," Townsend said.
"What's the problem?"
"Have you been reading the press?" "Yeah. They're having a field day."
"I'm worried about the birthday party, Howard. I've sent out the
invitations. Since all this bad publicity, I've been getting nothing
but turndowns. The bastards are afraid they might be contaminated.
It's a fiasco."
"What do you suggest?"
"That we cancel the party. I'll make up some excuse."
"I think you're right. I don't want anything to embarrass her."
"Good. I'll go ahead and cancel it. Will you tell Lara?" "Yes."
* * * Terry Hill called.
"I just received notice that you're being subpoenaed to testify before
the grand jury in Reno day after tomorrow. I'll go with you."
Transcript of Interrogation of Jesse Shaw by Detective Lieutenant Sal
Mancini.
M: Good morning, Mr. Shaw. I'm Lieutenant Mancini.
You're aware that
a stenographer is taking down our conversation? S: Sure.
M: And you've waived the right to an attorney?
S: I don't need no attorney. All I did was find a watch, for Christ's
sake, and they drug me all the way up here like I'm some kind of
animal.
M: Mr. Shaw, do you know who Philip Adler is? S: No. Should I?
M: No one paid you to attack him? S: I told you-I never heard of him.
M: The police in Chicago found fifty thousand dollars in cash in your
apartment. Where did that money come from? S: [No response] M: Mr. Shaw...?
S: I won it gambling.
M: Where?
S: At the track... football bets... you know. M: You're a lucky man, aren't you?
S: Yeah. I guess so.
M: At present, you have a job in Chicago. Is that right? S: Yes.
M: Did you ever work in New York? S: Well, one time, yeah.
M: I have a police report here that says you were operating a crane at
a development in Queens that killed a construction foreman named Bill
Whitman. Is that correct?
S: Yeah. It was an accident.
M: How long had you been on that job? S: I don't remember.
M: Let me refresh your memory. You were on thatjob seventy-two
hours.
You flew in from Chicago the day before the accident with the crane,
and flew back to Chicago two days later. Is that correct? S: I guess so.
M: According to American Airlines' records, you flew from Chicago to
New York again two days before Philip Adler was attacked, and you
returned to Chicago the following day. What was the
purpose of such a short trip?
S: I wanted to see some plays.
M: Do you remember the names of the plays you saw? S: No. That was awhile ago.
M: At the time of the accident with the crane, who was your employer?
S: Cameron Enterprises.
M: And who is your employer on the construction job you're working on
in Chicago?
S: Cameron Enterprises.
Howard Keller was in a meeting with Lara. For the past hour they had
been talking about damage control to offset the bad publicity the
company was receiving. As the meeting was about to break up, Lara
said, "Anything else?"
Howard frowned. Someone had told him to tell Lara something, but he
could not remember what it was. Oh, well, it's probably not
important.
Simms, the butler, said, "There's a telephone call for you, Mr.
Adler.
A Lieutenant Mancini."
Philip picked up the telephone. "Lieutenant. What can I do for
you?"
"I have some news for you, Mr. Adler." "What is it? Did you find the man?"
"I'd prefer to come up and discuss it with you in person.
Would that
be all right?" "Of course."
"I'll be there in half an hour."
Philip replaced the receiver, wondering what it was that the detective
did not want to talk about on the telephone.
When Mancini arrived, Simms showed him into the library. "Afternoon, Mr. Adler."
"Good afternoon. What's going on?" "We caught the man who attacked you."
"You did? I'm surprised," Philip said. "I thought you said it was
impossible to catch muggers." "He's not an ordinary mugger."
Philip frowned. "I don't understand."
"He's a construction worker. He works out of Chicago and New York. He
has a police record-assault, breaking and entering. He pawned your
watch, and we got his prints." Mancini held up a wrist watch. "This
is your watch, isn't it?"
Philip stared at it, not wanting to touch it. The sight of it brought
back the horrible moment when the man had grabbed his wrist and slashed
it. Reluctantly, he reached out and took the watch. He looked at the
back of the case where some of the letters had been scratched off.
"Yes. It's mine."
Lieutenant Mancini took the watch back. "We'll keep this for the
moment, as evidence. I'd like you to come downtown tomorrow morning to
identify the man in a police lineup."
The thought of seeing his attacker again, face-to-face, filled Philip
with a sudden fury. "I'll be there."
"The address is One Police Plaza, Room Two-twelve. Ten o'clock?"
"Fine." He frowned. "What did you mean when you said he wasn't an
ordinary mugger?"
Lieutenant Mancini hesitated. "He was paid to attack you."
Philip was staring at him, bewildered. "What?"
"What happened to you wasn't an accident. He got paid fifty thousand
dollars to cut you up."
"I don't believe it," Philip said slowly. "Who would pay anyone fifty
thousand dollars to cripple me?" "He was hired by your wife."
\chapter Thirty-four.
He was hired by your wife!
Philip was stunned. Lara? Could Lara have done such a terrible
thing?
What reason would she have?
"I don't understand why you practice every day.
You're not giving a concert now "You don't have to go. I want a
husband. Not a parttime... It's not as though you were some kind of
traveling salesman...
"She accused me of stealing the diamond bracelet you gave her. She
would do anything to hold on to you. "
And Ellerbee: "Are you thinking of cutting back on your concerts?.. I
had a talk with Lara." Lara.
At 1 Police Plaza a meeting was in progress with the district attorney,
the police commissioner, and Lieutenant Mancini.
The district attorney was saying, "We're not dealing here with Jane
Doe. The lady has a lot of clout. How much solid evidence do you
have, Lieutenant?"
Mancini said, "I checked with personnel at Cameron Enterprises. Jesse
Shaw was hired at the request of Lara Cameron. I asked them if she had
ever personally hired anyone on the construction crew before. The
answer was 'no."" "What else?"
