lunch, Sam. Let's go as quickly as possible.' She whirled and left the room, her anger evident in her step.
'You and sis have plans, Sam?'
'Hiking, exploring some.'
'Be careful, and don't get lost,' Black cautioned with a grin. 'It's pretty wild out there.'
'Oh, I'll be careful, Black. Like you, I've had some pretty extensive training in staying alive.'
The young men locked glances, Black finally saying, 'Yes, that's true. I've often wondered just which one of us is the tougher.'
Sam's smile was tight. 'I hope you never have to find out, Black.'
Sam left it at that.
Sam had more of his father in him than even his mother suspected, for he never traveled unprepared. In his rooms, after dressing in jeans, heavy shirt, and jump boots, Sam slid a heavy-bladed knife, in its leather sheath, onto his belt. And he had brought with him—quite illegally—a snub-nosed .38 pistol. He slipped that into a pocket of his jacket and then knocked on Nydia's door.
'You ready, Nydia?'
The door opened and she stood before him, a young lady just as beautiful in jeans and rough shirt as in a ballroom gown.
'You look good enough to eat,' Sam told her.
'I've thought about that, too,' she said, a smile on her lips.
Sam cleared his throat and decided to shift gears and head in another direction. 'Nydia? Why don't you like those people Black invited up here?'
'You don't know?' she seemed surprised. 'I guess not. They have a … cult at Nelson and Carrington. They've tried several times to get me to join. I refused.'
'What kind of cult?'
'They practice Devil worship.'
Sam did not realize just how isolated they were until he and Nydia got into the deep timber on the edge of the big park just north of the Williams' home. The dark timber closed around them about 500 meters from the edge of the estate.
'Beautiful,' Sam said. 'So beautiful and peaceful.'
Nydia started to reply when three shots cut through the crisp air. Sam instinctively grabbed for the pistol in his coat, checking his movement just before touching the inner pocket. Nydia caught the quick movement and smiled.
'It's a signal to return to Falcon House,' she said. 'Come on. It might be important.'
'Sir,' Perkins said, 'there was a radio message for you just moments after you left. In the communications room. Mr. Falcon is waiting.'
'The message is rather terse, Sam.' Falcon handed him a slip of paper. 'I do hope this will not alter your plans to visit with us.'
Sam did not reply until he had read the message: MONTREAL FLIGHT 127 1922-58 J.A. He looked into Falcon's dark, unreadable eyes. 'This is it?'
'That was the entire message, Sam. I asked for a repeat, and that was it.'
'Well, I guess I have to get to Montreal somehow.'
'We'll take the Rover,' Nydia said. 'Go together.'
'Now, dear …' Roma opened her mouth to protest.
Daughter met mother, head to head, with an unwavering look. 'I know the roads, Mother. Sam doesn't. So I'm going with him.' There was a firmness to her voice that said she would brook no more objections.
Roma smiled. 'Of course, dear. I was only going to suggest you change into something more suitable for the trip.'
'Certainly you were, Mother.' Nydia's smile and tone were just short of condescending. 'But we'll go as we are. Come on, Sam.' She pulled at his arm. 'We'll be there in a few hours.'
Driving away from the estate, Nydia asked, 'Sam, what does 1922-58 mean? The time?'
'I don't think so. Could be, but I doubt it. 1922 was the year my dad was born. '58 was when he died.'
'J.A.?'
'My mother's initials.'
Nydia shuddered beside him.
'Cold?' Sam asked.
'No. Suddenly frightened. For some reason. I just got the worst feeling of ... I don't know: foreboding, I guess I'd call it.'
'Nydia?'
