Sophie answered. “He lost a bet.”

Jack smiled at how disgruntled Sophie had sounded. “Yeah, I did.”

Zester didn’t ask for clarification. “How about I set you up with my deluxe two rooms with a bathroom in between? That’s the best I can offer.”

A few minutes later, after dropping their bags in their rooms, Jack and Sophie followed Zester into the small cafeteria. Sophie felt as though she were walking through an elongated mobile home. The lunchroom was small, sparse, and spotless.

“Meals are included in the price of your rooms,” Zester explained. “You missed lunch, but I can offer you some cold sandwiches. There’s always food, twenty-four/seven,” he added. “As far as drink, we’re dry here, so nothing stronger than coffee, tea, or soft drinks.”

Sophie asked for hot tea, and Jack wanted a Coke. While they ate their sandwiches, Zester called the policeman on duty and asked him to come over to the hotel.

He handed the phone to Jack and said, “Tim wants to talk to you.”

While Jack talked to the officer, Sophie used her cell to call Paul Larson. A recorded voice answered.

“Hi, Paul. It’s Sophie. Call me when you get this.”

Zester went back to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee for himself, and as soon as they were alone, Jack said, “Sophie, I’m still waiting to hear who Paul Larson is.”

“He’s with the security force here.”

“Okay. How do you know him?”

In his FBI mode his tone was no-nonsense.

“I told you about the policeman who called me to tell me they had found my business card in William Harrington’s sock.”

“I remember.”

“Not long after that call, Paul Larson contacted me.”

“How did he get your phone number?”

“Obviously he got it from the policeman who found my card.”

“Go on.”

She tilted her head and frowned. “Are you interrogating me?”

“Yeah, I am. Keep going.”

At least he was honest about it. “Paul’s been very helpful.”

“How helpful?”

“He called when they found Harrington’s wallet, and he explained where Harrington’s remains would go.”

“Anchorage.”

She nodded. “He didn’t have any idea why Harrington had decided to camp out in the wilderness, but he said he’d ask around and find out if anyone had talked to him.”

“He went to a lot of trouble for you, didn’t he?”

Was Jack jealous? Sophie immediately discarded the notion. “Why so grumpy?” she asked. “There’s probably not a lot to do up here when you’re not working, and he thought it was a mystery, too.”

“That Harrington would camp out—”

“Yes,” she said.

Jack sighed. “Why didn’t you mention Larson earlier?”

She shrugged. “I should have,” she said, then added, “You’ll like him. He’s very pleasant over the phone.”

“Yeah, right. Pleasant.” He shook his head. “You know what your problem is? You’re too damned trusting.”

“I trust you.”

“You should.”

Sophie didn’t know what to make of his attitude, but she decided to placate him. “I don’t trust Paul the way I trust you. He works for the security force here, so you know the powers that be have done a thorough background check.”

“You’re getting riled, sweetheart.”

The endearment flustered her. “I think I’ll go back to my room and unpack. I’ve got to charge my phone,” she said. “The battery’s low. Are you going to stay here?”

He nodded. “Don’t leave the hotel without me, all right?”

She glanced out the window. The snow was now coming down hard. Since she wouldn’t be able to see two feet in front of her if she went outside, that was an easy request to agree to. With the lack of sunlight, she could easily get disoriented and end up wandering in a snowstorm. There was also the possibility of running into Barry or one of his furry relatives.

Polar bears, up close and personal. She shivered thinking about it.

Sophie stopped at the front desk to ask Zester if he had heard of William Harrington.

“Everyone’s heard of him,” he said. “He’s the man Barry went after.”

She nodded. “Did you happen to meet Mr. Harrington, or do you know anyone who might have spoken to him?”

“I never met him,” he answered. “I didn’t hear that anyone around here did. He might have flown into Barrow and taken a small plane to Alaktak and headed west, or maybe he went to Nuiqsut or Umiat and headed east. His camp wasn’t too far from there. He was found close to the ocean, though, so I can’t really say how he got there.”

