Project Cyclops Part 89

"On the other hand, why not. As a romantic Frenchman, I can only wish you _bonne chance_." He patted him on the back. "What more can I say."

"Thanks." Vance had to smile. Armont was gallant to the end, and a man who prided himself on knowing what things mattered in life. "At my age, you need all the luck you can get."

"_Merde_. In this life you make your own luck." With which p.r.o.nouncement he shook hands, then yelled for Hans to bring over the list of gear for one last inventory.

7:47 P.M.

It was the end of the day and he could genuinely have used a tequila, double, with a big Mexican lime on the side. Instead, however, he had something else on the agenda. After an early dinner with Bill Bates, he had talked Calypso Andros into a stroll down to the harbor, there to meditate on the events of the past two days. They had agreed in advance not to talk about Isaac Mannheim's death; Cally declared he would have wanted it that way. His life was his legacy.

"I wonder if this island will ever be the same again," she was saying as she leaned back against a rock. "You know, it was peaceful once, before SatCom took over--there actually were sheep, a whole herd--but even then it had a kind of purposefulness that was just the opposite of chaos. We're the ones who disrupted it. SatCom. We remade it in our image, and we tempted fate." She sighed. "G.o.d, this whole disaster almost seems like a bad dream now. I wonder if the island will ever know real peace again. There'll always be the memory to haunt everybody."

"You know, when Ulysses came back to his island, he discovered it had been taken over by a bunch of thugs. So he took away their weapons, locked the doors, and straightened things out. It set a good precedent."

"Well, it didn't exactly happen that cleanly this time, but we did get them all. Every last one. And about half of them, you took care of yourself. One way or another."

"Please," he stopped her. "Let's don't keep score. It's too depressing."

"I'm not depressed. At least not about them. They came in here and murdered people right and left. They deserved whatever they got. Good riddance. The human race is better off."

"That's pretty tough," Vance said. "On the other hand, whereas they claimed to be terrorists, they really were just extortionists. At least Ramirez and Peretz were. For them this was all about money. Kidnapping and ransom. So maybe you're right. The penalty for kidnapping is death.

They were looking at the max, no matter what court ended up trying them."

"I'd say ARM just spared Greece or somebody a lot of trouble and expense. Performed a public service."

"I suppose that's one way to look at it." He smiled. "But somehow I don't think Pierre's going to get so much as a thank-you note. It never happens. Things always get confused like this at the end, but as long as he and the boys come out whole, they don't care."

His voice trailed off as he studied the sea. Along the coast on either side, the pale early moon glinted off the breakers that crashed in with a relentless rhythm. Yes, a bomb had exploded somewhere up there in s.p.a.ce, but the Aegean, even the jagged rocks around the island, still retained their timeless serenity. The Greek islands. He never wanted to leave. Right now, though, he was trying to work up his nerve to talk seriously with Dr. Cally Andros--and the words weren't coming. How to start . . .?

"Are you still here?" She finally broke his reverie. "Or are you just gazing off."

"Sorry about that." He clicked back. "I was thinking. Wondering if you'd still be interested in . . . in what we talked about yesterday."

"What?" She looked puzzled, then, "Oh, you mean--"

"Taking a sail with an old, slightly beat-up yacht-charter operator."

"You're beat up, there's no denying it." She laughed. "I hope you keep your boats in better shape." She looked him over and thought again how much he reminded her of Alan. The mistake that affair represented was not one to be repeated blindly. Then again . . . "But I don't consider you old. Experienced, maybe, but still functioning."

"Is that supposed to mean yes?"

"It's more like a maybe." She touched his hand. "What were you thinking about, exactly?"

"What else? The _Odyssey_ thing." He looked out at the horizon, then back. "Seems to me it deserves another try.

_Oh, the pearl seas are yonder,

The amber-sanded sh.o.r.e;

_

If you'll pardon my attempt to wax poetic."

She smiled. "Plagiarist. I know that one. And I also know there's another line in it that goes,

_Troy was a steepled city,

But Troy was far away.

_

Far away. Get it? Or maybe it doesn't even really exist at all."

"Oh, it exists all right. You just have to want to find it." He picked up a pebble and tossed it toward the surf, now rapidly disappearing in the dusk. "So what are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that maybe Troy was a real place and maybe not. But that's almost beside the point. What it really is is a symbol for that something or somebody we're all looking for. Whatever special it is we each want. Like when I came here to work for SatCom. s.p.a.ce was my Troy.

It was what I wanted. And when you tried to re-create the voyage of Ulysses, you were thinking you could make something that was a myth into something that was real. Big impossibility."

"You're saying the search for Troy is actually just an inner voyage, and I got caught up in trying to make it literal. The boat and all."

"Well, that's what myth is really about, isn't it? We make up a story using real, concrete things to symbolize our inner journey."

"You're saying Ulysses could have sailed up a creek, for all it mattered?"

'That's exactly what I'm saying." She leaned back. "s.h.i.+t, I want a pizza so bad right now I think I'm going crazy."

Vance was still pondering her put-down of his _Odyssey_ rerun, wondering if maybe she wasn't onto something. Maybe he had learned more about himself in two days on the island than he would have learned in two years plying the Aegean.

"All right," she said finally. "I'm sorry. I've busted your chops enough. You asked if I'd like to take a sail, and I said maybe. The truth is, I would, but I've also got a journey of my own in mind."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, before I tell you, maybe I'd better make sure you meant it. For one thing, what are you going to sail in?"

"Good question." Up until that moment he had not given much thought to personal finance. The truth was, he was broke. "I don't know if I can sc.r.a.pe up enough money to build an _Odyssey_ _III_. It's a problem."

"Well, I'll tell you what I think. I think Bill owes you at least a boat for all you did."

He shrugged, not quite agreeing with her on that point. You don't pitch in to help out an old friend, then turn around and send him an invoice.

"Maybe, maybe not. But in any case, it would be minus the ten grand I owe him for the bet I lost."

"Come on"--she frowned--"that's not fair."