When she didn’t reply, he looked at her. She craned her head one way and then the other. To their left was the city. To their right, a line of hotels along the beaches. “What are you looking for?”
“How old is this castle?” Queen asked and then answered before Rook had a chance to process the question. “A.D. 711.”
Rook began to ask a question, but she held up a brochure she’d picked up at St. Michael’s Cave, answering the question of how she knew the build date. “Okay, what’s your point?”
“This is the oldest structure on Gibraltar. But it’s not old enough.”
“And?”
“And we’ve only seen half the island.”
“That’s because the other side is a thirteen-hundred-foot vertical drop into the Mediterranean.”
Queen handed the brochure to Rook and pointed to the bottom of the third foldout. He read the text aloud, “Gorham’s Cave. Twenty-eight thousand years ago, Neanderthals made their home on Gibraltar. Not only were they the first hominid settlement, it is also suspected they were the last of their kind. Over one hundred three artifacts have been recovered including spear tips, knives, blah, blah blah. Yeah, I see where you’re going. So where is it?”
“At the bottom of a thirteen-hundred-foot drop.” She smiled. “But we can also take a boat.”
A sudden blur of motion caught Rook’s attention, but he reacted too slowly to avoid the approaching creature. It launched from the wall, clung to his back, and assaulted him with its small hands, groping in his pockets and in his waist. “What the hell!”
Rook spun and struck the animal with his arm, knocking it away. As it bounced off the cement sidewalk and bounded back up to the top of the wall he got his first look at the creature—a brown-furred, tailless macaque. One of the island’s famous Barbary Apes. But it wasn’t just the sudden appearance of the macaque that opened Rook’s eyes wide. It was what it held in its hand—a 9mm Glock.
Rook felt the small of his back. Nothing. “Son of a bitch.”
Though the macaque held the weapon handle out, Rook didn’t want the gun to discharge outside Her Majesty’s Prison Service. Explaining why a macaque had a handgun covered in his fingerprints, stolen from a ransacked office at the University of Athens would take some time. More time than they had. Even with Deep Blue’s vast political influence.
As Rook reached out for the weapon, the macaque hissed and barred its teeth. Rook dove for the weapon, but the creature was too quick. He looked at Queen, who was watching and smiling. “A little help?”
“I’ve never seen two monkeys fight before.”
Rook grunted, then dove for the macaque again. This time it leaped onto his back and off again. That’s when Rook noticed Reggie approaching. “It’s okay,” Rook said. “You don’t need to help.”
“I see you have met our most famous residents? Do not worry. This is a simple matter,” Reggie said. “You just have to know how to negotiate.”
Rook watched as the man took out a chocolate bar. Reggie and the macaque slowly reached out both hands, each taking hold of what the other held. It was like watching a back-alley drug deal. He let go of the chocolate and the macaque disappeared over the side of the wall. “Here you go, sir,” he said, handing the weapon to Rook, and then added, “Do not worry, sir. I will not speak of your weapon.” He pulled up his shirt, revealing his own handgun. “The streets can be dangerous at night. Especially for tourists. You were wise to bring it.”
“We were hoping to visit Gorham’s Cave,” Queen said, wanting to change the subject.
A magnificent place. Unfortunately, closed to the public.”
“Is there anyone there now?”
“Indeed. Archaeologists have been working on the site for many years.”
Queen reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “Are you sure there isn’t a way to get a private tour?”
Reggie grinned and scoured the area for any bystanders who might overhear before saying, “I might be able to arrange transport to the cave...but you must deal with the archaeologists—and consequences—on your own.”
45
New Hampshire
After tying Thor to one of the deck chairs and ordering him to stay, King entered the Snack Shack through its bright green, double screen doors that announced his entrance with a loud creak. He was about to greet Fred, the man behind the counter, when he noticed the dining room was empty. The double doors on the other side of the room swung back and forth. She’d just left.