"There was a rumor that a construction boss named Bill Whitman was
bragging to his buddies that he had something on Lara Cameron that was
going to make him a rich man. Shortly after that he was killed by a
crane operated by Jesse Shaw. Shaw had been pulled off his job in
Chicago to go to New York. After the accident he went right back to
Chicago. There's no question but that it was a hit.
Incidentally, his
airline ticket was paid for by Cameron Enterprises." "What about the attack on Adler?"
"Same MO. Shaw flew in from Chicago two days before the attack and
left the next day. If he hadn't gotten greedy and decided to pick up a
little extra money by pawning the watch, instead of throwing it away,
we never would have caught him."
The police commissioner asked, "What about motive? Why would she do that to her husband?"
"I talked to some of the servants. Lara Cameron was crazy about her
husband. The only thing they ever quarreled about was his going away
on concert tours. She wanted him to stay home." "And now he's staying home."
"Exactly."
The district attorney asked, "What's her story? Does she deny it?"
"We haven't confronted her yet. We wanted to talk to you first to see
if we have a case."
"You say that Philip Adler can identify Shaw?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"Why don't you send one of your men over to question Lara Cameron? See
what she has to say."
Lara was in a meeting with Howard Keller when the intercom buzzed.
"There's a Lieutenant Mancini here to see you." Lara frowned. "What about?"
"He didn't say." "Send him in."
Lieutenant Mancini was treading on delicate ground.
Without hard evidence, it was going to be difficult to get anything out
of Lara Cameron. But I've got to give it a try, he thought. He had
not expected to see Howard Keller there. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant." "Afternoon."
"You've met Howard Keller."
"I certainly have. Best pitching arm in Chicago." "What can I do for you?" Lara asked.
This was the tricky part. First establish that she knew Jesse Shaw and
then lead her on from there.
"We've arrested the man who attacked your husband." He was watching
her face.
"You have? What...?"
Howard Keller interrupted. "How did you catch him?"
"He pawned a watch that Miss Cameron gave her husband."
Mancini looked
at Lara again. "The man's name is Jesse Shaw." There was not the faintest change of expression.
She's good, Mancini thought. The lady is really good. "Do you know him?"
Lara frowned. "No. Should I?"
That's her first slip, Mancini thought. I've got her.
"He worked on the construction crew of one of your buildings in
Chicago. He also worked for you on a project in Queens.
He was
operating a crane that killed a man."
He pretended to consult his notebook. "A Bill Whitman. The medical examiner put it down as an accident."
Lara swallowed. "Yes..."
Before she could go on, Keller spoke up. "Look,
Lieutenant, we have
hundreds of people working for this company. You can't expect us to
know them all."
"You don't know Jesse Shaw?" "No. And sure Miss Cameron .
"I'd rather hear it from her, if you don't mind."
Lara said, "I've never heard of the man."
"He was paid fifty thousand dollars to attack your husband."
"I... I can't believe it!" Her face was suddenly drained of color.
Now I'm getting to her, Mancini thought. "You don't know anything
about it?"
Lara was staring at him, her eyes suddenly blazing.
"Are you suggesting...? How dare you! If someone put him up to that,
I want to know who it was!"
"So does your husband, Miss Cameron." "You discussed this with Philip?" "Yes. I..."
A moment later Lara was flying out of the office.
When Lara reached the penthouse, Philip was in the bedroom packing,
clumsily because of his crippled hand. "Philip... what are you doing?"
He turned to face her, and it was as though he were seeing her for the
first time. "I'm leaving."
"Why? You can't believe that... that terrible story?" "No more lies, Lara."
"But I'm not lying. You've got to listen to me. I had nothing to do
with what happened to you. I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the
world. I love you, Philip."
He turned to face her. "The police say that the man worked for you.
That he was paid fifty thousand dollars to... to do what he did."
She shook her head. "I don't know anything about it. I only know that
I had nothing to do with it. Do you believe me?" He stared at her, silent.
Lara stood there for a long moment, then turned and blindly walked out
of the room.
Philip spent a sleepless night at a downtown hotel.
Visions of Lara kept coming to his mind. "I'm interested in knowing
more about the foundation. Perhaps we could get together and discuss
it..."
"Are you married?... Tell me about yourself..."
"When I listen to your Scarlatti, I'm in Naples "I dream a dream of
bricks and concrete and steel, and make it come true "I came to
Amsterdam to see you .
"Would you like me to go with you to Milan "You're going to spoil me,
lady. "
"I intend to. "
And Lara's warmth, compassion, and caring. Could I have been that
wrong about her?
When Philip arrived at police headquarters, Lieutenant Mancini was
waiting for him. He led Philip into a small auditorium with a raised
platform at the far end.
"All we need is for you to identify him in the lineup." So they can tie him in with Lara, Philip thought.
There were six men in the lineup, all roughly the same build and age.
Jesse Shaw was in the middle. When Philip saw him, his head began to
pound suddenly. He could hear his voice saying, "Give me your
wallet."
He could feel the terrible pain of the knife slashing across his
wrist.
Could Lara have done that to me? "You're the only man I've ever
loved."
Lieutenant Mancini was speaking. "Take a good look, Mr. Adler."
"I'm going to be working at home from now on. Philip needs me..."
"Mr. Adler..."
"We're going to get you the best doctors in the world..."
She had been
there for him every moment, nurturing him, caring for him. "If
Mohammed won't go to the mountain..." "Would you point him out to me?"
"I married you because I was wildly head over heels in
love with you.
I still am. If we never make love again, it will be fine with me. All
I want is for you to hold me and love me..." And she had meant it.
And then the last scene in the apartment. "I had nothing to do with
what happened to you. I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world
"Mr. Adler..."
