The smell of stale cigarettes and cheap beer assaulted Conrad's nostrils as he followed Fiona into the Zoo Tavern. After a moment his eyes adjusted to the dim light and he eyed the peeling posters of grunge bands on the wall.

Catching up to Fiona had proved quite simple. He'd simply called the rental agency and told them he'd gone sightseeing on foot and couldn't remember where he had parked the car. Using the car's GPS system, the rental agency had given him the address to the Westin Hotel in Seattle.

After showing the stripmall stoners the menu at Uncle Ike's pot shop and offering them more cash than they had seen in awhile, they were more than happy to drive him there.

A bit stoned and much more relaxed about everything, Conrad had simply waited for Fiona to come down to breakfast. She'd looked surprised but didn't try to flee again. After putting on his most charming smile, he had managed to convince Fiona they'd do better together against Amanda than alone.

Fiona wasn't sure why she'd believed Conrad's story, but she knew that after she had cracked the next clue, the thought of facing Amanda alone made her nervous, scared for her life. And as annoying as he was, she had found herself missing his company. Of course that feeling quickly evaporated the next time he opened his mouth.

"This place is a disgusting relic of the '90's," Conrad muttered.

Fiona ignored him and searched the low-brow watering hole for the pilot she'd contacted. Not seeing anyone who could fit the description of a pilot, she saddled up to the bar and ordered a beer.

Conrad wrinkled his nose and watched the bartender pull a pint of draft Rainier beer.

"That can't be good beer," he scoffed.

"Shut up," said Fiona. "And keep your eyes peeled. She took a long gulp of the beer.

"Don't tell me you are actually going to drink that swill!" exclaimed Conrad.

"It's not bad," she offered up her glass to Conrad who flinched backwards as if she had offered him a glass of urine.

"It's all I ever drink," said an old man perched on a bar stool next to Fiona. He looked like the typical barnacle that inhabits dive bars such as the Zoo. His gray beard was stained with cigarette smoke. Greasy locks of unkempt hair stuck out from underneath a filthy bucket hat.

The geezer squinted at them. "You pair ain't from around here."

"Thank the Lord," said Conrad from under his breath.

"You must be Fiona," said the man. This startled both of them, but Conrad more, so.

"No," Fiona heard Conrad whimper in a barely audible voice.

"And you must be Rainy," said Fiona, recovering from her shock at the looks of the pilot she had hired to fly them to San Juan Island.

"No," said Conrad again, louder this time.

Rainy held up his beer. "That's how I got my call sign. I always stick to Rainier beer." He held his glass up to toast Fiona and she reflexively clinked it.

"No, of course it isn't because he is good at flying in the rain." Conrad began pulling at his hair.

Rainy issued a loud hiccup and began chugging the remainder of his beer.

Conrad pulled Fiona close to him. She bumped into his chest. Despite her athleticism she felt soft and smelled good. But Conrad barely registered these details as he felt his panic and anxiety mount.

"He's a drunk, Fiona!"

"I don't think we have a choice, Conrad. Amanda may already be enroute to the island."

Suddenly Rainy's face appeared between theirs. His breath reeked and he hiccuped again.

"Don't worry, guys. I've never flown drunk." He swayed a bit and leaned on Conrad's shoulder for support, not registering his disgust. Then Rainy whispered loudly into Conrad's ear. "Your girlfriend is cute."

"We are in a rush and need to leave right away," said Fiona.

Rainy straightened and stood up tall, suddenly all business. "Yes, ma'am, follow me. She's moored at the end of the road," he said and headed for the door.

"Moored?" said Conrad, perplexed.

"Hey!" yelled the bartender.

"Oh, right my tab," said Rainy and began padding his pockets for a wallet. None appeared.

"Can I pay you tomorrow?" asked Rainy.

"That's what you said yesterday and the day before that," yelled the bartender.