Sophie didn’t have any idea where Alaktak or the other towns were located. She had a map in her bag and would have to look them up.

“What about the Coben brothers? Do you know them?”

“Who?”

She repeated the name. “They’re trappers,” she explained, “and I heard secondhand that they had talked to Mr. Harrington.”

He nodded. “Could be. I’m only filling in here for a couple of days, but I know a lot of people come through here, and they don’t all stay in the hotel, of course. The name’s familiar, though.”

Thank goodness for Paul, Sophie thought. If he hadn’t taken an interest and helped her, she wouldn’t have learned anything about the Cobens on her own. Paul had talked to a number of truckers who drove in and out of Deadhorse. He’d done the legwork for her.

Sophie thanked Zester and went to her room to unpack. She spread her map out on the bed and used a highlighter to mark the villages Zester had mentioned. The police could tell her where Harrington’s campsite had been.

An hour passed as she was organizing, and when she was finally settled, she called Mr. Bitterman to check in. He was in a fine mood and asked a lot of questions about Prudhoe Bay.

“Have you seen the northern lights?”

“Not yet.”

“What’s the weather like?”

She answered that question and several others.

“Are you going to join the polar bear club?” he asked. “Be a heck of a story if you did.”

“Sir, there are limits to what I will do for my job. I’m not jumping into the Arctic Ocean for a story.”

“Give it some thought,” he said. “Now tell me about Harrington, and then I’ve got a whopper of a surprise for you.”

“We just got here so there’s very little to tell.”

“That’s right. Jack’s with you, isn’t he? Alec called me this morning. It was a relief to hear that you’ve got an FBI agent with you. Can’t be too cautious, you know.”

“Okay, tell me the surprise,” she prodded.

“Can you get to a computer and look at the newspaper?”

“Probably,” she answered. “What paper do you want me to read?”

“Ours, Sophie,” he said, exasperated. “I want you to read today’s edition of our newspaper.”

She laughed. “Of course. What am I looking for?”

“Oh, heck, I might as well tell you. Full-page, four-color ad, paid for with a cashier’s check telling Chicago that Kelly’s employees are going to get their pensions.”

Tears came into Sophie’s eyes. Daddy had kept his promise.

“Do you know who placed the ad? Was there a name?”

“Nope, but everyone in Chicago is celebrating. They’re saying Bobby Rose is behind it. You should hear the call-ins on the radio. Lots of excitement, Sophie, and when times are hard with the layoffs and all, we need some good news, don’t we?”

“Yes, sir, we do. You can stop hoarding root beer now.”

“Oh, no. Not until the company’s doors are open. Call me tomorrow to check in—and Sophie, you be careful.”

She couldn’t wait to tell Jack about the ad. If she couldn’t find a computer to use in the hotel, she’d pull up the Internet article on her phone. She hurried back to the cafeteria and found two men sitting with Jack. He made the introductions. One of the men was a police officer in Deadhorse, and the other was an oil company security guard. Jack pulled out a chair at the table, and when she sat down, she noticed a stack of papers in his hand with a list of names that he handed to the security officer.

“Jack tells me one of our men has been helping you with your investigation. Is that right?” the security guard asked.

“Only on his time off,” she explained, not wanting to get Paul into trouble.

The guard smiled. “I understand you’ve had several conversations with him?”

“Just a couple,” she answered. “He said he was helping the police, and he provided some information about William Harrington’s death.”

When the two men glanced at each other, she became curious. “Why are you asking?”

“You’re sure you talked to Paul Larson?” the policeman asked.

“I’m positive,” she stated emphatically.

“Ma’am,” the policeman said, “I don’t know who you talked to, but it wasn’t Paul Larson.”

“But he—” Sophie began.

The security officer didn’t let her finish. “We don’t have a Paul Larson here.”

JOURNAL ENTRY 680

CHICAGO

Eric and I are calling our study the Alpha Project.

