Karyn Kane: Conspiracy of Fire Part 21

Oahu, Hawaii The sleek, super powered fis.h.i.+ng cruiser had been named The Fortune, because that is certainly what it must have cost, a million-five, maybe more. Karyn Kane sat in the big white reel chair, resting her feet on the stern of the boat. As the new morning sun melted slow over the horizon, Karyn flipped screens on her iPhone, cycling through the cameras in the Goodman house. Carly was still asleep, snuggling up to her favorite rabbit toy. The little girl looked very peaceful and cozy, lying there with the comforter turned down, and the soft glow of her moon-face nightlight casting a rea.s.suring warmth about the room. Carly's room was very neat and tidy. She was a very particular little girl, who liked to have everything in its place. Her books and toys and the boxes of creative stuff, crayons and paints and glue and glitter, were all stowed away in a precise and very careful order. Karyn found great relaxation in watching her daughter sleeping so peacefully in her neat little room.

The ex was not having such luck however. Reed Goodman was sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and perusing his laptop. But from the three camera angles she had of the kitchen, Karyn couldn't quite make out what Reed was looking at. Probably reliving the old days same as usual, playing Facebook link-up with his buddies from the regiment, or fantasizing about taking some private contractor gig, so he could dip his dirty little fingers back into the world of death. Like many veterans Reed was a tortured man, living in an endless purgatory between the life he had once had and the new life he would never be able to come to terms with. Reed was a killer, always would be, and why not, he was d.a.m.n good at it. But he could never go back to the old life-Carly was the reason, beautiful Carly. Karyn watched him as he sat there in the kitchen. Poor Reed, if he stayed with the older woman he would never have any more children. On the face of it, his wife Julia was the woman who had everything, success, wealth and social popularity too. But the poor woman was quite incapable of bearing children. Karyn had listened in on all the conversations she'd had with the doctors and the long tearful discussions with Reed, her sobbing into his shoulder, Reed looking tired and uncomfortable, his mind ten thousand miles away in some snipers blind, planning some eight hundred yard hit against the wind. Karyn looked at Reed now, hunched over his laptop, drinking coffee and flipping through the endless virtual world, as it reached out to him, tugging him by degrees from his safe little kitchen in Santa Monica California. Reed was stuck, trapped in the life he had wanted, but would never be able to enjoy. Karyn felt confused. She loved him, yet she hated him. She wanted him and yet she was glad to be free. She stared long and hard at the tiny little screen in front of her, watching as Reed sipped coffee and ran his fingers through his dark, tangled hair. Karyn figured she had liked him better with his regulation Army Rangers haircut. He looked more masculine that way. No doubt the longer locks were Julia's doing, that b.i.t.c.h really liked to play things her way. Karyn sucked in a sharp breath of irritation. She closed her phone and thought for a long moment. When she got back to Los Angeles she would do a bag job entrance at the Goodman residence, make sure she had coverage for every computer in the place, not just the desk top machine in the office, that way she could know more fully just what was going on. In the fast moving world of covert operations, intelligence of the compet.i.tions movements was a crucial factor in determining future strategy. Carly, Carly, Carly. Everything was about Carly. When the operation was over, she would go visit, it would have to be at night of course, but standing there in her daughter's presence, as the moonfaced nightlight cast it's comforting glow about the room, it would all be worth it, no matter what the danger.

Karyn sat back in the big white reel chair and breathed deep. Growing up as a navy brat before s.h.i.+pping out into the service her self, she knew a thing or three about boats and this baby was a nice little tub. So new it couldn't have been in the water more than six months tops. The sleek styling and glistening chrome-work spoke of a craft that came top of the line. Karyn ran her fingers over the plush leather and watched the sun rise higher.

It was an expensive boat all right, but there was more to this thing than just a showroom price tag. Resting pride of place in the yachting marina with all the other rich men's playthings. Karyn reckoned the Marina fees and fuel bills would add up to double the salary of the average police detective, but this little slice of ocean-going flash wasn't owned by any regular detective. It was the property of Honolulu Chief of Police Donald Mlama. Now, Don, smart and earnest as he was, sure didn't smell like a cop on the take, but a million five, plus marina fees and consumables? That kind of green didn't come easy for most working folks, especially if they were public sector employees. Kind of strange then, that a cop would have a fresh painted fisherman's dream, with super powered engines and a military grade radar system sitting portside at the most expensive marina in Hawaii.

