international sports columnist, a job that enabled him to travel the world, and was also perfect cover for his other activities. His most recent mission had been a rendezvous with “Valery,” the Soviet agent who also worked for Jack. Their meetings were often held around major sporting events because they were public and usually crowded. This rendezvous took place in Belo Horizonte, Brazil, during the 1950 World Cup soccer match between the United States and England. Several of the players on the U.S. team were from St. Louis and Jack knew two of them personally. Jack said the game was terrific, with the U.S. pulling off a 1–0 victory, the biggest upset in international soccer history. After the goal was scored, Jack said he was scanning the crowd with binoculars to watch the reactions of the crowd when he came across something completely unexpected. Across the stadium, a boy about my size was rising in his seat and turning to leave, and even though Jack had never seen the boy before, he thought I might know him. “His hair was tied back with a green ribbon,” Jack said, “and he wore ruby earrings.”
“That
“And that’s not all, Z. Two days later I was in a taxi on my way to the train station, and I passed Sailor and Sheela walking down the street. The traffic was too congested to have the taxi pull over, but there was no doubt, Z. It was them.” Jack paused, then asked, “What do you think?”
I didn’t know what to think. My first reaction was simply that I was glad to hear any of us were still alive. But what were Sailor and Sheela doing in Brazil? Were they tracking the Fleur-du-Mal? Was he tracking them? And where was everybody else … where was Opari? I couldn’t answer Jack because I had nothing but questions myself.
“There’s something else,” Jack said.
“What is it?”
“We think Blaine Harrington has moved his unit and his operations to somewhere on the West Coast. We don’t know the exact location — yet. It is a ‘black’ operation and ‘Cardinal’ has not been able to learn much about it. In the meantime, I would stay vigilant, Z. I don’t trust the man in the least. Have you noticed any funny stuff, anybody following you or taking your picture?”
“No, nothing, Jack. Do you really think Blaine Harrington is after the Meq?”
“I don’t know, Z, but one way or another, we’re going to find out.”
Below us, in the “Honeycircle,” the band began playing something by Duke Ellington. I looked down through the louvered windows of the carriage house at Baju’s sundial. There was just enough sunlight left for the gnomon to cast a shadow. It was late in the day and late in the year.
Carolina bought her first television set in 1951. It took two deliverymen to carry it inside, and she had to move a couch to make room for it. Mitch rigged an antenna on top of the house and after a few slight adjustments, the picture was sharp and clear. For a year or so, Carolina thought it was an interesting novelty to have in the home, but she soon changed her mind about television, worrying that people were going to forget how to entertain themselves. “Besides,” she added, “I cannot stand the commercials.”
In 1952 Willie Croft bought another airplane, a de Havilland Canada DHC-2 Beaver, and he and I embarked on a cross-country adventure through fifteen states. I kept in constant touch with Carolina and Star to see if there had been any word from any of the Meq. Each telephone call brought the same reply: “Sorry, Z. No word from anyone.”
In 1953 the Cardinals had some good players, Stan Musial among them, but the team only had a so-so season. However, September 1 was a memorable day for two reasons: the Cardinals hit five home runs with the bases empty, tying a major league record, and Antoinette announced to everyone that she was pregnant and due in the early spring. Christmas brought nothing but baby gifts and by January Carolina had transformed Owen Bramley’s sprawling bedroom into a nursery complete with everything Antoinette would need and more. Carolina was still active and in good health for a woman in her eighties, but on several occasions Willie and Caine had to keep her from doing the work herself. As the temperature dropped outside, the new life within Antoinette grew and the anticipation of a baby in the house grew with it. Except for dreams of Opari, I rarely even thought about the Meq. Then, during the last week of February, everything changed.
Carolina loved Walt Disney movies and on Monday, February 22, we had just returned home after seeing a matinee at the Fox Theatre. The animation in the film was excellent and the story one of Carolina’s favorites. It was the classic by J. M. Barrie about a boy who never grew old—
I picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
“Well, hello right back at you,” someone said. The voice sounded scratchy and distant. The connection was not a good one.
“Hello,” I repeated. “Who is this? I can barely hear you.”
“Someday, Z, you’re gonna have to do somethin’ about that hearing problem,” the voice said, followed by a loud laugh I recognized instantly. My heart leaped. “Damn, Z, it’s good to hear you,” he said. “You’re a pearl among pebbles, a peach among persimmons, a—”
I cut him off. “Enough! Enough! Where are you, Ray?”
“Mexico City, but not for long. I’m on my way to St. Louis. Nova is with me.” Ray paused and the static in the background increased. “Listen, Z, I only got a minute. Somethin’ strange is goin’ on. I’ll tell you when we get there, but I think—”
Suddenly the line filled with static and a few seconds later the connection was lost.
On Tuesday Carolina sorted through her mail and among the bills and letters was a ragged picture postcard addressed to her and postmarked ten days earlier. On one side was a picture of the old stone harbor in Cartagena, Venezuela, and on the other side there was a handwritten note, which read:
To he who it concerns — have found evidence of another sphere with MORE information — on our way with photographs
On Wednesday there were no surprises, but on Thursday afternoon as I was helping Caine replace the hood on a bassinet, Carolina came upstairs to deliver a letter that Mercy had just given her. It was still sealed and had been sent inside another letter that Mercy received from Arrosa. Addressed to me, the letter was written in Basque and read:
I am aware Sailor is on his way to St. Louis and I know his purpose. You must tell him when he arrives that the prize is in Sochi and may be difficult to obtain. Zeru-Meq is in Istanbul. Mowsel and I are to rendezvous with him next week. We shall need your help, young Zezen. One more item — I am certain you remember the “Voice” that joined us when we awoke Lindbergh on his way to Paris. I have been “hearing” it again, but with a difference. Now I hear two of them! Perhaps you should ask Sailor what he thinks of this — Mowsel has no explanation, nor do I.
Was this only coincidence? Why was this happening? Something was in rapid motion and I had no idea what it was or what it meant. After such a long period of silence, within four short days I had heard from all of us, or at least all were accounted for … all except one. I had to believe she was still alive. I had to believe she was safe and well. I had to believe.
Friday passed without a word from anyone and I had trouble sleeping that night. I dreamed of the umpire. He was walking toward me and as he approached he removed his mask and let it drop to the ground. Underneath his mask there was another mask and he let it drop, then another, and another. He kept coming closer. Sweat filled my eyes and his image blurred. My eyes burned with sweat and I kept rubbing them to make it go away. Then I woke up. All day Saturday I paced the house, looking out the windows and never straying far from the telephone. No calls came. Finally, I gave up waiting and went to bed around midnight.
Sunday was a different story entirely and events started early. During a hearty breakfast of buttermilk pancakes, fried eggs, and smoked bacon, a taxi pulled up under the stone archway and Ray Ytuarte and Nova