“What can I get for ya?” Fred asked, but King ignored him and walked to the swinging doors. He pushed them open slowly, fearful of a trap. But the woman was walking quickly toward the woods. She glanced over her shoulder and met King’s eyes again.
She ran.
The trees enveloped her quickly and she disappeared from view. King burst from the Snack Shack and sprinted toward the trees. Upon entering the forest, he drew his weapon. There was no doubt in his mind that this woman was with Gen-Y and he couldn’t let her escape, even if it meant putting a bullet in her leg.
He could see her ahead, weaving in and out of the trees. Despite her weaving, she ran in a straight line. King was impressed by her speed and agility as she cleared fallen trees and brush with ease. His urge was to take a shot or shout for her to stop, but if there were others around he didn’t want to attract their attention. It struck him then that she hadn’t called in help yet, either.
Still wary of a trap, King forged ahead, slowly closing the distance. He lost sight of her as she rounded a moss-covered boulder, but something had changed in her gait as she disappeared. She wasn’t running full out. She was slowing.
King bounded up the rock instead of around it. At the top, he leaped off, landing behind the woman, who had indeed stopped, and placed his gun against the back of her head.
Her hands came up quick. Empty. “I’m not armed!”
King dug his hand beneath the back of her shirt and removed a Metal Storm handgun. “Funny, you look armed.”
“I meant I wasn’t going to use it.” She turned to face him. Her face was hard, but pretty, framed by shoulder-length brown hair. “Look, I came to find you.”
“You knew where to find me?”
“Not you, no—I hoped to find someone. And I found you. But I couldn’t risk being seen with you out in the open.”
King kept his weapon aimed. “Who are you?”
“Anna Beck,” she said, glancing left and right like a nervous animal.
King realized this was not a sanctioned visit. “So, what is a member of Gen-Y security doing at a Bible Campground? Come to ask God for forgiveness?”
King thought she would flinch at the revelation that he knew who she worked for, but the woman just met his stare and then dropped a bombshell of her own.
“Jack Sigler. Call sign “King.” I have shoot-to-kill orders for you. We all do.”
She knew who he was, too, just like the men in the desert. He mentally replayed the event, remembering the body shapes of the black-suited mercenaries. None were women. Beck wasn’t there. Lucky for her. “And yet you didn’t shoot.”
“Not everyone at Manifold knows what’s really going on. Most of the scientists know what they’re working toward, but they have no idea that the volunteers are actually kidnapped, then murdered. And they certainly don’t know that the technology they think will usher in a new age of health, long life, and prosperity will be sold to the highest bidder.”
“But Gen-Y does?”
“Some of them, yes. But not all.”
“And you’re one of the people in the know?”
“I am now. I was given this.” Beck pulled out a small USB drive and handed it to King. It matched the one found in the Amazon. “I have one just like it,” he said.
Beck’s eyebrows shot up and relief swept across her face. “You found Seth! He risked his life to get that. I didn’t understand what was so important when he gave it to me, but—How is he?”
“Seth, I�
�m afraid, never made it out of the Amazon. He’s dead.”
She slumped and leaned against the boulder. The news struck her hard. Seth was a good guy.
“If it’s any consolation, his life wasn’t lost in vain. If we hadn’t found him, Manifold would have finished its work unhindered on Tristan da Cunha.”
Beck frowned. She’d been there. “How many people died?” she asked.
“Nearly nine hundred. Including the island’s residents and over six hundred U.S. sailors.”
“No...” she whispered, then found her voice again. “I was in the army. Served a tour in Iraq, then jumped ship.”
He looked her in the eye, sizing her up, then guessed. “Too good at your job? At killing.”
She nodded. “Some people are born to play basketball or cure cancer. I seem to be really good with a submachine gun. But it’s not in my heart. I didn’t want to kill people for a cause I wasn’t one hundred percent sure about.”
“So... you took the security job because what? You believe in Manifold’s cause?”