Kicking back in the big, white reel chair, Karyn imagined what it would be like to ride out into the deep water off Kona and reel in some really big fish, deep-water predators like, Tuna and Blue Marlin. They grew 1000lbs and more out here. Of course you would need an experienced Captain to make catches like that, the kind of seaman who really knew what he was doing and that kind of help didn't come cheap either.

No doubt Mlama had his costs in hand, along with a bulls.h.i.+t balance sheet that would stand the test of auditors, IRS agents, maybe even the IAD. But Donald Mlama was a smart guy; way smarter than that grubby little Fed Ted Congo.

Karyn examined the PDF of the Mlama file. The Chief was a real straight arrow cop at least on the face of it-27 years on the force and moving close to retirement. He wasn't the kind of guy who had made any big plays in his career, choosing instead to work his way up through the ranks, blowing smoke in all the appropriate orifices, until he reached the top. A life long islander, his local knowledge must have helped his career, along with his no frills family life: Two college age girls and a boy in the Army Rangers. Karyn thought back to the cutsie-pie family photos the chief had hanging on the walls of his office-smiling, suntanned faces, all leaning in together for picture frame posterity; cute, well-fed kids in college clothes and a wife who looked like a part time schoolteacher and full-time heroine in the home front trenches. This was the kind of mom who baked cookies and made matching Halloween costumes for all the family. The kind of woman who liked family BBQs and Thanksgiving roasts and made personal sacrifices of every kind just to keep life in the Mlama household running happy and smooth.

Karyn knew she would never have those things.

Her life at the Agency had taken care of that.

The knowledge made her feel dead inside.

Even though she had promised herself she wouldn't, Karyn picked up her iPhone once again and flipped through screens, searching for Carly to see what she was up to.

52.

The Pacific As Kellerman climbed the stairs to the bridge, she knew that with each step she took she was heading closer to certain death. As soon as Kim and his band of surly faced fanatics had achieved their goals, they would have no further use for the Nautilus or her crew. A voice in her head began a tireless mantra-Do you want to die now, or later? With every footstep she made, the voice grew louder. If she lunged backwards, she might just be able to time the move right and crash into Kim with all her weight, knock him off balance, maybe even knock him down the stairs if she got lucky-then, perhaps she could grab hold of him and wrestle away his pistol, or push him over the precipitous gangway leading down to the forward deck? Sure, the guard behind would unleash his AK-47, but the gangway was tight, not the kind of narrow little s.p.a.ce you would want to fire a machine gun, especially if your Captain was directly in front of you. Do you want to die now or later? The mantra grew ever louder, until Kellerman could bare it no more.

She gave a groan, raising a hand to her head, as though an overwhelming pressure prevented her from moving even one more step forwards. Kim cursed, moving closer, to shove her forwards, but in the very moment Kellerman felt his hand make contact with her shoulder, she turned quickly, spinning her elbow hard. It was a wild moment but she got lucky, making contact just below Kim's collarbone. She had been aiming for his head, but the move was so tightly timed, she was pleased that she made contact at all. The shock and surprise of the attack caught Kim completely off guard. Kellerman barged into him, with all her weight. As she connected, she smelled his halitosis breath wafting over her face. He staggered backwards, his arms wind-milling as he struggled to regain his balance. But it was no use he tumbled backwards, bouncing down the stairs, before landing heavily on the second level landing. Kim's slight little frame was no match for the impact, his head bounced on the floor, like it was going to pop clear of his shoulders. Kellerman landed next, sprawling heavily on top of his skinny little body in a way that made her want to heave.

She looked up. Mr. Screechy stood over her, his eyes wide, his thin jaw hanging open like he was lost for words. His AK-47 was pointed low, a random trajectory, but deadly none-the-less. If he unloaded now in the confined s.p.a.ce, the ricochets would scythe though the air like bomb shrapnel and he would likely kill them all. Kellerman sprawled on the floor trying to raise her self. She knew she was covered in grime and oil and gun smoke, but she batted her eyelashes at the guard just the same. Mr. Screechy was beginning to come around now, his mind finally processing the unfolding events. With wide eyes, he swung the rifle up and squawked out to his comrades so they might run to his a.s.sistance. Kellerman's fingers scrabbled desperately on the floor. She threw the guard a bashful smile and said, "Ooops, I am terribly sorry. It was an accident, you know that don't you?" Again the guard squawked with alarm.

