by David Wood
Richard flailed blindly, trying to grab hold of her, but she was too fast for him. Another kick to the knee and he stumbled to the floor.
“You fight like a Frenchman,” she hissed. In an actual life and death situation she would have finished him, but this was something else entirely.
Richard found renewed strength and, with a roar, leapt at her. He almost managed to grab hold of her, but she sprang to the side and he crashed into the wall. Now, mad with rage, he went for the weapons. He grabbed a longsword and charged.
Morgan easily eluded his clumsy strokes and feeble thrusts. It was not long before he began to tire— he struggled to keep the sword aloft, and his breath came in ragged gasps. Summoning the last of his strength, he raised the sword and rushed in for a vicious downstroke. Morgan dodged and drove a roundhouse kick into his unprotected middle. The breath left him in a rush, and he dropped to one knee. Knowing he would offer no further meaningful resistance, she delivered an axe kick to the back of his skull.
It took Richard ten minutes to recover whatever wits he had at his disposal. Jacob wiped the blood off from his face, congratulated him on a “bloody good fight” and offered him a glass of water. He sipped it, staring daggers at Morgan.
“I’ll show you out if you’re ready,” Jacob said.
“Where’s my hundred pounds?” Richard snapped.
“You didn’t win.” Morgan said. “But you do get to leave here alive.”
Richard didn’t bother to argue. He lurched to his feet and followed Jacob out.
Jacob returned a few minutes later. “I assume you want to watch.” His voice was as dull as the look in his eyes.
“Of course,” Morgan said. Her eyes turned to the television on the wall. Jacob turned it on, revealing a wide-angle shot of the formal garden. Jacob zoomed in on Richard, who was limping toward the wood. “Your disapproval saddens me, Jacob.” Morgan kept her eyes on the screen as she spoke.
“I don’t mind the fighting,” he said. “These blokes all deserve an ass whipping, and you’re more than fair about it. But this...” He gestured at the screen. “I just don’t know.”
“We are culling the flock. Can you honestly say our nation would be better off with him and the others alive?”
Jacob shook his head.
“Besides, the children need to hunt. It is their nature.” She smiled as the feed switched over to a camera in the wood. Richard was already jumping at every sound. He sensed danger.
“I would respectfully argue it is their training, not their nature, Ma’am.”
“Centuries of breeding and, yes, training have made them what they are today. Perhaps it was not in the nature of their ancestors, but it is their nature. It amounts to the same thing.”
“True,” Jacob said. “Let me know when you wish for me to press the button.”
They lapsed into a tense silence as they watched Richard move into the depths of the wood. Things were about to get very interesting.
A branch rustled somewhere behind him. Richard spun around, sending a new burst of pain shooting up his injured leg. He hadn’t taken a licking like that since school. The bitch must be some kind of soldier or spy or something. He’d be well shut of her and this damn forest.
He didn’t like it out here. He couldn’t properly say he knew anything about the outdoors, he was a city lad after all, but this place was all wrong. It felt unnatural. The trees weren’t planted in rows or anything, but it had an orderly feel to it, as if everything were laid out according to a plan. And there were no bird sounds, only the occasional rustle of something heavy moving through the treetops or scuffling along the ground.
He quickened his pace, not entirely certain where he was headed. The black fellow had told him to keep going straight ahead and he would find a gate that opened onto a path leading into town. Richard had been too out of sorts to ask the name of the town or how, exactly, he was to get back home, but he didn’t much care. He just wanted away from this place. And when he got home, he’d call one of those reporters who made their living exposing public figures, march right back to this place, and show the world what a nutter the woman was. He’d make her sorry she’d crossed him.
This time, the sound came from his left, and he saw a flash of movement. So there was something out there. Now he knew for certain he wasn’t imagining things, but he’d have preferred his own paranoia to what he had just seen. It wasn’t much— only a glimpse of a mottled hide of dark green and gold or orange, he couldn’t be sure, covered in a lattice-work pattern of raised ridges. What the bloody hell was it?
He veered off to his right and quickened his pace, hoping he would not lose his way. There were more sounds now, coming from every direction, and moving closer. He scanned the ground for a stick, a rock, anything he could use as a weapon, but the forest floor was clean; another thing that lent to its unnatural feel.
A noise right beside him made him jump. With a scrabbling and scratching like sharp claws on a wooden surface, something climbed the tree where he stood. The thick trunk blocked the thing from view, but he caught a glimpse of a scaled tail vanishing into the leaves up above.
So complete was his panic, he was scarcely aware of the warm, wet feeling as he soaked his boxers. Clutching a belt loop to keep his pants from sliding down and tripping him, he ran blindly. Limbs slapping his face, he bounded like a pinball from tree-to-tree.
From somewhere close by, he heard a low moan that he realized was coming from his own mouth. He’d heard that sound many times in his life, always from someone he’d robbed or beaten up. It was the sound someone made when they finally realized they were powerless to stop what was about to happen to them. Now, it was finally his turn.