The police must have made a mistake, Philip thought. By God, I believe her. She couldn't have done it!
Mancini was speaking again. "Which one is he?"
And Philip turned to him and said, "I don't know." "What?"
"I don't see him."
"You told us you got a good look at him." "That's right."
"Then tell me which one he is."
"I can't," Philip said. "He's not up there."
Lieutenant Mancini's face was grim. "You're sure about that?"
Philip stood up. "I'm positive."
"Then I guess that's all, Mr. Adler. Thanks a lot for your
cooperation."
I've got to find Lara, Philip thought. I've got to find Lara.
She was seated at her desk, staring out the window.
Philip had not believed her. That was what hurt so terribly. And Paul
Martin. Of course, he was behind it. But why did he do it? "Do you
remember what I said about your husband taking care of you? He doesn't
seem to be doing a very good job. Someone should have a talk with
him!" Was it because he loved her? Or was it an act of vengeance
because he hated her?
Howard Keller walked in. His face looked white and drawn. "I just got
off the phone. We lost Cameron Towers, Lara. Both Southern Insurance
and Mutual Overseas Investment are pulling out because we can't meet
our completion date. There's no way we can handle our mortgage
payments. We almost made it, didn't we? The biggest skyscraper in the
world. I'm... I'm sorry. I know how much it meant to you."
Lara turned to face him, and Keller was shocked by her appearance. Her
face was pale, and there were black circles under her eyes. She seemed
dazed, as though the energy had been drained from her.
"Lara... did you hear what I said? We've lost Cameron Towers."
When she spoke, her voice was unnaturally calm. "I heard you. Don't
worry, Howard. We'll borrow on some of the other buildings and pay
everything off."
She was frightening him. "Lara, there's nothing more to
borrow on.
You're going to have to file for bankruptcy and..." "Howard...?"
"Yes?"
"Can a woman love a man too much?" "What?"
Her voice was dead. "Philip has left me."
It suddenly explained a lot. "I... I'm sorry, Lara."
She had a strange smile on her face. "It's funny, isn't it? I'm
losing everything at once. First Philip, now my buildings. Do you
know what it is, Howard? It's the Fates.
They're against me. You can't fight the Fates, can you?" He had never seen her in such pain. It tore at him. "Lara..."
"They're not through with me yet. I have to fly to Reno this
afternoon. There's a grand jury hearing. If..."
The intercom buzzed. "There's a Lieutenant Mancini here." "Send him in."
Howard Keller looked at Lara quizzically. "Mancini? What does he want?"
Lara took a deep breath. "He's here to arrest me, Howard."
"Arrest you? What are you talking about?"
Her voice was very quiet. "They think I arranged the attack on
Philip."
"That's ridiculous! They can't..."
The door opened, and Lieutenant Mancini walked in.
He stood there, looking at the two of them for a moment, then moved
forward.
"I have a warrant here for your arrest."
Howard Keller's face was pale. He moved in front of Lara protectively
and said hoarsely, "You can't do that. She hasn't done anything."
"You're right, Mr. Keller. I'm not arresting her. The warrant is for
you."
Chapter Thirty-five.
ranscript of Interrogation of Howard Keller by Detective Lieutenant Sal
Manclnl.
M: You have been read your rights, Mr. Keller? K: Yes.
M: And you have waived the right to have an attorney present?
K: I don't need an attorney. I was going to come in anyway. I
couldn't let anything happen to Lara.
M: You paid Jesse Shaw $50,000 to attack Philip Adler?
K: Yes.
M: Why?
K: He was making her miserable. She begged him to stay home with her,
but he kept leaving her.
M: So you arranged to have him crippled.
K: It wasn't like that. I never meant for Jesse to go so far. He got
carried away.
M: Tell me about Bill Whitman.
K: He was a bastard. He was trying to blackmail Lara. I couldn't let
him do that. He could have ruined her. M: So you had him killed?
K: For Lara's sake, yes.
M: Was she aware of what you were doing?
K: Of course not. She never would have allowed it. No.
I was there
to protect her, you see. Anything I did, I did for her.
I would die for her.
M: Or kill for her.
K: Can I ask you a question? How did you know I was involved in
this?
End of Interrogation.
At 1 Police Plaza, Captain Bronson said to Mancini, "How did you know
he was behind it?"
"He left a loose thread, and I unraveled it. I almost missed it. In
Jesse Shaw's rap sheet, it mentioned that he took a fall when he was
seventeen for stealing some baseball equipment from a Chicago Cubs
minor league team. I checked it out, and sure enough, they were
teammates. That's where Keller slipped up. When I asked him, he told
me he had never heard of Jesse Shaw. I called a friend of mine who
used to be a sports editor for the Chicago Sun Times. He remembered
them both. They were buddies. I figured it was Keller who got Shaw
the job with Cameron Enterprises. Lara Cameron hired Jesse Shaw
because Howard Keller asked her to. She probably never even saw
Shaw."
"Nice work, Sal."
Mancini shook his head. "You know something? In the end it really
didn't matter. If I hadn't caught him, and if we had gone after Lara
Cameron, Howard Keller would have come in and confessed."
Her world was collapsing. It was unbelievable to Lara that Howard
Keller, of all people, could have been responsible for the terrible
things that had happened. He did it for me, Lara thought.
I have to
try to help him.
Kathy buzzed her. "The car is here, Miss Cameron. Are you ready?"
"Yes." She was on her way to Reno to testify before the grand jury.
Five minutes after Lara left, Philip telephoned the office.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Adler. You just missed her. She's on her way to
Reno."
He felt a sharp pang of disappointment. He was desperately eager to
see her, to ask her forgiveness.
"When you speak to her, tell her I'll be waiting for her." "I'll tell her."