Fiona hustled over and slammed down a wad of bills and pulled Rainy and Conrad out onto the street. A cold drizzle hit their faces and a gray mist hid the tops of the downtown skyscrapers nearby. For two pm, you couldn't tell what time it was.

"Moored?" repeated Conrad.

Rainy hung an arm around Conrad again causing him to squirm with discomfort. "She's a float plane." The three of them began walking down the steep hill to the edge of Lake Union.

This was madness. Conrad's mind raced. He didn't care about finding the damn bird anymore. He didn't want to get on a plane on the water with this drunken sailor pilot. He'd capitulate and let Fiona win.

Lost in thought, Conrad followed Fiona and Rainy down a well-maintained dock past expensive-looking houseboats. Fiona can handle herself, Conrad thought. Unless Amanda killed her. Suddenly he felt a different anxiety all together. The thought of Fiona being killed.

But that anxiety evaporated when they reached the end of the dock. Next to a dilapidated floating shack, a frayed rope led to a rickety plane bobbing in the evening waves. Its peeling paint and dented propellers suggested it had survived WWII.

"She's from WWII! Can you believe it?" said Rainy as if reading Conrad's phobic mind. Rainy beamed with pride as he hopped in and turned the key. He patted the dashboard lovingly. "She's flown me all over the Pacific Northwest hunting for Bigfoot."

To Conrad the nightmare just kept getting worse.

"You get in first," said Fiona.

"It's a two-seater," said Conrad.

"I'll sit on your lap."

"It's a short ride," yelled Rainy.

"I'm not getting in that death trap," said Conrad.

"Have it your way," huffed Fiona and began to climb in.

Again a wave of anxiety for Fiona's safety washed over Conrad. It gave him pause. Did he really care more about Fiona than about getting to the bird first? He pulled himself in and awkwardly shoved himself between Rainy and Fiona before Fiona rearranged herself onto Conrad's lap.

"Buckle-up," said Rainy. "It's going to be a bumpy ride." Then he looked at the couple awkwardly squished together in the passenger seat. "Or not."

Slowly the plane picked up speed in the small urban lake. As they lifted off a flash of lightning filled the sky followed quickly by a crash of thunder.

"Huh, that's unusual," said Rainy. "It's rare to get thunder and lightning in this part of the world," he nudged Conrad in the ribs. "Must be a good omen for you kids."

Conrad breathed in the scent of Fiona's hair, held her waist tight, and tried not to vomit. He felt certain of imminent doom as the plane bumped through the air for just under an hour.

In what seemed like eons later to Conrad, the plane hit the water again with a splash.

"Here we are," announced Rainy. "Garrison Bay." He pointed a boney finger towards a few small shacks. "That's the English Camp, part of the national parks department now." He smiled broadly and nodded at Fiona. "You Brits wanted these islands in 1859. It took twelve years of joint occupation to sort out that we should get them." He pulled the plane up to a dock in front of a field of wildflowers, hopped out and offered Fiona his gnarled hand to safely disembark.

"Thank you Rainy," said Fiona and handed him a wad of bills.

"You lovebirds need a ride back to Seattle?" he asked.

Fiona and Conrad answered at the same time.

"Yes."

"No."

Fiona glowered at Conrad.

"You can't make me get back on that plane," said Conrad. Maybe something about how green he looked led Fiona to relent.

"Well, you can probably charter a boat a few miles down the road in Roche Harbor," Rainy said cheerfully. "Have a good honeymoon!" Then he turned the engines back on and slowly turned the plane to face into the wind for take off.

Fiona and Conrad headed up the dock. The rainclouds had cleared and the late afternoon sun sparked on the damp grassy lawn of the park. Thankfully only a small handful of tourists remained.

"There's an information kiosk there," pointed Fiona.

The two studied the map of the park before heading up a wooded hill. They veered off the main trail and soon found seven lonely tombstones in a grove of trees surrounded by a white picket fence.

"Seven marines died in twelve years of occupation with no combat," remarked Conrad.