He broke through a thick tangle of brush and suddenly he was flying. He cried out in shock and flailed his arms as he hurtled through the air and, with an icy shock, plunged into darkness. Down and down he went, certain this was the descent into hell.
Then his feet touched something solid, and he realized he had fallen into water. He pushed up, but his booted feet held fast in the soft muck. Panic, which had momentarily faded, rose anew, and he struggled to break free. He worked his way out of one boot, then the other, only to have his baggy jeans tangle around his knees. He tried to cry out and got a mouthful of water for his trouble. Choking and thrashing about, he opened his eyes and saw a glimmer of light up above. He’d never get there. It was too far.
Somehow, all the fear and panic washed away in the face of his inevitable demise, and he was able to think again. He stopped his flailing about, slipped out of his jeans, and swam for the surface. Light and blessed air seemed to dangle tantalizingly out of reach as he kicked and paddled with every drop of his remaining energy. He clenched his jaw and fought the impulse to breathe. Just a little farther.
And then he broke the surface and pulled in a loud, rasping breath. Sweet air filled his lungs, and even the overcast England afternoon seemed bright and sunny after the depths of the pond and the darkness of the forest. He struck out for the shore, which was only a few meters away, hauled himself up onto the steep bank, and rolled over onto his back. He was dead tired, but he was alive.
It was only after he’d caught his breath that he remembered why he’d run pell-mell into the water in the first place. What had happened to the things that had been following him? Were they still there?
He rolled over again and looked up to where the sloping bank met the edge of the wood. He saw naught but trees and scrub, and relaxed.
And then a gray green snout poked out the undergrowth. It was only there for a moment, but it was enough. Robert whimpered and scrambled crablike along the shore. He had to get away.
He had gone perhaps ten meters when a high pitched tone, almost above hearing, rang out. It hung in the air for the span of two heartbeats, and then... nothing.
He looked all around. Had it been a signal of some sort?
And then he raised his head.
Something detached itself from a treetop
and drifted down toward him. As it drew closer, he realized just how big the thing was, and were those... wings? He was frozen in place, stupefied by the sight. It couldn’t be.
But it was.
And then the world exploded all around him, and he found his voice long enough for one bloodcurdling scream.
Chapter 10
“I’m afraid pumping the water out of the passageway isn’t going to work.” Charlie looked like he’d been sucking lemons. “We’ve been at it for hours and the water level hasn’t gotten much lower.”
“It’s not unexpected,” Dane said. “This island is like a sieve.”
“Somebody sealed that tunnel up once before, and all they had were primitive tools compared to what we’ve got. This is crap.”
“That was a long time ago, Charlie. New cracks could easily develop over two centuries.”
“You’re probably right,” Charlie agreed. “You know what? Screw the drilling! We’re going straight for the chamber and, when we break through, you diver boys can do your stuff.”
“We’re not certain of the location,” Dane said. “You have our best guess, and that’s it.”
“I’ll take your best guess every day of the week and twice on Sunday. Now, if it was Bones doing the guessing...” Charlie made a face.
Dane laughed. There were some significant differences between Bones and Charlie, but they both had a long sarcastic streak that he appreciated.
The old man gave him a wink and headed over to give his crew their new instructions.
Dane checked his watch. It was late afternoon, two days after the discovery of the underground chamber, and progress was stalled. He and the crew had continued surveying the shore, but they hadn’t found any more underwater tunnels like this one. One more day and boredom would set in in earnest.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than his phone vibrated. It was Avery.
“Maddock, I’ve got some weird news.”
“Okay.” What news could she have that would be of interest to him?
“Your father’s chest was stolen from the museum.”
“Seriously? When?”
“Two nights ago. The same day Rodney was murdered.”
Dane pondered this new development.
“You don’t think the two are related, do you? Unless you let Rodney in on what you knew about the chest.”
“Of course I didn’t tell him anything, but who knows how long he was lurking out of sight that night at the Spinning Crab? He might have heard me telling you about the chests.” She lowered her voice to little more than a whisper. “Rodney was an ass and, frankly, I’m not surprised someone killed him. But he was the kind of guy who gets knifed in a parking lot, not tortured.”
“Tortured?” Alarm bells were going off in Dane’s mind. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not supposed to know this, but one of the deputies is an old friend. They cut off his ears, his fingers, his eyelids. All kinds of crazy stuff you think only happens in horror movies.”
“Somebody wanted information.”
“Right, and believe me when I tell you, Rodney had no information in that head of his. None.”
In spite of the grisly news, Dane couldn’t stifle a grin at Avery’s dry sense of humor. Then a thought occurred to him that wiped the grin from his face.
“Do you think he gave them your name?”
“I’ve been wondering that very thing.” Her voice was tight. “I think they would have come after me by now if he had. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.”