He made a second phone call, spoke for ten minutes, and then telephoned
William Ellerbee.
"Bill... I'm going to stay in New York. I'm going to teach at
Juilliard."
"What can they do to me?" Lara asked.
Terry Hill said, "That depends. They'll listen to your testimony.
They can either decide that you're innocent, in which case you'll get
your casino back, or they can recommend that there's enough evidence
against you to indict you. If that's their verdict, you'll be tried on
criminal charges and face prison." Lara mumbled something.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said Papa was right. It's the Fates."
The grand jury hearing lasted for four hours. Lara was
questioned
about the acquisition of the Cameron Palace Hotel & Casino. When they
came out of the hearing room, Terry Hill squeezed Lara's hand. "You
did very well, Lara. I think you really impressed them.
They have no
hard evidence against you, so there's a good chance that..
." He
broke off, stunned. Lara turned. Paul Martin had come into the
anteroom. He was dressed in an oldfashioned double-breasted suit with
a vest, and his white hair was combed in the same style as when Lara
had first met him.
Terry Hill said, "Oh, God! He's here to testify." He turned to
Lara.
"How much does he hate you?" "What do you mean?"
"Lara, if they've offered him leniency to testify against you, you're
finished. You'll go to prison."
Lara was looking across the room at Paul Martin. "But... then he would destroy himself, too." "That's why I asked you how much he hates you.
Would he do that to himself to destroy you?" Lara said numbly, "I don't know."
Paul Martin was walking toward them. "Hello, Lara.
I hear things have been going badly for you." His eyes revealed
nothing. so y) Lara remembered Howard Keller's words.
"He's Sicilian.
They never forgive, and they never forget." He had been carrying this
burning thirst for vengeance inside him, and she had had no idea.
Paul Martin started to move away. "Paul..."
He stopped. "Yes?"
"I need to talk to you."
He hesitated a moment. "All right."
He nodded toward an empty office down the corridor. "We can talk in there."
Terry Hill watched as the two of them went into the office. The door
closed behind them. He would have given anything to have heard their
conversation.
She did not know how to begin. "What is it you want, Lara?"
It was much more difficult than she had anticipated.
When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. "I want you to let me go."
His eyebrows were raised. "How can I? I don't have you."
He was mocking her.
She was finding it hard to breathe.
"Don't you think you've punished me enough?"
Paul Martin stood there, stone, his expression unreadable.
"The time we had together was wonderful, Paul. Outside of Philip,
you've meant more to me than anyone in my life. I owe you more than I
could ever repay. I never meant to hurt you. You must believe
that."
It was difficult to go on.
"You have the power to destroy me. Is that really what you want? Will
sending me to prison make you happy?" She was fighting to hold back
her tears. "I'm begging you, Paul. Give me back my life. Please,
stop treating me like an enemy..."
Paul Martin stood there, his black eyes giving away nothing.
"I'm asking for your forgiveness. I... I'm too tired to fight anymore,
Paul. You've won..." Her voice broke.
There was a knock on the door, and the bailiff peered into the room.
"The grand jury is ready for you, Mr. Martin."
He stood there, looking at Lara for a long time; then he turned and
left without a word.
It's all over, Lara thought. It's finished.
Terry Hill came hurrying into the office. "I wish to God I knew how he
was going to testify in there. There's nothing to do now but wait."
They waited. It seemed an eternity. When Paul Martin finally emerged
from the hearing room, he looked tired and drawn. He's become old,
Lara thought. He blames me for that. He was watching her. He
hesitated a moment, then walked over to her.
"I can never forgive you. You made a fool of me. But you were the
best thing that ever happened to me. I guess I owe you something for
that. I didn't tell them anything in there, Lara."
Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Paul. I don't know how to..."
"Call it my birthday present to you. Happy birthday, baby."
She watched him walk away, and his words suddenly hit her.
It was her
birthday! So many events had been piling on top of one another that
she had completely forgotten about it. And the party.
Two hundred
guests were going to be waiting for her at the Manhattan Cameron
Plaza!
Lara turned to Terry Hill. "I've got to get back to New York
tonight.
There's a big party for me. Will they let me go?"
"Just a minute," Terry Hill said. He disappeared inside the hearing
room, and when he came out five minutes later, he said, "You can go to
New York. The grand jury will give its verdict in the morning, but
it's just a formality now. You can return here tonight. By the way,
your friend told you the truth. He didn't talk in there."
* * * Thirty minutes later Lara was headed for New York. "Are you going to be all right?" Terry Hill asked.
She looked at him and said, "Of course I am." There would be hundreds
of important people at the party to honor her that night.
She would
hold her head high. She was Lara Cameron...
She stood in the center of the deserted Grand Ballroom and looked
around. I created this. I created monuments that towered into the
sky, that changed the lives of thousands of people all over America.
And now it's all going to belong to the faceless bankers.
She could
hear her father's voice so clearly. "The Fates. They've always been
agin me." She thought of Glace Bay and the little boardinghouse where
she had grown up. She remembered how terrified she had been on her
first day at school: "Can anyone think of a word beginning with f?"
She remembered the boarders. Bill Rogers... "The first rule in real
estate is 0PM. Never forget that." And Charles Colin: "I eat only
kosher food, and I'm afraid Glace Bay doesnt have any."...
"If I could acquire this land... would you give me a five-year
lease?"...
"No, Lara. It would have to be a ten-year lease....
And Sean MacAllister... "I would need a very special reason to make
this loan to you!... have you ever had a lover?"...
And Howard Keller: .... you're going about this all wrong."...
"I want you to come to work for me."...
And then the successes. The wonderful, brilliant successes. And
Philip. Her Lochinvar. The man she adored. That was the greatest loss of all.
