lightning, Keegan saw a vast marsh spread before them. A two-story house seemed to be brooding at the edge of the bay off to their right. Beyond it, across the sound, Jekyll Island crouched in the dark. The tide was up and the narrow dirt road leading to the house was begin- fling to flood. The Chevy began to fishtail..
“Let me out here, Tommy. I can walk the rest of the way.
You don’t want to be stuck out here in the marsh with a new baby waiting for you. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Southern hospitality, Frank. God was good to me tonight, I’m just passing it on.”
They shook hands and Keegan pressed the bills into Smoot’s fist. The young man looked down at them and began to shake his head.
“Tommy, believe me, you’ve done a lot of people a great service tonight. The baby’s on me. Thanks.”
He slammed the door and sloughed up the muddy road toward Tully Moyes’s house. It was a rambling shed at the edge of the bay with a wooden walkway from the end of the road to a balcony that surrounded the first floor. Crab traps, fishing nets and loops of heavy ropes hung from the banister. Keegan knocked on the door and it was opened almost immediately by a tall, slender, weather-hardened man with a gray beard and thinning hair. He stared out at Keegan, a drowned rat huddled against the rain.
“Mr. Moyes?” Keegan said. “My name’s Frank Keegan. I’m with the U.S. Intelligence Service. Can I talk to you?”
Moyes looked him up and down.
“You’re one hell of a mess, Mr. Keegan,” Moyes said. “Step in. You got some identification?”
“Mr. Moyes, all I’ve got’s the craziest story you ever heard and one hell of a favor to ask.”
Laughing heartily, Moyes brought a bottle of brandy into the living room, put two water tumblers on the table and filled them both.
“So you waded all the way out here in this storm to tell me that cock-and-bull story?” he said, still laughing. He held his glass in a toast. “Here’s to audacity, sir, which you certainly got your share of.”
The living room was a clutter of old photographs, fishing gear, mismatched furniture and bric-a-brac. There were several pictures of a boy in various stages of growing up, the last one showing him in cap and gown at what was obviously a high school graduation. There were also several photos of a hardy- looking woman. But the room gave no indication that either of them occupied the house.
Outside the windows, the bay was churning up as the storm descended on them again. Rain clattered against windows and walls.
“Mr. Moyes .
“Tully.”
“Tully, I know my story sounds outrageous but believe me, it’s true. I came out here because Tom Sirioot said you’re just crazy enough to take me over to Jekyll Island.”
“In this storm?”
“Right now.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. If you won’t do it, can you call somebody who can?”
“Nope,” the lean man said, scratching his beard.
“Why not?”
“Phones are out. Been out for a couple hours now. Couldn’t call anybody if I wanted to. Besides, if I was to call anybody it’d be the Coast Guard. They wouldn’t believe you, but at least they wouldn’t laugh at me. No sir, we can’t call anybody and you can’t walk back to town. It’s over two miles and by now the water’s up to your knees out there.”
“Tully, I’m going over to that island if I have to swim over.”
“L.ook, Mr. Keegan, I’m eatin’ my Thanksgiving dinner. Me and Chelsea
He pointed to a black lab curled before the fireplace. It stared soulfully up at both of them, snorted and went back to sleep.
“Tully, you get me on the island over there and I’ll take you to New York and buy you the best turkey dinner you ever ate.”
“I’m eatin’ king mackerel, Mister. . . what’d you say your name was again . . . ?“
“Frank. Frank Keegan.”
Frank. I don’t eat anything that has feathers on it and flies through the air.”
“Well, whatever you want. Christ, I’ll buy you a year’s supply of king mackerel. Here, look .
He took out his money clip and counted out ten hundred- dollar bills and slapped them on the coffee table.
“Is that serious enough for you?”
Moyes perused the bills, separated them with a forefinger.
“That’s a thousand dollars!”