Kellerman's fingers connected. She found what she was looking for, and she didn't waste another second. She raised Kim's pistol and started firing. It was only a little pistol, a nine millimeter at the most. She held the gun high and kept pumping the trigger, until the magazine ran empty. Mr. Screechy went down on his knees, his horrible devilish eyes popping wider and wider, until it seemed as though his wretched soul was been drawn out of his body through his contorted face. The AK went off, riding upwards, as a wide, arcing muzzle flash consuming everything in its path. Bullets cut the air. Kellerman dived low, trying to put Kim's slight body between her and the scything bullets. As she pressed her face against the hard metal floor, the rearing machine gun pulled free of the guard's dead fingers and clattered to the floor.

Her ears still ringing from the gunfire, Kellerman didn't pause, even for a short moment. Soon the other guards would arrive. There would be too many for her to handle alone. She had to go back below and release the crew. Maybe that way she would be able to even up the odds a little-a fighting chance was better than no chance at all. She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the AK-47 and rummaged through the fallen guards pockets, until she found three magazines. That amount of ammo would last no time at all, but it was better than nothing. She snapped a fresh magazine into the weapon, and headed back down the stairs. She didn't get far. A commotion was gathering below, the sound of angry shouts and feet pounding towards her. Kellerman took a quick glance over the edge of the gangway to the deck below-more running figures than she could count and one man staring back up at her, along the barrel of a rifle. As soon as he caught sight of her, he opened up on full-auto. She fell back behind the metal gangway but it offered little protection against the heavy penetrating rounds. Bullets cut into the superstructure, whistling and clattering and tearing through anything that blocked their path.

Kellerman scooched back on her a.s.s, moving against the far edge of the stairwell, she couldn't stay here, she was out numbered by a wide margin and her enemies knew exactly where she was. She had to make a move, or she would be dead in minutes. There was no going back the way she had come, so her plan to release the prisoners would have to wait, at least for the moment. But where else could she go? If she moved upstairs into the bridge, she might buy herself a few precious minutes at the most. But then she would be trapped, surrounded on all sides by hostiles hungering for her blood. h.e.l.l, if only she had thought this through, maybe then she would have gotten herself the chance of an out. Kellerman took a deep breath. She felt anger rus.h.i.+ng through her, pumping faster with every second. There was no way she was going to die like this. These b.a.s.t.a.r.ds had taken over her s.h.i.+p. Not only that, they had shot Captain alvares, murdered Jennings and Scotty Gehringer, and blown away that cranky a.s.sed boozehound Buchanan as well. Man she missed that guy. Kellerman almost couldn't believe she was admitting such a thing, but that big ugly looking dope had been kind of fun to be around- even if he was an insufferable p.r.i.c.k at times. The anger surged, filling her head with an adrenaline rush so powerful she could barely stand it. If she was going to die, she wouldn't go out cowering in a stinking bullet-riddled stair well, she would go out like Buchanan, with the roar of gunfire ringing through every part of her being. Kellerman stood up then, angled her AK-47 over the edge of the gantry and let rip. She held tight to the stock of the weapon as it roared and blazed and bucked wildly, like some demon possessed. She kept the barrel moving, hosing the deck below with a hail of bullets. As the magazine ran dry and the last smoking cartridge cases fell down around her feet, Kellerman made a break for it, hobbling up the staircase just as fast as her bruised and battered body would allow. She nearly tripped over the corpse of the guard she had shot only minutes before. He wasn't going anywhere, but Captain Kim it seemed was-he was dazed for sure-but struggling to regain his composure. He stared at her, his thin, coal-black eyes struggling to draw focus, as his pale fish-belly skin glistened with perspiration. He grabbed for her, but Kellerman spun the rifle fast and cracked him hard in the middle of the forehead. The heavy wooden stock of the AK-47 carved an ugly red weal across Kim's face and the impact sent him down like a ten-pin skittle. But Kellerman didn't stop, she struggled onwards, climbing higher and higher.