* * * A voice called, "Lara..." She turned.
It was Jerry Townsend. "Carlos told me you were here."
He walked up
to her. "I'm sorry about the birthday party." She looked at him. "What... what happened?"
He was staring at her. "Didn't Howard tell you?" "Tell me what?"
"There were so many cancellations because of the bad publicity that we
decided it would be best to call it off. I asked Howard to tell
you."
"To tell you the truth, I've been having some problems with my
memory."
Lara said softly, "It doesn't matter." She took one last look at the
beautiful room. "I had my fifteen minutes, didn't I?" "What?"
"Nothing." She started to walk toward the door.
"Lara, let's go up to the office. There are some things that have to
be wound up."
"All right." I'll probably never be in this building again, Lara
thought.
In the elevator on the way up to the executive offices,
Jerry said, "I
heard about Keller. It's hard to believe he was responsible for what
happened."
Lara shook her head. "I was responsible, Jerry. I'll never forgive
myself."
"It's not your fault."
She felt a sudden wave of loneliness. "Jerry, if you haven't had your
dinner yet..."
"I'm sorry, Lara. I'm busy tonight." "Oh. That's all right."
The elevator door opened, and the two of them stepped out.
"The papers that you have to sign are on the conference room table,"
Jerry said. "Fine."
The door to the conference room was closed. He let Lara open the door
and as she did, forty voices started to sing out, "Happy birthday to
you, Happy birthday to you..."
Lara stood there, stunned. The room was filled with
people she had
worked with over the years-the architects and contractors and
construction managers. Charles Colin was there, and Professor
Meyers.
Horace Guttman and Kathy and Jerry Townsend's father. But the only one
that Lara saw was Philip. He was moving toward her, his arms
outstretched, and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe.
"Lara..." It was a caress.
And she was in his arms, fighting to hold back the tears, and she
thought, I'm home. This is where I belong, and it was a healing, a
blessed feeling of peace. Lara felt a warm glow as she held him. This
is all that matters, Lara thought.
People were crowding around her, and everyone seemed to be talking at
once.
"Happy birthday,..." "You look wonderful..." "Were you surprised...?"
Lara turned to Jerry Townsend. "Jerry, how did you.... He shook his head. "Philip arranged it."
"Oh, darling!"
Waiters were coming in now with hors d'oeuvres and drinks.
Charles Colin said, "No matter what happens, I'm proud of you, Lara.
You said you wanted to make a difference, and you did."
Jerry Townsend's father was saying, "I owe my life to this woman."
"So do I." Kathy smiled.
"Let's drink a toast," Jerry Townsend said, "to the best boss I ever
had, or ever will have!"
Charles Colin raised his glass. "To a wonderful little girl who became
a wonderful woman!"
The toasts went on, and finally, it was Philip's turn.
There was too much to say, and he put it in five words: "To the woman I
love."
Lara's eyes were brimming with tears. She found it difficult to
speak.
"I... I owe so much to all of you," Lara said. "There's no way I can
ever repay you. I just want to say"-she choked up, unable to go
on-"thank you.
Lara turned to Philip. "Thank you for this, darling.
It's the nicest birthday I've ever had." She suddenly remembered. "I
have to fly back to Reno tonight!"
Philip looked at her and grinned. "I've never been to Reno..."
Half an hour later they were in the limousine on their way to the
airport. Lara was holding Philip's hand, and thinking, I
haven't lost
everything after all. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to
him. Nothing else matters. The only important thing is being with him
and taking care of him. I don't need anything else. "Lara.
She was looking out the window. "Stop, Max!" The limousine braked to a quick stop.
Philip looked at her, puzzled. They had stopped in front of a huge
empty lot, covered with weeds. Lara was staring at it. "Lara..."
"Look, Philip! Look!"
He turned his head. "What?" "Don't you see it?"
"See what?"
"Oh, it's beautiful! A shopping mall over there, in the far corner!
In the middle we'll put up luxury apartment houses.
There's room
enough for four buildings. You see it now, don't you?" He was staring at Lara, mesmerized.
She turned to him, her voice charged with excitement. "Now, here's my
plan. the end
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Suspected methanol poisoning from tainted drinks has reportedly killed five tourists in a Laos holiday town in the past fortnight.
A British woman, an Australian woman, a US man and two Danish nationals have died, while another Australian woman remains critically ill in hospital. The deaths remain under police investigation, but news reports and testimonies online from other tourists suggest they may have consumed drinks laced with methanol, a deadly substance often found in bootleg alcohol.
Methanol poisoning has long been a well-known issue across South-East Asia, particularly in the poorer countries along the Mekong river.
But despite foreign governments posting warnings about alcohol consumption in these places, there is still little awareness among the backpacker party scene.Flavourless and colourless, methanol is hard to detect in drinks and victims typically don’t see symptoms of poisoning straight away.
And in countries like Laos - one of the poorest and least developed in Asia - the problem arises from alcohol suppliers exploiting an environment where there is low law enforcement and almost no regulations in the food and hospitality industries.
What is methanol poisoning?
Methanol is a toxic alcohol used in industrial and household products like paint thinners, antifreeze, varnish and photocopier fluid.
It is colourless and has a similar smell to ethyl alcohol - the chemical substance found in alcoholic drinks.
But methanol is dangerous for humans and drinking just 25ml of it can be lethal.
It can take up to 24 hours for victims to start showing signs of illness which include: nausea, vomiting and abdominal pain which can escalate into hyperventilation and breathing problems.
If not treated, fatality rates are often reported to be 20% to 40%, depending on the concentration of methanol and the amount taken, says international medical charity Medicins Sans Frontiers (MSF) which tracks the number of global outbreaks.
But if a poisoning is diagnosed quickly enough, ideally within the first 30 hours, treatment can reduce some of the worse effects.