We’ve had no trouble keeping our work secret in Chicago, but Inook was another matter altogether. Living in such close quarters with Brandon and Kirk made it difficult. Luckily, Brandon decided that he and Kirk should go off and observe another pack, and that gave us more freedom. Eric gets so nervous about being found out, I worry that he will let something slip.

I’ve been checking out pharmaceutical companies. What I’ve learned so far is that they’re all mired down in bureaucracy. I don’t think we can approach them about our findings. If we were to tip our hand now, we’d lose all control. I’ve also learned they pay a pittance for independent research because they have to factor in how long it will take to get government approval. That could be years, if not decades.

If Eric and I are going to get the money we deserve, we’ll have to take matters into our own hands. There are plenty of other markets out there.

TWENTY-SIX

WHY WOULD HE LIE?

Sophie’s initial reaction to the news was that there had to be a mistake. Of course Paul Larson existed. She’d spoken to him!

When Jack went to get her some hot tea from the cafeteria’s beverage service, she tried the phone number Paul had given her. Once again, she left a message on his voice mail.

While she was waiting to hear back, Jack made a call to his sources to run a check on the number. He received his answer minutes later, not surprised to learn that the number Sophie had been calling was registered under yet another fictitious name at a fictitious address.

What kind of game was this man playing?

“They’re getting a fix on the location of the phone, so we’ll know where this guy was calling you from,” Jack told her.

“We’ve got employees flying in and out of here every day, but they check in right away and get to work,” the oil company security guard said. “Truckers will spend the night in Deadhorse when they need to, but they usually head back the next day.”

“Even so,” the Deadhorse cop added, “with so many people coming and going, we would notice a stranger hanging around.” Looking across the table into Sophie’s eyes, he said, “I checked with Joe Rooney, the officer who called you about Harrington, and he’s never heard of Paul Larson. He certainly didn’t give anyone your phone number. Joe’s a reliable guy, so I don’t have any reason to doubt him.”

All three men took turns asking Sophie questions, but there was little she could tell them. The guard and the police officer assured her that they would ask around, but other than that, there was nothing they could do, concluding that she had been the victim of a twisted practical joke.

After they left, Jack continued grilling her about the details of her phone conversations with the man calling himself Paul Larson.

“He didn’t tell me anything specific about himself. Why would he? Oh, wait. He did say he was single and asked to take me to dinner, but I don’t think he was serious.”

“How much did you tell him about yourself?” Jack asked.

Irritated, she responded, “Nothing personal. I wasn’t talking to a dating service.”

Jack stood and began to pace. Sophie drummed her fingertips on the tabletop while she thought about her conversations with the fictitious man.

“So this guy lures you up here—” Jack began.

“He did not lure me here,” she interrupted. “I wanted to come up here to talk to people in hopes that someone had seen Harrington. He didn’t just drop out of the sky and land in a tent next to Barry. I’m still determined to find out what happened to him.” She shook her head. “I know what you’re going to say: Barry happened to him.”

“I wasn’t going to say that. Would you have started in Prudhoe Bay, or did you come here because Paul suggested it?” He rubbed the back of his neck while he waited for her answer.

“I don’t know. He told me there were trappers near here that I could talk to,” she said. “This is crazy. Was anything he told me true?”

“They did find Harrington’s wallet, and his remains were taken to Anchorage, so yes, I guess some of what he said was true.”

“When will you know where he was calling from?” she asked.

“That will take a little time,” he said. “We’re getting out of here first thing in the morning. I’ll call Chipper and put him on standby.”

“Is Chipper really Chipper?” she asked. She smiled at how silly that sounded. “Is he really who he says he is?”

“Yes, he is,” Jack answered. He crossed the room and stood in front of her. “And do you know why I know?”

“I’m guessing you’re going to tell me.”

“I checked him out. I don’t take anything on blind faith.”

“You’re an FBI agent. You’re trained to be suspicious. I’m a reporter. I’m trained to be curious. My interest wasn’t in Paul Larson, so why would I want or need to investigate him?”