A steady rattle of gunfire was crackling up the stairwell behind her now. The guards below were moving up one flight of stairs at a time, pausing at every corner to unleash a murderous hail of bullets. They weren't taking any chances. Kellerman kept climbing, moving upwards more slowly now, as her lungs burned and her muscles screamed out for rest. There would be no rest, just a jagged and brutal climax into total exhaustion- but she had to keep fighting-just had to, there was no way she could let these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds win. She sagged against the handrail and gave a savage little laugh-if she was really going to die, she would take as many of these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds with her as possible. She turned and sent two short bursts rattling down the stair well. That would give them something to think about-let them know she was still in the game.

Kellerman caught her breath, and popped the last magazine into her weapon. Maybe, if she made it to the bridge, she could get an emergency SOS out over the radio? Help if it came would be too late to save her, but there was a chance that the rest of the crew might get lucky. If they barricaded themselves into the mess hall, they might just be able to hold out long enough-a slim hope, but it was all she had. As her head swirled under a barrage of thoughts, she heard the renewed clatter of footsteps on the stairs, approaching fast and with more confidence now. Soon they would be upon her. Kellerman c.o.c.ked her weapon, and headed up the final flight, to the bridge. As she turned the corner, there was a man waiting for her, he was poised at a half crouch, his weapon ready to fire. When he saw her, he opened up immediately and didn't stop until he had cycled through the full 30 round box. At a hundred rounds a minute on full auto an AK-47 cycles through a full magazine of ammo in seconds. Kellerman danced back behind the steel bulkhead and closed her eyes. She didn't mean to close her eyes, it just happened that way, like she was following some kind of G.o.d given impulse, a preordained directive guaranteeing her survival. The firing stopped momentarily. Kellerman moved out of her hiding place, with her gun leveled. The thug at the wheelhouse door was fumbling with a fresh magazine, trying unsuccessfully to snap it into his weapon. When he saw Kellerman standing there, his eyes opened wide with panic. He threw the heavy rifle towards her and turned heel, disappearing through the door that led to the bridge.

Moving forwards with quick steps, Kellerman hurried after him, moving through the door to the bridge. The place was a real mess, the floor covered with blood and a thick carpet of cartridge cases. And standing amongst the detritus, at the point where Captain alvares usually kept watch, the gunman turned to face her, his dark eyes bulging crazily. "You are going to die American." He gave a reckless laugh like that newsflash statement gave him a great deal of satisfaction.

Kellerman said nothing, just kept coming with her rifle held high and ready.

"You kill me it doesn't matter. You lost already." He gave a smug little smile his sticky little hands half raised, in a sign of capitulation. The dude looked kind of jumpy, like a guilty conscience gang member caught red-handed.

Kellerman paused, keeping the rifle high.

"You let me go now, or hold me prisoner? What's it going to be, b.i.t.c.h? When my friends get here, we will carve you up good." He laughed again, a sick perverted laugh, that gave Kellerman the chills. He stopped laughing quick and reached behind his back.

The AK went off loud and explosive. A short burst at close range that rolled the gunman off his feet and sent him spinning across the floor. Kellerman looked down at the corpse. Buchanan had been right, automatic weapons can make a real mess of a person. A feeling of revulsion swept through her. Then, she saw his snub nosed automatic on the floor identical to the one Captain Kim had been carrying. He would have shot her for sure. She turned away. Not pausing for a moment longer, Kellerman set to work. She slammed the door leading to the stairwell and shot the bolt. Next, she made a fast a.s.sessment of the s.h.i.+ps electrical systems. Everything was down, navigation, satcoms, the works. She reached into the junction box and flipped the breakers. Sparks arced out of the navigation consul and a handful of breakers snapped back into the off position-but the satcom rig was still live. Kellerman popped the SOS beacon switch, and picked up the radio hand set, dialing into the international emergency channel. She flipped transmit and spoke in a cracked tone that sounded so unlike her own voice she surprised herself.

Then the banging started.

The pirates were outside the door. Dead static on the radio.

An angry fusillade of gunshots bouncing against the door.

More dead static.

Kellerman repeated her message, speaking into the radio handset with more urgency now, detailing position coordinates, and course, "This is NOAA research vessel Nautilus, we have been taken over by armed men, SOS I repeat SOS." She pressed the receive b.u.t.ton.

There was a long pause, as the static played back across the dead air. Then a hard serious voice cut through the distortion, "This is NESDIS Data center in Silver Spring Maryland, We are receiving you Nautilus over."

"You've got to send help, send it now, our situation is desperate, repeat desperate, the s.h.i.+p has been taken over by hostiles, all hands dead or captured, I am the last hold out against the attack, but I don't know how much longer I will be able to fight them off..."