How common is the problem in South-East Asia?
Asia has the highest prevalence of methanol poisoning worldwide, according to MSF’s database.
It is a problem that often affects poorer countries - outbreaks are common in Indonesia, India, Cambodia, Vietnam and the Philippines.
Indonesia is regarded as a hotspot – it has reported the highest number of incidents in the past two decades, according to MSF, largely down to the widespread production and consumption of bootleg liquor.
Towns like Vang Vieng in Laos, where the fatal poisonings took place, are known stops on the backpacking trail through South East Asia. The town's economy is built on tourism, with streets of bars, restaurants and hostels that cater to visitors.
But in Laos, law enforcement is under-resourced and there are few regulations around food and alcohol standards. There is also an industry of home-brewed alcohol, which can lead to accidental poisonings.
Producers also make counterfeit drinks by making products with methanol instead of ethanol because it is cheaper, say local observers.
"You have the unscrupulous producer adding methanol to their drinks because it’s cheaper – it’s used to create a stronger-seeming drink or make lower-quality alcohol drinks seem more potent," one Western diplomat in the region told the BBC. They also said methanol poisonings are reported to consulates across the region.
However, a lack of data means it is hard to quantify the scale of the contamination, and where tainted drinks enter the supply chain.
"I don't think it's nefarious bar owners going out of their way to poison tourists - that's not good for them or their industry either," the diplomat said.
"It's more about the production side – there being being low education, low regulation, people cutting corners."
What can be done about it?
The diplomat also said that the risks of bootleg alcohol are well known among tourism operators and embassies, but a high-profile campaign is needed to inform tourists.
"This horrific event will probably help educate people, but not solve the cause of the problem,” they added.
Several Western governments updated their advice about alcohol dangers in South-East Asia on their consulate and travel pages this week.
Some campaigners have sought to raise attention to the dangers before. Australian man Colin Ahearn runs a Facebook page called 'Don't Drink Spirits in Bali' where he warns against mixed drinks like cocktails or drinks made from opened bottles of spirits.
He told Australian media earlier this week that his page used to receive a submission a week about methanol poisoning across South East Asia.
Addressing this, the western diplomat told the BBC that it would be hard for people to protect themselves unless they went completely teetotal on holiday, as it is unrealistic for tourists to check the original source of all their alcoholic drinks.
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Jet engines are one of the most jaw-dropping feats of engineering humans have ever come up with.
But jet engines shouldn’t be possible, says Ben Beake, director of materials research at Micro Materials, an equipment testing company in Wales.
“The air coming in is hotter than the melting point of the metal underneath – which is obviously not a good thing,” he explains, pointing out that this air reaches temperatures well above 1,000C.
Designers of jet engines have got around this problem by applying heat-resistant ceramic coatings to the engine blades. And now, researchers are developing yet stronger coatings that allow the engines to run hotter still.
“If you get it to go hotter, then there’s a massive saving on fuel and CO2,” says Dr Beake. By increasing the temperature by just 30C or so, you might get an 8% fuel saving, he estimates.This is the power of coatings – they radically transform the functionality and capabilities of an underlying material. Few people realise how important they are, but these overlays and veneers can supercharge high-performance machines, or ensure that expensive equipment survives the harshest of environments.
Dr Beake and his colleagues are tasked with pushing coatings to their limits, in order to see how robust or effective they really are. His clients don’t always get the results they want. He recalls telling a missile manufacturer, “We’ve broken your coating,” some years ago. “They stormed off in a huff,” says Dr Beake.
Besides exposing coatings to high temperatures, Micro Materials also has a “woodpecker” device, a tiny diamond stylus, which repeatedly taps a coating at random locations to test its durability.
Recently, the firm has worked with UK-based Teer Coatings to test a product that could be applied to satellite components including gears and bearings used in various moving parts.
It is a tricky task, says Xiaoling Zhang, from the company, because the coating must protect such components both pre-launch (when they are exposed to atmospheric humidity at ground level) and also in orbit, against dust particles and radiation in space. However, she claims that the firm has achieved the desired results.
But besides protecting spacecraft, coatings could also stop astronauts from getting sick.
Biofilms – gloopy accumulations of bacteria inside pipes – grow faster in low gravity environments, which could be a problem for water supplies or machinery that moves fluid around on space stations or future spacecraft, for example.
“Biofilms are known to cause mechanical failures,” says Kripa Varanasi at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. “You don’t want this.”Prof Varanasi and his colleagues have developed a range of coatings that make surfaces slippery and therefore resistant to the formation of biofilms. Tests of one such coating in an experiment carried out on board the International Space Station found that it worked as intended.
The idea behind the coating is to mix together a solid material and a lubricant. This is then sprayed onto the interior of a pipe or tube, which makes that inner surface extremely slippery.
Prof Varanasi has previously made headlines for developing similar coatings for the insides of toothpaste packets – so you can get every last bit of toothpaste out. He and his colleagues have commercialised the technology through their spin-out company LiquiGlide.Slipperiness is, perhaps, an underappreciated attribute. Nuria Espallargas at the Norwegian University of Science and Technology and colleagues have developed a silicon carbide-based coating for equipment used in aluminium manufacturing or repair.
It is a sort of non-stick frying pan solution, meaning that layers of molten aluminium do not get stuck on this expensive equipment. The precise functioning of this particular coating is currently something of a mystery, though.
“To be honest, we really don’t know how it works, the mechanism is unknown at the moment,” says Prof Espallargas.
Nonetheless, the coating is available commercially through her spin-out company Seram Coatings. Atlas Machine and Supply, a US firm that makes and repairs industrial machinery, has tried it out.