“On the surface, yes. The PR garbage touts them as a humanitarian company out to solve the world’s problems. Makes them look noble. Like something worth dying for. Or killing for. But they’re no better than the people who sent me to Iraq, except that they pay better. But honestly, I didn’t think we’d ever see any action. And I never thought I’d be one of the bad guys.”
“How many more are there like you?”
“In Gen-Y?”
He nodded.
“If I thought there were others I wouldn’t be here alone.” The statement reminded her to check for eavesdroppers again. “Some of the others aren’t that bad, but do I think they would leave the money and status behind...? What do they have to look forward to? It’s not like people are lining up to hire Iraq vets these days. Going to war makes you a ‘hero’ to everyone but employers. At least for soldiers on the front lines, putting bullets into people. You can’t do that and not have demons.”
King nodded. She was right of course. It’s what you did with the demons that mattered. But he wasn’t a shrink and now wasn’t the time to talk military philosophy. “Is there anything new on this thumb drive I should know about?”
Beck stood up straight. Back to business. “As far as I know, it’s a copy of what you already found.”
He pocketed the drive. “I’ll take it anyway. Just in case.” He looked her in the eyes. “Then the next big question I have is: What’s to keep me from taking you in right now?”
“In fifteen minutes I’ll be late and they’ll know something is up. But if you want me to stage some kind of coup on the inside you can forget it. The Gen-Y’s won’t go for it and the scientists, well, they’re scientists. They wouldn’t stand a chance. Besides, I think they’re done.”
It was King’s turn to stand up straight. “They’ve finished?”
“The labs are empty. I’ve only seen Maddox and Ridley working. If they’re not done, they’re close.”
“Tell me about Maddox.”
“Todd Maddox. A pretty-boy genetics wiz. From what I’ve heard, he came on a few years back, after Ridley hit a brick wall, and got things back on track. On the fast track, really. A good guy, I guess. But real squirrelly lately. Afraid.”
“If he knows what’s going on, he should be terrified. We all should be,” King added. “But is he one of the bad guys?”
Beck chewed on that, but before she could answer, a shout, full of fear, rose in the distance. King looked back toward the campground, but couldn’t make anything out. When he turned to face Beck again, she was in motion. Her foot connected hard with his chest, toppling him over. The impact jarred her weapon from his hand. She picked it up and bolted. King took aim as she fled, but held his fire. She’d dropped something next to him. A sheet of paper.
He looked at the page and found a hand-drawn map of the valley. She’d drawn Stinson Mountain and campground as reference points, then the mountain just behind the campground. There was an X through it and a hastily written, X marks the spot. They weren’t only in their backyard, they were actually on the campground’s property. Which meant someone here knew where. It’s amazing what good people will do for money, he thought before thinking of Knight, who was reconnoitering dangerous territory. But warning Knight would have to wait.
King hid his weapon and dashed back to the campground where he could hear more distant screaming. Fred stood outside the Snack Shack, hand on his forehead, looking at the woods on the other side of the quad. A plume of smoke rose from the trees. “What’s happening?”
Fred turned to him, his face struck with panic. “Fire.”
Through the trees, King could see a cottage just inside the woods. Fire licked at the first-floor windows while smoke billowed from the second floor. “Who’s cabin is that?”
“Doug and Linda Crowell. Elderly couple.” Fred looked at him. “They had grandkids visiting this week, I think.”
“Call nine-one-one,” King said. He unclipped Thor’s leash and launched across the quad like a heat-seeking missile, heading for the burning cottage. Thor stayed right by his side. He wasn’t sure what he could do to help against the fire, but he doubted Pinckney had much in the way of a fire department, and Plymouth was a fifteen-minute drive. What he was sure about was that he’d sworn to protect the people of this country, and if that meant pulling them out of a burning building, so be it.
A small group was already gathered in front of the cabin. He stopped next to them and asked, “Is anyone home?”
