here at Hemingway are private vessels, we still do have all sorts of boats for charter and most of them meet your requirements. Assuming of course that they're still available.'
Carol shook her head and in a few minutes she was handed a computer listing that included nine boats. 'Here are the boats that are possible,' the girl said. 'As I told you, there's quite a range in price.'
Carol's eyes scanned down the list. The biggest and most expensive boat was the Ambrosia, a fifty-four-footer that chartered for eight hundred dollars a day, or five hundred for a half day. The list included a couple of intermediate entries as well as two small boats, twenty-six-footers, that rented for half the price of the Ambrosia. 'I'd like to talk to the captain of the Ambrosia first,' Carol said, after a moment's hesitation. 'Where do I go?'
'Do you know Captain Homer?' Julianne replied, a strange smile starting to form at the corner of her mouth. 'Homer Ashford,' she said again slowly, as if the name should be recognized. Carol's mind began going through a memory search routine. The name was familiar. Where had she heard it? A long time ago, in a news program ...
Carol had not quite retrieved the memory when the girl continued. 'I'll let them know that you're coming.' Below the desk counter on the right was a huge bank of relay switches, several hundred in all, apparently connected to a speaker system. Julianne flipped one of the switches and turned to Carol. 'It should only be a minute,' she said.
'Vat is it, Julianne?' a booming feminine voice inquired within about twenty seconds. The voice was foreign, German Judging from the way the first word was pronounced. And the voice was also impatient.
'There's a woman here, Greta, a Miss Carol Dawson from Miami, and she wants to come down to talk to Captain Homer about chartering the yacht for the afternoon.'
After a moment's silence, Greta was heard again, 'Ya, okay, send her down.' Julianne motioned for Carol to walk halfway around the circular desk to where a familiar keyboard was sitting in a small well on the counter. Carol had been through this process many times since the UIS (Universal Identification System) was first introduced in 1991. Using the keyboard, she entered her name and her social security number. Carol wondered which verification question it would be this time. Her birthplace? Her mother's maiden name? Her father's birth date? It was always random, selected from the twenty personal facts that were immutable and belonged to each individual. To impersonate someone now really took an effort.
'Miss Carol Dawson, 1418 Oakwood Gardens, Apt. 17, Miami Beach.' Carol nodded her head. Blonde Julianne obviously enjoyed her role of checking out the prospective clients. 'What was your birth date?' Carol was asked.
'December 27, 1963,' Carol responded. Julianne's face registered that Carol had given the correct answer. But Carol could see something else in her face, something competitive and even supercilious, almost a 'Ha-ha-de-ha-ha, I'm lots younger than you are and now I know it.' Usually Carol didn't pay attention to such trivia. But for some reason, this morning she was uncomfortable about the fact that she was now thirty. She started to indicate her annoyance to smug little Julianne but thought better of it and held her tongue.
Julianne gave her instructions. 'Walk out that door over there, at the far right, and walk straight until you come to Jetty Number 4. Then turn left and insert this card in the gate lock. Slip 'P' as in Peter is where the Ambrosia is berthed. It's a long walk, way down at the end of the jetty. But you can't miss the yacht, it's one of the largest and most beautiful boats at Hemingway.'Julianne was right. It was quite a hike to the end of Jetty Number 4. Carol Dawson probably passed a total of thirty boats of all sizes, on both sides of the jetty, before she reached the Ambrosia. By the time Carol could discern the bold blue identifying letters on the front of the cabin, she had started to sweat from the heat and humidity of late morning.
Captain Homer Ashford walked up the gangplank to meet her when she finally reached the Ambrosia. He was in his mid to late fifties, an enormous man, well over six feet tall and weighing close to two hundred and fifty pounds. His hair was still thick, but the original black color had now almost completely surrendered