"Looks like they mostly drown," said Fiona examining the names on the graves. "Treacherous water in these parts."

"And cold," said Conrad. "You probably can't last more than thirty before becoming hypothermic." He noted the air was remarkably colder than it had been in Seattle. The place gave him the creeps.

"Here," said Fiona brushing off a gravestone. "J.R. Turner–my guess is this is the one we are looking for."

"He probably figured the Americans would never have the nads to dig up these British soldiers' graves, plus now it is a national park so it will be preserved forever."

Fiona didn't give a damn about the Americans, their national park, or Jackson Turner's great, great-uncle's grave. She gave the stone a karate kick with her boot and loosened it. Together she and Conrad wrestled and dug it free. Fiona put her arm in the hole and felt around until her fingers knocked against something metal.

She pulled out a key and brushed off the dirt. It was a large ornate gold skeleton key.

Fiona squinted and read the engraving, "750 Hearst Castle Rd, San Simeon, CA 93452." She laughed. "Well, that's unambiguous.'

"You have it!" exclaimed Conrad. "The last clue." Without thinking he hugged her. Fiona stiffened awkwardly but their moment was interrupted by the sound of a rifle being cocked.

They looked up at a portly man dressed in a traditional British redcoat uniform. In their face was the barrel of an Enfield musket-rifle.

For a moment Conrad and Fiona thought they had been transported back in time, but the soldier's accent was unmistakably American despite his garb.

"Stop, you are committing a federal crime!" he yelled.

"Why are you in costume?" asked Fiona.

Though the man pointed the rifle at Fiona, he looked down at his historic uniform with pride. "I work for the National Park's Service at the English Camp Visitor's Center."

"Well, we need to retrieve something from Fiona's grandfather's lover's great, great-uncle," explained Conrad.

That seemed to confuse the park ranger-soldier.

"Do you think it's loaded?" asked Fiona looking at Conrad.

"I don't know," replied Conrad, "He's dressed as a Victorian soldier, but he's American. So probably, yes?"

The park ranger looked even more perplexed and began looking into the butt of his rifle. Fiona sprung up and knocked him to the ground. Conrad grabbed the rifle and they took off down the hill. As they hustled through the darkening woods, Fiona stuffed the golden key in her jacket pocket and zipped it tight. They reached the road where a park ranger vehicle sat parked.

"It's open!" yelled Fiona.

"With keys in the ignition!," said Conrad. He started the engine.

"Wait," said Fiona. "It's not that easy to steal a car on an island and it isn't going to help us get back to the mainland."

Conrad nodded in agreement. He gently placed the rifle on the front seat and closed the door.

"Let's get to Roche Harbor before the ranger has time to file a police report," he said.

Thankfully, only a handful of pickup trucks from nearby farms and high-end sports cars passed them on the road to Roche Harbor, and none of them seemed to notice Conrad or Fiona. Within an hour they reached the expansive marina.

Fiona whistled. "There's a lot of money moored here." This late in the year most of the boats lay silent. Here and there down a dock came laughter from small parties on the decks of some of the larger vessels.

"I'm in charge of our passage out of here," said Conrad. "And I want something more elegant than our flight here."

"Sure," said Fiona, feeling bad about the cheap float plane they had taken from Seattle. "We can put it on Grandpa Paul's tab." She handed him the credit card.

Conrad ducked into a rental office while Fiona went into one of the public showers and tried to get cleaned up.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Conrad stood waiting.

"We have a yacht chartered for California that can leave in an hour," he reported with satisfaction.

"Sounds more like your taste," said Fiona with a hint of sarcasm that went over Conrad's head.

"Indeed, and while we wait let's get some King Crab." Conrad rubbed his hands together.

Fiona rolled her eyes but consented and followed Conrad without further comment into an elegant restaurant with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the marina.

"A bottle of champagne," said Conrad to the waitress with a smile more typical of his usual demeanor.