“The real benefit lies in extending the life of the tools and improving the quality of the products being produced,” says Jeremy Rydberg, chief innovation officer.
He says that, without the coating, Atlas must rebuild the roller tools it uses to work aluminium every two days. This costs $4.5m annually. But the new coating means that these tools last for a whole week, not just a couple of days, slashing those rebuild costs to around $1.3m per year.Coatings can do some amazing things, but they don’t always work as intended, notes Andy Hopkinson, managing director at Safinah Group, a firm that often gets called in to investigate when coatings go wrong.
“We’re seeing a lot of issues at the moment with car parks, where their passive fire protection system is peeling off,” he says, referring to the fire-resistant paint sometimes applied to concrete structures.
And his company has also found that coatings applied to commercial ships do not always prevent barnacles and other sea life from attaching themselves to the hull. This problem, known as biofouling, increases friction, meaning the ship’s engine must work harder – and burn more fuel.
Despite the availability of coatings that promise to help, ship owners do not always choose the correct one for their vessel. That choice should depend on where the ship is sailing, how long it is due to be idle rather than in motion, and so on, says Dr Hopkinson.
The cost of fixing issues like this can run into many thousands, or even millions of pounds. “Typically, paint costs between 1 and 2% of the project. The problem is, when it goes wrong, the costs become exponential,” says Mr Hopkinson.
The researchers working in this field, though, say that there are still many opportunities to improve coatings and develop new ones that could drastically improve the performance of machines or infrastructure in the future.
source: https://www.bbc.com/innovation
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Russia is estimated to have supplied North Korea with more than a million barrels of oil since March this year, according to satellite imagery analysis from the Open Source Centre, a non-profit research group based in the UK.
The oil is payment for the weapons and troops Pyongyang has sent Moscow to fuel its war in Ukraine, leading experts and UK Foreign Secretary, David Lammy, have told the BBC.
These transfers violate UN sanctions, which ban countries from selling oil to North Korea, except in small quantities, in an attempt to stifle its economy to prevent it from further developing nuclear weapons.
The satellite images, shared exclusively with the BBC, show more than a dozen different North Korean oil tankers arriving at an oil terminal in Russia’s Far East a total of 43 times over the past eight months.
Further pictures, taken of the ships at sea, appear to show the tankers arriving empty, and leaving almost full.
North Korea is the only country in the world not allowed to buy oil on the open market. The number of barrels of refined petroleum it can receive is capped by the United Nations at 500,000 annually, well below the amount it needs.The first oil transfer documented by the Open Source Centre in a new report, was on 7 March 2024, seven months after it first emerged Pyongyang was sending Moscow weapons.
The shipments have continued as thousands of North Korean troops are reported to have been sent to Russia to fight, with the last one recorded on 5 November.
“While Kim Jong Un is providing Vladimir Putin with a lifeline to continue his war, Russia is quietly providing North Korea with a lifeline of its own,” says Joe Byrne from the Open Source Centre.
“This steady flow of oil gives North Korea a level of stability it hasn’t had since these sanctions were introduced.”
Four former members of a UN panel responsible for tracking the sanctions on North Korea have told the BBC the transfers are a consequence of increasing ties between Moscow and Pyongyang.
“These transfers are fuelling Putin’s war machine – this is oil for missiles, oil for artillery and now oil for soldiers,” says Hugh Griffiths, who led the panel from 2014 to 2019.
UK Foreign Secretary David Lammy has told the BBC in a statement: “To keep fighting in Ukraine, Russia has become increasingly reliant on North Korea for troops and weapons in exchange for oil."
He added that this was “having a direct impact on security in the Korean peninsula, Europe and Indo-Pacific"Easy and cheap oil supply
While most people in North Korea rely on coal for their daily lives, oil is essential for running the country’s military. Diesel and petrol are used to transport missile launchers and troops around the country, run munitions factories and fuel the cars of Pyongyang’s elite.
The 500,000 barrels North Korea is allowed to receive fall far short of the nine million it consumes – meaning that since the cap was introduced in 2017, the country has been forced to buy oil illicitly from criminal networks to make up this deficit.
This involves transferring the oil between ships out at sea – a risky, expensive and time-consuming business, according to Dr Go Myong-hyun, a senior research fellow at South Korea’s Institute for National Security Strategy, which is linked to the country’s spy agency.
“Now Kim Jong Un is getting oil directly, it’s likely better quality, and chances are he’s getting it for free, as quid pro quo for supplying munitions. What could be better than that?"
“A million barrels is nothing for a large oil producer like Russia to release, but it is a substantial amount for North Korea to receive,” Tracking the ‘silent’ transfers
In all 43 of the journeys tracked by the Open Source Centre using satellite images, the North Korean-flagged tankers arrived at Russia’s Vostochny Port with their trackers switched off, concealing their movements.
The images show they then made their way back to one of four ports on North Korea’s east and west coast.
“The vessels appear silently, almost every week,” says Joe Byrne, the researcher from the Open Source Centre. “Since March there’s been a fairly constant flow.”
The team, which has been tracking these tankers since the oil sanctions were first introduced, used their knowledge of each ship’s capacity to calculate how many oil barrels they could carry.
Then they studied images of the ships entering and leaving Vostochny and, in most instances, could see how low they sat in the water and, therefore, how full they were.
The tankers, they assess, were loaded to 90% of their capacity.
“We can see from some of the images that if the ships were any fuller they would sink,” Mr Byrne says.Based on this, they calculate that, since March, Russia has given North Korea more than a million barrels of oil - more than double the annual cap, and around ten times the amount Moscow officially gave Pyongyang in 2023.
This follows an assessment by the US government in May that Moscow had already supplied more than 500,000 barrels’ worth of oil.
Cloud cover means the researchers cannot get a clear image of the port every day.
