HDA - Living in Darkness Trilogy - Pt 2 - The Search

Michael touched a finger lightly to her lips. "All you said was fact. It's true. The density of the earth's core, the weight of the tectonic plates, even the depths of the oceans negate the possibility of an inner earth."

"So what's your real job?"

"I used to be an archeologist." Michael gestured her to an old wooden armchair with brocade upholstery, then sat down at his desk with a sigh.

"Used to be?" queried Ariel, sounding puzzled.

"In the face of opposition, I'm afraid I tucked tail and ran."

"What opposition?" Ariel sat down carefully in the old chair and cocked her head to one side.

Michael stared at the desk blotter, barely visible under the myriad papers and books. Without thinking, he asked, "Ever heard of Graham Hancock?"

Ariel shook her head. "No. Is he an archeologist?"

"An historian. He believes that before recorded history, before that final cataclysm, there existed a great civilization."

She sat back in her chair. "Like Robert E. Howard?"

This time Michael stared at her, startled. "That's fiction but...you read his stuff?"

She nodded. "Yes. Why wouldn't I? It's fantasy."

Michael cleared his throat, puzzled. She remembered novels but not her name. "Most women are turned off by the neanderthal methods."

"I like King Kull better than Conan." Ariel shrugged it off and focused on what they'd been talking about. "Anyway, this great civilization left no written records?"

"None have been found."

Ariel studied him for a moment. "You believe this civilization did exist, don't you."

"Yes. And I believe that's where the tale of Atlantis--and Mu and Lemuria--came from."

"Why?"

"Because none of them have ever been found."

"What about the theory that we're looking in the wrong body of water?"

"Not proven conclusively. No. They never truly existed."

Ariel stared at him. "You think this great civilization told this fictional tale of Atlantis?"

"Yes." He cocked his eyebrow at her. "You don't?"

"I don't know, Michael." A cold flagstone floor, flames flickering...ateth uban...She shivered for the images were strong.

"Ariel? Are you okay?" asked Michael.

Hearing Michael from across the shop, Quinn came over a slight frown on his face. He looked down at Ariel. "You okay?"

"No," said Ariel, suddenly. She shot to her feet as anger and frustration and fear welled up to the surface. "It's not okay. I'm not okay. I can't remember!" She slumped back into the chair, suddenly exhausted and felt the overwhelming urge to cry.

Michael nodded. "Sometimes we resort to trite and meaningless words when we feel inadequate, Ariel. If I could wave a magic wand and your memory returned, I would, I assure you."

Quinn crouched down to her eye level and absently tucked a strand of auburn hair behind one ear, noticing the diamond stud earring and the tiny delicate heart dangle earring just below it, amazed they'd survived her fall into the water. "I'm sorry."

Ariel swallowed hard. "No...please don't apologize. You've clothed me, fed me, cared for me. No, you've done all you can."

Michael stared at her for a long moment in the sudden silence. Was there just a hint of an accent? Much fainter than Joely's. Not French but..."We don't mean to be patronizing."

Ariel turned just then and met his gaze directly. Something in his expression seemed oddly familiar and it made her heart ache. "I know. Sorry, I exploded."

Michael smiled. "I would have done far worse."

"That's for sure," muttered Quinn.

Their bickering had a familiarness to it--and it put her at ease. Seh relaxed in her chair. "Tell me more about your theory."

"Good God, not again," exclaimed Quinn, standing up.

Michael shrugged. "You could always go. I see Alethea left. Go on with you now."

Ariel nodded. "If you have something--" her lips quirked upward--"pressing, don't let me hinder you."

"No fair," said Michael. "You've known her for a day and already you have private jokes?"

"Blame Al."

"I could make a list as long as my arm and then some."

Quinn groaned. "Don't start that again."

Ariel managed a smile. "I'll behave."

"I'm not worried about you. I'm worried about him."

"I'll behave, Quinn. Scout's honor. Now go away."

Quinn glanced at Ariel who nodded. "Fine," he said. "I know when I'm not wanted."

"That'd be a first."

Quinn stopped at the door. "I heard that."

Ariel watched him leave. She couldn't explain it, but she felt so comfortable here, surrounded by that peculiar musty smell old books accumulated. "I like it here. Ever thought of putting in a little cappucino shop?"

"Actually, I have. Think it will go over?"

"I don't see why not."

Michael nodded. "Indeed. You're right."

"So where are you and Nick from?"

"New Mexico. Alburquerque to be exact."

"Oldest town in the state, right? Isn't that where that church is? The one with the staircase?"

"Yes." Michael straightened a stack of papers on his desk. How was it that she remembered obscure things and not who she was. And that accent...