"Don't you think it is a little early to celebrate?" said Fiona. "Amanda could be hunting us through her connections on the internet or something."

"I've thought about that," said Conrad, "Even in the worst case scenario if she figured out we were on this island, her goons are probably at the airport and at the ferry terminal. And even if they were looking around this marina for us they aren't going to be expecting us to be dining in plain view drinking champagne."

He scooted his chair over so that they sat side by side and picked up Fiona's hand. "In fact they wouldn't notice two honeymooners gazing into one another's eyes and ignoring the view."

Fiona startled when Conrad touched her hand. She had to admit he was right. The local police wouldn't look here either. Conrad's hand was remarkably strong, warm and smooth. The heat of his body radiated but she ignored the fact it felt good to sit so close to him.

The waitress returned, popped the cork and poured two glasses. Halfway through the first glass Fiona felt a pleasant whoosh flood her cheeks and noticed Conrad was already pouring himself a second glass. An order of crab legs arrived.

"These are huge," exclaimed Fiona.

"And their flavor is amazing," replied Conrad. He cracked one open, dipped it in butter and popped in her mouth.

Fiona had never tasted seafood like this. More courses arrived, salmon, halibut, and mussels. Her tastebuds were in heaven. Before she knew it Conrad looked down at his watch.

"Time to go."

Fiona stood and the room spun slightly. Conrad was already signing the bill and the waitress was recorking the second–they had ordered a second?–bottle of champagne.

"Wait," said Fiona, patting her pockets. "I just want to make sure I have the key."

"Don't worry," said Conrad, holding up his backpack. "I got it in here." He tapped the top pocket of his backpack.

A fleeting worry crossed Fiona's mind, but Conrad quickly tucked the bottle under his arm, grabbed Fiona by the hand, and led her stumbling down the docks to an elegant yacht with classic wood trim moored at the end. A well-dressed crew cheerfully greeted Fiona and Conrad and began unfastening the ropes that moored the vessel and pulling up the fenders.

It was dark now and the temperature had plummeted. Fiona shivered.

"Come," said Conrad, "let's warm you up." The inside of the yacht matched the opulence of the restaurant they had just left. They settled on a velvet sofa in a sitting room in the rear of the vessel. The boat set sail and Roche Harbor began disappearing in the dark. Conrad left the room for a moment and returned with an enormous faux fur throw blanket which he wrapped around Fiona. He sat down close to her and rubbed her back and arms. Fiona closed her eyes. The wind and waves picked up in the open sea and she was pushed against Conrad's chest. Instead of sitting back up she just closed her eyes and smiled.

"I feel so much warmer now," she purred. When she looked up Conrad's face was just inches from hers. Neither of them moved apart, in fact, ever so slowly they moved their faces closer.

"It's going to be a cold, watery grave for the honeymooners" said a sultry voice behind them. Fiona and Conrad jumped to their feet and spun around.

"Amanda!" said Conrad.

There she stood in red leather pants that matched her long red fingernails, high-heeled combat boots, tight sequined t-shirt, and a feather boa. The fashion industry couldn't have designed a better villain if they had tried.

"I can't believe my good fortune to have the final clue fall into my lap like this," she pouted her glossy lips. "Mine now," she taunted.

Fiona was stunned. "How did you find us?" She suddenly doubted Conrad despite the feelings she had felt towards him just seconds ago. She turned and glared at Conrad.

But Conrad looked just as surprised to see Amanda as she did.

Amanda sauntered over to them. "Oh, catch up to the 21st century," she sneered. A knife appeared in her hand as she approached Conrad. Fiona moved to stop her, a lump rising in her throat. But instead of lunging at Conrad she picked up his backpack from the floor, and dug the knife into its outer liner. She pulled out a small square of plastic and dropped the backpack back on the floor with a thud.

"Track much?" she asked, nodding at Fiona with ruthless sarcasm. "I've been watching you run all over the world with this little device."

