“That last one interests me a lot,” Jerry said.

“I thought it might. ‘The Sleeping Beauty problem,’ you call it. You like to joke about things that intrigue you, eh?”

“Yeah.” Jerry felt oddly reluctant to acknowledge that. He didn’t care for other people spying out the way his beady little mind worked. Dale might be old and as ordinary as vanilla ice cream, but he was nobody’s dope. Well, he wouldn’t be, would he, if he was in charge of what might wind up being the most important project in the history of the world?

He neatened up the stack of papers and set them on his left leg, which he’d crossed over his right. “This is a nice piece of work, Mister Steinberg, and I thank you for putting it together for me. A lot in here for me to think about. Has Mister Dahlgren seen it?”

“Not all of it,” Jerry said. “I’ve talked with him about some of the things in there, though. I’m only an amateur at this stuff—I hope I’m smart enough to remember that. He’s a pro, if anybody is.”

“Yes, if anybody is,” Dale said, as Montresor might have said, Yes, for the love of God. “I have the feeling, though, that finding the Midlothian object makes every one of us an amateur. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re here for a reason. When I show him this, I think he’ll be as impressed with it as I am.”

“Really?” Jerry wasn’t used to hearing things like that. Professor Krikorian took it for granted when he did things right and let him have it when he messed up. He saw that as natural enough; his father had the same style. One of the things he especially liked about Anna was how open she was in her happiness. Of course, she was also that open about being unhappy. At least he always knew where he stood.

“Yes, absolutely.” Neuwirth’s brisk nod brought Jerry back to himself. The director went on, “Is there anything else?”

Jerry recognized dismissal when he heard it. “Uh, no, sir.” He stood up. Dale did, too. They shook hands. Jerry got the hell out of there.

When Jerry let himself into the cabin that evening, Steve lay reading in the bottom bunk. “How was the movie?” he asked.

“Well…” Steve’s voice trailed away. His ears heated at the same time.

“That good, you say?” Steve chuckled. “What was it?”

“Umm…” Jerry hesitated again. I don’t want to tell you was the first thing that jumped into his mind, but it would have been rude. And he never had been any damn good at lying on the spur of the moment. So he answered with the truth: “It was Deep Throat.”