"It gives me chills."

Michael shifted in his chair, recalling the mysterious carpenter who built the stairs up to the choir loft without a single nail on a cold Christmas Eve. "Me too. Do you think it's true?"

"Isn't the staircase proof enough? Our world abounds with mysteries--the ancient crystal skulls, Stonehenge, the fact that the king's chamber of the Great Pyramid is not only empty but devoid of any heiroglyphs or paintings."

Michael was amazed at her knowledge, especially since she couldn't remember her own name apparently. "True. Something tells me you're an historian."

Ariel paused. "I....don't think so. I don't know."

Michael arched an eyebrow at her. "Something also tells me you have a lot of trivia stored in that brain of yours."

She looked away, embarrassed. After a moment, she cleared her throat. "So who is Nicholas Quinn?"

Michael grinned. "The only child of missionaries, spent the better part of his growing up in Kenya."

Ariel went very still. A jungle came to mind, hot, sultry. She could feel the thick handle of a knife in one hand, saw blue eyes..."Kenya?"

Michael nodded. "Yep. He didn't come back to Alburquerque until his grandmother passed away. That's when he got the surprise of a lifetime."

"What?"

"His grandmother had been sole owner of Hathaway Shipping based here in Paris. With her death, the company was his."

Ariel fiddled with the hem of her shorts for a moment, then looked over at him. "And what about you?"

Michael shifted in his chair again. "What about me?"

"How'd you wind up being an archeologist?"

"Kind of fell into it." Michael shrugged, then grinned. "Literally."

Ariel found herself smiling. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I was in Nova Scotia. I guess I was twenty-one, twenty-two. Fell into an excavation pit."

Ariel laughed. "So what did you discover?"

"Absolutely zilch." Michael sighed. "Mel was nice enough to let me stay, help out. That's where I got bitten by the archeological bug. Then I went to Egypt and met Sheldon Reeves. He taught me all I needed to know."

Ariel stood up, touched the spines of the books on the nearest shelf. "It's so relaxing here."

"Well, there's no hurry to leave. I live upstairs. You can stay as long as you like." Michael got to his feet.

Ariel turned to find him right behind her. "I wouldn't want to impose."

Michael found it hard not to give into temptation and kiss her. "No imposition." He stuffed his hands in his jeans' pockets to keep from touching her shoulders, from holding her. "I'd like the company."

Ariel searched his face, then smiled. "You've convinced me. I'll stay. Till closing."

Michael grinned. "Till closing."

***

Nicholas Quinn decided to go talk to Du Bois. The man was a fount of news and gossip, even better than Michael sometimes. He drove to the glass and steel tower. Hathaway Shipping headquarters was on the fifteenth floor. He showed his pass, parked in the underground garage and headed up to the fifteenth floor.

Alexander Du Bois looked up as he entered the outer office. "Ah, Nicholas, hello."

"Hello, Alexander." Nicholas nodded politely to the secretary, a pretty petite blond. "Alexander, do you have a moment?"

"Of course. Come this way." Alexander led the way into his office and shut the door after Nicholas had entered. "Is something wrong?"

Nick took a deep breath, noticed that Alexander looked quite concerned. "It's not about the company, everything's going smoothly thanks to you." He shook his head. "No. I pulled a girl from the river this morning."

"Mon Dieu, is she all right?"

"Yes, but she can't remember anything. Is there anything in the news about a missing person or something?"

Alexander gave an exaggerated sigh and walked around to his desk chair behind the massive cherry wood desk. "You never read the paper, do you?"

"Trying to read French gives me a headache."

"But surely you know of the kidnapping?"

Quinn arched an eyebrow. "What kidnapping? Who?"

"One week ago, a young woman was kidnapped. When her father followed the demands of the ransom, he discovered she had disappeared."

Quinn narrowed his eyes. "Disappeared? How?"

"No one knows, Nicholas. It is believed that she was killed and the kidnappers gave the wrong place."

Quinn's gaze fell on the thick newspaper folded neatly on the corner of Alexander's desk. "Is there a picture?"

"Non," said Alexander with a shake of his head. He gestured to the paper. "Do you wish to hear the story?"

Quinn shook his head. He didn't like trying to read French because the verbs tended to come before the nouns and that confused him. He could barely manage speaking it. But if he had to--if it was a life or death situation, he could force himself. Having Alexander read for him would be nothing short of embarrassing. "No, that's okay. But who was the woman kidnapped?"

"Cassandra MacFairlaigne. Her father is one floor above us, owns MacFairlaigne Software Inc. Do you wish to talk to him?"

"What if I'm wrong? What if this woman isn't his daughter. I'd hate to get his hopes up only to dash them down. Hopefully, she will remember soon."