"You witch," yelled Conrad, taking off his backpack and examining the tear. His cheeks flushed with rage.

Amanda leaned against the rail of the boat, tilted her head to the starry sky above and laughed. It was a chilling laugh, really more of a cackle.

She really duped us, thought Fiona, shaking her head.

Amanda's cackle trailed off into the night and snapped her head forward, staring straight at Fiona. "And now you die," she said calmly. Fiona looked down and saw a small silver revolver in her hand.

Amanda opened the sliding door onto the deck of the yacht and motioned Fiona to step out onto it. Fiona did as she was told. The sleeting rain wind was a shock after the warmth of the boat. Conrad followed Fiona and Amanda stepped out after them keeping her gun pointed at Fiona.

Suddenly Conrad let out a guttural sound, Fiona would not have thought possible from such a well-dressed man. It started her and it must have startled Amanda as well for she didn't move as Conrad swung his backpack at her. It collided with Amanda's head and slumped to the deck, but the torque of Conrad's swing propelled him towards the rail and he toppled over into the water.

"Conrad!" screamed Fiona. She glanced around the deck, grabbed a life ring, lept over Amanda's motionless body beside the backpack and dove in after Conrad.

Fiona hit the icy water and came up with a gasp, clinging to the life ring. She began to immediately hyperventilate. Don't panic, she told herself. You have thirty minutes before hypothermia sets in. She could see the outline of Conrad thrashing in the water and kicked hard with her legs until she reached him. He wasn't faring well, she had to pull his arm around the flotation before he understood what it was.

"Conrad," she yelled. "Breathe slowly." He listened and the two of them clung for dear life as waves crashed around them. Fiona looked back. The boat moved quickly away from them in the darkness. Even if Amanda regained consciousness, she would never find them. She looked around desperately for signs of land, a lighthouse. There was nothing. They would never make it.

From above she heard the roar of a plane engine and soon saw a light. It came closer and closer as if coming in for a landing. Could it be?

A rickety float plane crashed into the waves beside them. Somehow Fiona and Conrad maneuvered towards it and a familiar voice pulled them aboard. This time a shivering Conrad didn't protest.

Crammed together Rainy revved the engines and the plane bumped its way along for the rockiest take-off Fiona had ever experienced. She looked at Conrad who sat still, eyes closed, saying nothing.

"I'm the only loon crazy enough to go flying in rainy weather like this," said Rainy. "That and all the beer got me my handle." He was grinning and didn't seem to care that Fiona and Conrad were too shocked to speak.

"I was wondering if you two lovebirds had found a ride from Roche Harbor so I thought I'd go get some crab and a high-falutin marina beer and see if you two needed a ride. Pulling out I saw that yacht and thought I saw someone jump overboard as I flew by so I circled back. Guess it's a good thing I did. Where can I take you?"

"Back to Seattle is fine," said Conrad. Slowly showing signs of life, but keeping his eyes closed.

"But what about the Hearst Castle?" asked Fiona.

"We'll never get that key away from Amanda," said Conrad. "I lost the backpack. I blew it."

Again a wave of conflicting emotions flooded Fiona. It was dark on the plane and loud, but they sat pressed together in one seat, wet and shivering. Fiona leaned in so her lips brushed Conrad's ear while she spoke. Her lips were cold but his ear felt colder.

"I know you had reasons not to trust me after I ditched you at the strip mall," said choosing her words carefully. "But I've been worried all along you were in cahoots with Amanda." She sighed. "I took back the key when we got on the yacht, when you left to get the blanket. It's in my zipper pocket again."

She could feel heat return to Conrad's ear. He turned to her and kissed her on the lips. Their lips were both so cold it felt like what Fiona imagined it must feel like if one fish kissed another.

"Rainy," said Conrad. "Can you take us all the way to California?"

"You lovebirds?" replied Rainy. "I'll take you anywhere."