The Tourist Trail by John Yunker Page A

time—time to watch Angela from a distance, time to gather more resources. He walked to the water’s edge and scanned the length of the beach, as if he might find Aeneas. He saw only penguins.
    Lynda approached. Her dour expression matched how Robert felt. “He’s gone,” Robert said.
    â€œSo’s our ship.”
    â€œThe Tern ?”
    â€œWhat other ship is there?”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œA few minutes after we left.”
    â€œWhy didn’t the harbormaster call us?”
    â€œHe’s been trying. That crap phone is acting up again.”
    â€œThe chains should have slowed them down.”
    â€œHe told me the chains had already been sliced through, or he would have tried to stop them himself. They must have accomplished that little task when we weren’t looking. I’d love to know how we missed that one.”
    Robert thought back to the night he nodded off, how the cover of a cruise ship would have given them the time they needed to torch through the chains, at least enough to easily break free when the opportunity arose. Aeneas was one step ahead even then. Or, more accurately, Robert was one step behind.
    â€œThat’s it then,” Lynda said. “He’s gone. Headed south.” She pulled a camera out of her shoulder bag, crouched, and focused on a pair of penguins under a bush.
    â€œYou don’t seem all that disappointed.”
    â€œSure, I’m disappointed. I’m spending my Christmas vacation standing around here with you instead of being at home with my old man. But I’m going to make the best of it.” Her camera flashed.
    â€œDon’t you think it’s odd how they always seem to know what we’re doing before we do it?” Robert asked.
    â€œMaybe they’re just good,” Lynda said, now taking a picture of Robert.
    He held a hand in front of her lens. “A little too good.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œYou tell me,” Robert said. “I’m not the one who suggested there was someone working on the inside.”
    Lynda lowered the camera and studied him. Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, I see. I’m the mole, is that what you’re implying? I let Aeneas slip out of Miami. I tipped him off before we boarded the ship. Maybe I even helped out with the chains during my shift yesterday. And let’s not forget that flat tire I engineered. You know, Bobby, I wasn’t going to do this to you, but you leave me no choice.”
    Lynda moved toward him then, quickly, as if preparing to strike, and Robert took a step backward. But instead of punching him, she held a photograph up to his face. It was badly faded and creased down the middle, but Robert recognized the two people standing in the frame. A woman and a man, both in their twenties, sunburnt and smiling, standing on the rear deck of a ship, holding the tattered remnants of a fishing net.
    â€œCare to tell me what this is about?”
    â€œWhere’d you get that?” Robert grabbed the photo.
    â€œWhere do you think? On the bulletin board in the bridge of the Arctic Tern . Back when we boarded her. Now, I may not be smart enough for the D.C. office, but I know when I smell a mole.”
    â€œI was undercover.”
    â€œAnd I’m Mary fucking Poppins.”
    â€œI’m serious. How do you think I know what Aeneas looks like? I was working undercover as a deckhand.”
    â€œWhy were you there?”
    â€œWe were looking for someone who had been torching animal testing labs and mink farms. Someone on Aeneas’ crew. Went by the name of Darwin.”
    â€œBut you let Aeneas get away,” she said.
    â€œI wasn’t after Aeneas. I was after Darwin.”
    â€œSo I take it, by the stunning lack of documentation in your report, that things didn’t end so well?”
    â€œYou could take it that way.”
    Robert looked out over the water. A row of five penguins stood on the