Lemuria by Burt Clinchandhill (epub e ink reader TXT) 📕

don’t think that’s a guard.” De Cremonese pointed to the short, chubby man as he rose from his chair on the pier.

“You might be right about that,” Bishop confirmed as the man took off his sunglasses and replaced them for a pair of round, nerdy-looking eyeglasses.

Bishop shaped his hands like a megaphone and shouted, “Hello.”

“Are you lost?” the man shouted back.

“I don’t think so.” Bishop turned to De Cremonese. “What do we say?”

“Um, good question. Tell him we’re looking for Eldin Mulder.”

Bishop shook his head. “What?”

“Why not?”

“All right.” Bishop shaped his hands again. “We’re looking for Eldin Mulder.”

For a long moment, the man on the other side of the lake stayed silent. “There’s no Mulder here,” he finally yelled back.

“Do you mind if we come over to your side and talk to you for a moment?” Bishop hollered.

“You’re on private property. I’d like you to leave now.” The man sat down again and calmly ignored the two intruders as he reeled in his fishing line.

“What do we do now?” De Cremonese asked. “We can’t just barge in.” He paused for a moment. “Or can we?”

“Maybe. But first, let’s try something else.” Bishop shaped his hands once more. “We know about Amie,” he shouted over the water.

On the other side of the pond, the man casually laid down his rod and looked across the water for a long moment. Then he rose from his chair. “What do you know about Amie?”

“Hook, line and sinker,” Bishop said quietly. Then, he shaped his hands around his mouth once again and shouted, “We’ll be right there.”

“I don’t understand.” De Cremonese stroked his beard.

“Neither do I,” Bishop answered. “But he knows something about something, so let’s see what that something is.”

“True,” De Cremonese nodded.

They got back into the car and drove around the pond. Bishop parked the Jeep next to the cabin on the empty driveway.

“A lot of parking space and no car,” De Cremonese noticed.

“You saw that too?”

Pretending to be focused on his fishing rod, the man on the pier didn’t turn or rise from his chair when the two men neared him.

“Hello,” Bishop said as they stopped behind him. “Anything worth catching?”

“Who are you?” the man said, keeping his back turned to them.

“I’m Matthew Bishop, professor at Yale University, and this is my friend and colleague, Lamberto De Cremonese.”

“Some bass and an occasional pike. What do you know about Amie?” the man asked.

“Um,” Bishop stammered.

“You said you knew about Amie? What did you mean?”

“To be honest,” Bishop continued, “we’re looking for Eldin Mulder, and we got your address through his office.”

“True,” De Cremonese added.

“I find it hard to believe that someone at Eldin Mulder’s office would give you my address.”

“Do you know Amie Coleman is missing?” De Cremonese asked.

The man shifted to the edge of his seat. “What do you mean, missing?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“She disappeared more than a week ago, and an organization called the Young Earth Movement claimed her abduction. They demanded Eldin Mulder’s retreat from all his activities in the fields of artificial intelligence and gene-based therapies. They even stated a deadline that expired several days ago.”

“He finally did it,” the man mumbled.

“What did you say?” Bishop asked.

“Nothing,” the man replied as he stared into the tree line on the other side of the pond. Then he rose from his chair, and the pale man turned. “I think we better talk inside,” he said, pointing to the cabin.

The inside of the cabin was dark, the only light filtering in through the two tiny windows onto the dark brown woodwork.

“Tea?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

“Yes, please.”

The man disappeared through a door in the back of the room.

“Wow.” De Cremonese examined the walls that, from top to bottom, were filled with books. As he ran his fingers along the rows, he noticed all the classics by Shakespeare, Melville, Bunyan, Swift, Shelley, Dickens, Twain and many more. He also saw books by famed writers in his favorite genre, such as Le Guin, Asimov, Heinlein, Clark, and Dick. “That’s quite a collection,” he told Bishop.

“I think there are many libraries that would be jealous of it,” Bishop confirmed.

“Looks like a lot of first editions too,” De Cremonese noticed.

“I only started reading and collecting when I moved here a little over ten years ago,” the man said as he came back into the room. “I was never much of a reader before that. I guess I never had the time or, rather, gave it the time. Please sit down.” He pointed to two chairs in front of a large fireplace. “Oliver Lancaster,” he said as he sat down opposite them.

De Cremonese frowned.

“That’s my name.”

“Oh, sorry,” De Cremonese replied. “I figured as much, but I was wondering where I came across that name recently.”

“I couldn’t say,” the man responded.

“But you know Amie Coleman?” De Cremonese asked.

Lancaster nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“Does the name Jennifer Porter ring a bell?” Bishop asked.

Lancaster thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Can’t say it does. But tell me, how did you find me here?”

De Cremonese smiled. “That’s a bit of a long story, but it ended with a menu list from the Logynous Eye restaurant that had your ZIP code on it.”

“The damn paper trail,” Lancaster replied.

“Excuse me?” De Cremonese asked.

“Here I am, ten years in hiding from any form of publicity or public awareness, by rejecting all electronic devices. No phones, computers, or email, and yet, here you are, based on an address on a piece of paper. You know I choose paper over email in order not to be traced?”

“Who are you?” Bishop asked.

“First things first,” Lancaster answered, pointing a finger in the air. “What is your interest in Amie Coleman, and what do you know about her disappearance?”

“All we know about her disappearance is what we saw on TV and read in the newspapers,” De Cremonese answered.

“I don’t have a TV, no radio, no cable, no Internet and I don’t get any newspapers,” Lancaster replied.

Bishop looked around the room. Indeed, there wasn’t any sign of modern communication