Titans of Chaos

Our splashdown point was in the Pacific, off the coast of Oregon. There are three assumptions Iwas operating on:

First, I assumed all sorts of air-traffic controllers, military radar stations, satellites from NASAand Red China, high-flying spy-planes, aircraft carriers, speedboats, and Polynesians in canoessaw us: They all wondered about the falling Greek trireme shining green and white and silver,miraculously unburned by reentry heat.

Second, I assumed the Olympian gods, no friends of mankind, erased records and memories andpeople as needed to make the happening into an Orwellian unhap-pening, the people intononpersons.

Third, I assumed the Olympians followed the boat as it sailed leisurely toward Vanity Island. We,of course, winged our way in a menagerie of shapes to Catalina Island, and then to Los Angeles.

A cold north wind blew us past the coast until we saw below the hurrying clouds, the city lights,crawling lines of red traffic, a glitter of signs, a solemn glow from empty offices.

Boggin's letter had been written in his backwards-slanting, wide-looped style:My dear Miss Windrose,

If you have not overlooked the evident usefulness to your party of this note, and if my assumptionis sound that you do not wish to be burdened by fates more than is natural, then you may take itas given that Lord Mavors has overstepped his authority in the matter of arranging your currentdangerous circumstances. Nonetheless, being an Olympian, he can decree fate to his wishes,including his wish to involve boys and girls of tender years in affairs best left to professionalmilitary men.

Matters being as they are, I am confident that you would care to explore any avenue that mightpromise solution to this conundrum. There is but one god who can overrule even the war-god,even in matters of war. For obvious reasons, he is a fellow of cautious retiring temperament, sotake care not to startle him upon your approach.

I have sent my regards ahead of you, that he awaits your coming.

Below this, an address and a name. The name was Valentine Archer. The address turned out to bea swank club on Santa Monica Boulevard.

It was night as we approached, which, I suppose, is the proper time to approach a Hollywoodnightclub. (If they are open during the day, are they called dayclubs?) A line of limousines, likeshining black jewels, threaded its way past the fountains, with here and there a red sports car forcontrast.