Alexander didn't look too pleased with the answer. He sighed. "Hopefully."

***

19 May 2003

Paris, France

6:45 pm

"That was by no means a wise move, Monsieur MacFairlaigne."

Liam MacFairlaigne glared back at the younger man. "Look, Inspector, I want my daughter back."

"Dead or alive, Monsieur?"

Liam's temper flared. "Damn you--"

"Forgive me, Monsieur, I was merely being realistic." Inspector Francois Dupre' clasped his hands behind his back and gazed absently at his reflection in the bank of windows behind MacFairlaigne, turned to mirrors by the night beyond them. "You see, Monsieur, talking to the press may have put Mademoiselle MacFairlaigne's life in more danger. Especially if she managed to escape her captors."

For some bizarre reason, Liam hadn't thought of that. Bizarre considering some of his daughter's prior adventures. He sighed and sank into his leather desk chair. "I just want her home, Inspector," he said wearily. Odd again, he realized. For Casi, home wasn't Paris. "Safe. I want her safe."

"Understandable, Monsieur, but talking to reporters is not the way to guarantee her safety."

Liam took a deep breath. Casi was his precocious child, the eldest of twins by nine minutes. She was alternately his daredevil and his dreamer. What had been her excuse all those years ago? ...'But, Dad, Dee needed my help. I could't let him get away with it'.. He flashed back to two months ago. ...'I can't lose him, Dad.'..

Dupre' studied the older man, taking in the green eyes, the black hair fading to silver at the temples. "Monsieur, from what I have gleaned from you and Madame MacFairlaigne, your daughter is resourceful, non?"

Liam actually managed a laugh. "That's putting it mildly."

Dupre nodded, enjoying the quiet. Outside, there was still the noise and bustle of cars and tourists. "Assuredly, no one in the morgue resembles your daughter. Therefore it is reasonable to assume she is still alive. And very possibly--how do you say it--on the lam?"

"And your point is, Inspector?"

"Please, Monsieur, no more discussions with the press. It may keep her alive."

Liam sighed again. "Okay, okay. Merci, Inspector, bonsour."

"Bonsour, Monsieur," said the inpector with a nod as he left. Liam leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Thirty years, he realized. Thirty years ago, he'd supervised the first branching out of MacFairliagne Software--MacFairlaigne Computers, then--from Boston to Paris.

His thoughts were full of his four children--now grown. Sensible, rocksteady Donovan was now head of MSI-Orlando and happily married for the last four months. Marcus--whom he'd dispaired of ever taking life seriously--was lead singer in a popular music group. Catherine, the quiet one who loved history as much as her mother, worked at the Smithsonian and had just returned home from her honeymoon. And Cassandra was renowned as a talented science-fantasy novelist. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. "Where are you, Cassandra Michelle?" The silence mocked him and his heart felt heavy with worry.

"Liam?"

He turned to see his wife come into his office. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, her blue silk blouse tucked into khaki slacks. "Liam, are you all right?"

"I--" He got up and met her halfway. "It's what I always feared."

Alannah touched his cheek. "We worried when Casi played detective, even after we'd begged her not to. But this is so different."

"Is it? Who knows what she was up to. It's not uncommon for her to find trouble in the unlikeliest of places--like a writers' conference."

Alannah stiffened in his arms and stepped back. "You know full well why."

Damn, how could he have forgotten? "MacKensey." He wanted to hate the man. MacKensey wasn't good enough for his daughter. "I ought to knock some sense into him."

Alannah shifted her gaze to the windows. "Would it do any good? He walked away, Liam. He broke her heart." She gestured to the windows, to the outside world. "She was so preoccupied because of it, she had no interest in the writers' conference."

Liam sighed softly. "Did you see them at Cat's wedding, love?" he asked softly, memories coming back like a flood. Without his realizing it, his Irish lilt came out stronger than before. "The two of them walkin' down the aisle...Sometimes I dream of the future, love. Despite everything, they're perfect for each other." A smile tugged at his lips. "When they're not fightin'"

Alannah shook her head. "Catherine told me he's done it before. Walked out on her. I don't think so."

Liam pulled her to him, kissed her forehead. "Love, ours wasn't one for the books either."

Alannah grunted, remembering the arguments, the breakups, the getting back together. "It doesn't mean it will work out for them."

Liam smiled gently and kissed her. "Now none of that, love. When Fate decrees it, there's no changin' it. Even when it looks to be a disaster."

Alannah rested her head on his shoulder and tried not to cry. Cassandra deserved much better than a man who'd walked out on her twice. Oh God, where was her daughter?

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.