Again, the dead static hiss engulfed the room.

Kellerman threw the handset down and stepped back against the wheel consul. They had either heard her message or they hadn't and either way it was too late. Soon they would be through the door. By the time help arrived, her future would be certain. Kellerman raised the AK-47 and stood ready. She flipped the selector to fully automatic. When those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds finally broke through the door, they would be in for one h.e.l.l of a shock.

The banging continued-multiple metallic objects bouncing against the outside rim of the door, like they were trying to smash it off its hinges with sledgehammers.

Kellerman felt the cold chill of perspiration running out of every pore in her body. She adjusted the grip on the AK. Her fingers were hot and clammy. She caressed the edge of the trigger guard with her index finger and took a deep breath to keep the jitters at bay. It was no use-the suspense was so excruciating, every part of her being screamed out in protest.

Then, an explosion outside, a blast so loud and unexpected she staggered backwards, as the pressure wave buckled the door and sent broken cracks arcing across the heavy reinforced windows on the side of the bridge.

There was a long reverberating pause. The banging had stopped.

Finally, as Kellerman stood ready with her finger balancing on the trigger of her weapon, the giant door swung open. Smoke shrouded daylight filtered slowly into the room.

A head emerged around the corner of the doorframe.

"So what in the wild-tarnation are you waiting for? Let's get the h.e.l.l out of here."

"Buchanan!"

"Who in the h.e.l.l do you think it would be, the Dali Lama?" A short burst of gunfire erupted from the deck below, then another. Bullets bounced off the side of the bridge and went whining off into the distance. "Would you stop gaping? We have got to get out of here and now." Buchanan dropped the rocket propelled grenade launcher on to the floor of the bridge and unslung his M16."

"I thought you were dead. I thought-"

Buchanan frowned. "Would you stop your yap sweet-cakes? And quit pointing that G.o.dd.a.m.n commie-cannon at me would you?" Buchanan turned, and unleashed a furious burst of gunfire over the bridge gantry towards the deck below. Then he looked back and said, "If you want to keep breathing we best go now."

53.

Los Angeles, California Driving along Santa Monica Boulevard towards Beverly Hills, Reed Goodman came to a halt and began to tap his fingers on the steering wheel. Traffic was bad today, even by the log-jammed standards of Los Angeles. In the distance he could see the 405 Freeway bridge stretching high across the boulevard. Horns blared, engines revved and a smog of frustration filtered in from every gridlocked side street and slip road in a twenty- block radius.

"Are we nearly there yet daddy?" Carly was riding high in the pa.s.senger seat. She probably shouldn't have been, but Reed figured She was a big girl now, so what harm could it do?"

Reed twisted his lips thoughtfully. "That all depends sweetheart."

Carly furrowed her brow. "On what? Why can't we go to the beach?"

"Well, the President of the United States is in town to meet up with his friends, so we are all going to have to be patient, for a little while at least."

"The President has friends?"

"Sure he does sweetheart, they all get to hang out at his little clubhouse and talk about dull stuff like the economy."

"Why can't he do all that boring stuff in Was.h.i.+ngton?"

Reed turned to Carly and said, "Is there something wrong with your iPad?"

"The batteries are down," said Carly. She looked back at Reed, her amber eyes melting into him, "You should have taken Olympic. Olympic would have been much quicker."

"No doubt. If you reach into the glove box I have a spare charger in there," Reed said. He gave her a rea.s.suring smile and looked into her big eyes, Christ, she looked just like her mother.

Carly pouted, "If we had headed down the beach we wouldn't be sitting here would we?" Reed nodded in slow agreement, all the while keeping a look out at the motionless vehicles that hemmed them in. "I guess you are right, but we have to pick up your mom, her car is in the shop, remember?" Julia had rear-ended her SL550 into the back of Sparkletts water truck five days earlier.

The Mercedes still wasn't fixed, which meant Reed had extra chauffeur duties to add to his ever- burgeoning schedule of house husbandry. "Julia isn't my mom."

"Be nice Carly, let's make pretend, like we talked about remember?"