“The whole of August was cloudy, so we weren’t able to document a single trip,” Mr Byrne says, leading his team to believe that one million barrels is a “baseline” figure.A ‘new level of contempt’ for sanctions
Not only do these oil deliveries breach UN sanctions on North Korea, that Russia, as a permanent member of the UN Security Council, signed off on – but also, more than half of the journeys tracked by the Open Source Centre were made by vessels that have been individually sanctioned by the UN.
This means they should have been impounded upon entering Russian waters.
But in March 2024, three weeks after the first oil transfer was documented, Russia disbanded the UN panel responsible for monitoring sanctions violations, by using its veto at the UN Security Council.
Ashley Hess, who was working on the panel up until its collapse, says they saw evidence the transfers had started.
“We were tracking some of the ships and companies involved, but our work was stopped, possibly after they had already breached the 500,000-barrel cap”.
Eric Penton-Voak, who led the group from 2021-2023, says the Russian members on the panel tried to censor its work.
“Now the panel is gone, they can simply ignore the rules,” he adds. “The fact that Russia is now encouraging these ships to visit its ports and load up with oil shows a new level of contempt for these sanctions.”
But Mr Penton-Voak, who is on the board of the Open Source Centre, thinks the problem runs much deeper.
“You now have these autocratic regimes increasingly working together to help one another achieve whatever it is they want, and ignoring the wishes of the international community.”
This is an “increasingly dangerous” playbook, he argues.
“The last thing you want is a North Korean tactical nuclear weapon turning up in Iran, for instance.”
Oil the tip of the iceberg?
As Kim Jong Un steps up his support for Vladimir Putin’s war, concern is growing over what else he will receive in return.
The US and South Korea estimate Pyongyang has now sent Moscow 16,000 shipping containers filled with artillery shells and rockets, while remnants of exploded North Korean ballistic missiles have been recovered on the battlefield in Ukraine.More recently, Putin and Kim signed a defence pact, leading to thousands of North Korean troops being sent to Russia’s Kursk region, where intelligence reports indicate they are now engaged in battle.
The South Korean government has told the BBC it would “sternly respond to the violation of the UN Security Council resolutions by Russia and North Korea”.
Its biggest worry is that Moscow will provide Pyongyang with technology to improve its spy satellites and ballistic missiles.
Last month, Seoul’s defence minister, Kim Yong-hyun, stated there was a “high chance” North Korea was asking for such help.
“If you’re sending your people to die in a foreign war, a million barrels of oil is just not sufficient reward,” Dr Go says.
Andrei Lankov, an expert in North Korea-Russia relations at Seoul’s Kookmin University, agrees.
“I used to think it was not in Russia’s interest to share military technology, but perhaps its calculus has changed. The Russians need these troops, and this gives the North Koreans more leverage.”
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A town council in Canada is at a standstill after its newly elected members refused to pledge allegiance to King Charles III as required in the swearing-in ceremony.
Stephen Johnson, the mayor-elect of Dawson City in Yukon Territory, and the new council were elected last month. They were to be sworn early this month but that process stalled after they refused to take the oath.
Johnson says the refusal is in solidarity with an indigenous council member who has raised concerns about the Crown’s history with Canada’s indigenous people.
Under Yukon law, a newly elected official must take the oath within 40 days of their election or else their win "shall be considered null".This means Johnson and the rest of council have until 9 December to take the Oath of Allegiance, in which elected officials in Canada - a Commonwealth country and former British colony - swear or affirm they "will be faithful and bear true allegiance to His Majesty King Charles III" and his "heirs and successors according to law".
In the meantime, the new council is not able to govern or make official decisions until the matter is resolved.
In an interview with the Canadian Press, Mayor-elect Johnson said the situation had left him stuck.
“We can’t do anything legally required of us under the Municipal Act,” he explained, until the council takes the oath. “It’s a bit of a sticky situation.”
Johnson said he and the other councillors refused the oath in solidarity with fellow councillor Darwyn Lynn, a member of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation, who was hesitant to pledge allegiance.
“This is being done with no disrespect to His Majesty King Charles,” Johnson told the Canadian Press. “And also we’re not doing this to go, ‘Rah, rah, look at us,’ to poke everybody across Canada, to get rid of the Crown.
“It was just something we wanted to do together to show solidarity in what we do here in this town."
As a remedy, the town council has asked Yukon provincial officials if they could take an alternative oath.
A spokesperson for Yukon’s Department of Community Services confirmed to the BBC that they had received this request, but have not commented on whether it will be granted.
Bill Kendrick, the town's outgoing mayor, told the BBC that he hoped "it gets worked out for the sake of the new council, so they can get down to business".
He added the town's response to the standoff had been mixed.
"I'd say it's the whole gamut," Mr Kendrick said. Some believe the oath is outdated, while others interpret it as a symbol of support for Canada's system of governance.
Dawson City is a town of 2,400, known for being the heart of the historic Klondike Gold Rush that began in 1896. It is the second-largest municipality in the Yukon, a Canadian territory that borders Alaska.
The town is located on the former site of Tr’ochëk, a hunting and fishing camp where the Klondike and Yukon rivers meet. Its people, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in, were displaced after the Klondike gold rush brought nearly 17,000 new settlers.
Canada has acknowledged its fraught history with its indigenous peoples in recent years. In 2017, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau declared before the United Nations that the country’s legacy of colonialism was one of “humiliation, neglect and abuse”.
This is not the first time that elected officials in Canada have refused to take an oath to the King.
In 2022, the French-speaking province of Quebec passed legislation that ended the requirement to have elected officials take an oath to the monarchy. One lawmaker called it “a relic from the past”.
Earlier this year, a member of Canada’s national parliament introduced a similar bill, though it was defeated by a vote of 197-113.