An older man responded. “I was able to steal a peek in the first-floor bedroom and living room. Didn’t see Doug or Linda. Must be out.”
King didn’t like taking the man’s word for it, but with flames gutting the entire first floor, what choice did he have? Even thirty feet away the heat felt intense.
A scream switched off King’s apprehension in an instant.
“The children are still inside!” a woman shouted.
“Stay!” King shouted at Thor, before heading for the front door and kicking it in. But the added oxygen fed the fire. King jumped back as a vortex of flames shot from the front door. A man helped him sit up and urged him to back away. The building was impossibly hot, set to collapse and a death trap for anyone who entered. King looked around for something that could help. A hydrant. Ladder. A puddle to roll around in before running in. But there was nothing. Then he saw the crowd, now thirty people strong. They were praying.
For what? A solution? The children’s souls? “Damnit!” King shouted in anger. One of the woman closest to him opened her eyes and looked at him, in anger at first, then in wonderment. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking behind him.
King turned just in time to see a fast-moving blur enter the cabin. While the others burst into frantic chatter about the man who’d just entered the building, King took up where they left off, saying a prayer for the man who he’d just seen enter: Bishop.
46
Rock of Gibraltar
As the small motorboat bounced up and over a large, blue-green Mediterranean wave, the base of the vertical stone face of Gibraltar’s famous rock could be seen clearly. A small rock-strewn shoreline rose up perhaps ten feet from the water where it met a cliffside covered in caves. The caves, massive where they met the elements, narrowed into dark tunnels into which eyes adjusted to the bright sun could not see.
They had elected to approach the caves in broad daylight in an effort to remain inconspicuous. After all, they were just a couple of Swiss tourists interested in seeing the famous Gorham’s Cave.
The hum of the engine faded as the pilot, a man who refused to give his name or remove his sunglasses, idled toward the shore. Just before the boat struck the stony shoreline, the pilot reversed the engines, stopping the boat a few feet from shore. Without waiting or bidding their driver farewell, Queen and Rook hopped into the knee-deep water and waded to shore.
A tan man with long, black curly locks and a scruffy beard char
ged out of the cave entrance. He didn’t talk, but his body language spoke volumes. He was fairly large, just a little taller than Rook, and had confident eyes and sculpted forearms. In fact, his eyes were so deep, so keen with wisdom that Queen stopped short of the shore. There was something different about this man she couldn’t quite peg.
The boat powered away, out to sea. Regaining her composure, Queen motioned to it and spoke with a passable Swiss accent. “Your face says we should not be here, but as you can see, he has left us.”
“Why are you here?” the man asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Our guide in town,” Rook said, also laying on a Swiss accent. “He said the Gorham’s Cave was the most magnificent sight on Gibraltar. That the history is so spectacular. That no man, or woman, should miss the opportunity to see the cave. To experience our shared history.”
“He was right on all counts, except that you are not allowed in the caves. No one is. Not without an official invitation, and those are only given to archaeologists and anthropologists. Which I’m guessing neither of you are.”
Queen pouted. “I am afraid not. You are sure about this? That we may not enter?”
“Quite.”
She looked at Rook. He smiled in a friendly way and shrugged a “Why not,” still acting the jovial vacationer part.
“I must apologize, sir. We have not been entirely honest with you.”
The man stood his ground, but did raise his eyebrows.
“You see, we were sent here by a friend. She told us to visit the caves. That we would find them fascinating. She lives in the shadow of the Acropolis in Athens. The Plaka district. Perhaps you have been there? A beautiful place this time of year.”
“Wonderful gelato,” Rook added with a smile.
The man stood silent for a moment, and then said, “I do not know her.”
Queen reached into her blouse and pulled out the amulet recovered from the Argo. The worn Herculean Society symbol glittered in the sun. The man squinted, frowned momentarily, and then put on a warm smile. “Ahh, I see you have a special invitation then.”
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