"But she told me she wasn't my mom,"

pouted Carly. "She said she didn't want to be." Reed had heard this one before. Carly was pus.h.i.+ng b.u.t.tons. She liked to do that when things weren't going her way. Instead of getting mad, Reed considered this revelation for some moments then said, "What she probably meant by that darling is that no one will ever be able to replace you real mom. But Julia is our special friend right? And while she might not be your birth mom, she tries super hard to be your friend doesn't she?" Carly didn't acknowledge. She rummaged around in the glove box looking for the iPad charger. When at last she found it, she discovered to her delight that it was tangled around a half open packet of Life Savers rainbow candy. Pretty soon, her fingers were sticky and her checks bulging, as she chomped on her freshly discovered booty. Reed watched her as she plugged in the iPad charger. Her sticky little fingers were leaving prints everywhere. G.o.d only knew what kind of miracle liquid he would need to clean up a mess like that. Finally, she sensed him looking at her and she threw him a gooey pink smile.

"You do know that hard candy will turn your teeth black, don't you?"

Carly shrugged and said, "Let's listen to some music."

Reed gave her a tight look, Carly's ideas about music, differed widely from his. She liked to jump around to that cheesy teen beat electro music, where all the songs blended into each other and all the singers-if you could call them that-had the same whining little helium voices, so emasculated you could hardly tell if they were male or female.

Too-late-Carly's sticky little fingers were already crawling all over the front of the sound system. Reed cringed. He opened up the armrest and offered Carly a handful of wet wipes. "Hey, would you clean your hands off before you filthy up anything more?"

Carly rolled her eyes and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the tissues. She made a big pantomime of cleaning off her hands and face, whilst Reed readjusted the sound system with a cautious finger-the b.u.t.tons were sticky to the touch. Suddenly, the sound of KNX1070 News filled the cab.

"Borrrring!" trilled Carly.

"Give me a break would you honey? If we listen to the news for five minutes we might get some kind of idea on what's happening with the traffic situation."

Carly pulled a face and made a razzing

noise.

Reed turned up the volume. The radio pundit had a baritone rumble that made everything he said sound like a movie trailer. Reed figured the dude must inhale a steady diet of scotch and cigars to get a voice as rough-edged as that.

The guy with the cigars voice was talking world news-more trouble in the Middle East and trade deficit figures with China that sounded like they would never come good. Reed's heart sank.

Why was the world always in such a d.a.m.n mess?

With all the smart minds and money and technology, why were things sinking lower every single day? It just didn't make sense.

Carly had her face at the window now, probably pulling a face at the poor guy in the next car. Reed chose to ignore her. Very slowly the car in front inched forward, then stopped abruptly, gaining so little ground it was hardly worth closing the gap. Reed let the SUV roll forwards anyway. If you left any kind of gap in this city some a.s.s-hat in a semi-rig would try to roll into it, then park up for the duration.

The radio blared adverts-snake-oil medicines, insurance and junk food-the sort of useless c.r.a.p no one would choose to buy without the constant drip, drip of the ad agency call to arms.

Finally, the dude with the baritone voice was back and he sounded more than usually full of himself- We have traffic chaos in West Los Angeles today listeners, from LAX to Western Avenue, from the 105 to Mulholland Drive, traffic is at a standstill. The reason, the G20 summit of world leaders is having a get together right here in the City of Angels. Reed groaned, listening as the announcer detailed the reason for the snafu, apparently the arrival of so many important heads of state required road closures across a wide area, causing the already heavily clogged roads to become gridlocked with traffic that had been diverted away from the affected area. There is an extra heavy volume of traffic along Santa Monica Boulevard, Wils.h.i.+re Boulevard, and on Lincoln in the Marina Del Rey area. Continued the announcer. The world leaders will meet for lunch at the Jonathan Club in Santa Monica, before moving on to Beverly Hills later this evening.

"Aw, goody, the President is going to the beach!" said Carly, as she bounced in her seat. "Maybe we will see him daddy. Do you think he will bring his surfboard?"

"I am not sure that the President is the surfing type honey. Besides, with traffic the way it is, we will be lucky if we get over to pick Julia up, let alone drive back to the beach. Wouldn't you rather get some ice-cream and see a movie?"

"They only show babies movies during the holidays daddy. Besides, I can't eat ice cream, it's fattening. Didn't you know that?"

"Who told you that?"

"Julia," said Carly, with a happy smile. Reed Goodman nodded slowly, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel, "I think what Julia meant to say was that if you eat too much, too often it might not be too good for you, but a little bit once in a while isn't going to do any harm, right?"