“Is there any place you can go, anyone you can stay with, where you can hide out for a while?” He didn’t know why he was bothering with the question. He already knew how this conversation was going to end.
“Maybe.” Doubt tinged her voice. “Classes ended today and I’m not teaching this summer, so I suppose I could leave town, but what if they found me? I’m not a helpless Barbie girl, but I don’t think I could do much against professional killers.”
“You can stay with us. Gather what you’ll need and I’ll send Bones to get you.” Dane wanted to kick himself. Why must he always try to rescue the damsels in distress? He had to admit, he had no romantic interest in Avery, but he felt an odd affinity for her. In the few hours they’d spent together, she’d seemed to really get him, and understand his way of thinking. He liked her and didn’t want to see her get hurt.
“I don’t want to be any trouble. You guys have work to do and I’m sure Bones doesn’t want to chauffeur me around.”
“Trust me. The dive work is done for the moment and a bored Bones is an annoying Bones. He’ll be happy to get off the island and I’ll be glad to not listen to his grumbling.”
“All right, then. Thank you.”
He had just hung up the phone and was about to go find Bones when two sheriff’s department cars pulled up to the work site. Deputies White and Boudreau climbed out of one, while Sheriff Meade, grinning ear to ear, and a tall man in an expensive suit exited the other.
“What the hell is this?” Charlie had noticed their new visitors and come to stand beside Dane.
“Charles Bonebrake?” Meade didn’t wait for a reply to his question. “I have an order here for you to cease operations and leave the island.” He held out a document which Charlie snatched.
“You mind telling me what this is all about?” He scanned the document, his countenance growing darker as he read.
“A man almost lost his life on your job site. The local authorities need to conduct a safety inspection, after which time, the Bailyn Museum will be taking over the project.”
“The hell they will! I’ve got a permit!”
“Which has been revoked, effective today.” Meade’s grin grew predatory, his straight, white teeth gleaming in the sunlight. “I’ll need you and all of your equipment off the premises by five o’clock.”
“That’s impossible,” Charlie snapped. “We’re in the middle of a job here. It’s not that easy just to pick up and walk away.”
“It’s a thousand dollar a day fine for trespassing.”
“Pocket change.” Charlie’s grin matched that of the sheriff.
“And you’ll be arrested for criminal trespass and your equipment impounded.” Meade tucked his thumbs into his belt and rocked back on his heels, awaiting Charlie’s next protest. Behind him, Boudreau looked pleased and White uncomfortable. The third man’s expression was one of polite interest.
“Why is the museum taking over the project, Sheriff?” Dane knew the truth, the sheriff blamed him for Rodney’s death and this was payback, but he was curious what the excuse would be.
“Indian artifacts have been found on the island. We need qualified researchers to do a complete archaeological survey before any other work can proceed. Since they’re going to be doing the survey, it’s more expedient for them to follow up on any leads you might have.”
“Son, the only Indian artifact on this island is me.” Charlie’s voice and demeanor were serene, which meant he was already working on a plan. The old man never surrendered, but he knew when to make a strategic retreat.
“On the contrary,” Boudreau said. “I found this arrowhead just lying on the ground when I got out of the car.” She held up a leaf-shaped, fluted projectile point.
“That’s a Folsom point.” Dane hadn’t heard Bones approaching. “And it’s obsidian, so it’s from the American southwest. If you’re going to pull a scam, at least try not to make yourself look like an idiot.”
Boudreau’s face reddened, but she was undeterred.
“In that case, I’m sure the museum will be interested in determining how it got here.”
“Oh, I think we all know how it got here,” Dane said.
“We’re wasting our time with these ignoramuses,” Charlie said. “I’ll give my men their marching orders. Bones, you and Maddock tell your fellows to clear out until I take care of things.” He stalked away, muttering, “When I buy somebody, he stays bought.”
&n
bsp; Dane noticed that the man in the suit do a double-take at the mention of Dane’s name. Now, he approached Dane and offered his hand.
“Dillon Locke. I’m with the Bailyn Museum in New York.” The man had a strong grip and he looked Dane square in the eye as if he were trying to read Dane’s thoughts.
“You’re a long way from home, Mister Locke.”
Locke laughed. “I’m a bit of a vagabond. New York is home for now, but I fear I’ll never lose my accent.” His smile faded into an earnest look. “I’m sorry about this, mate. This was all arranged between the local authorities and someone at the museum with a higher pay grade than mine.” He shrugged.
“You’re not buying this charade, are you?” Bones asked.
“I’m just here to do my job.” Locke shrugged. “The arrowhead was absurd, I’ll grant you that, but I promise I’ve no interest in local politics. We’ll do our best to continue the good work you’ve done here.” His eyes fell on the drilling apparatus Charlie’s crew was already disassembling. “Looks like you’re on to something over here.”
“A dead end,” Dane lied. “We thought there might be something in this spot, but we were wrong.”
“A shame. Sorry if this is an insensitive question, but is there anything at all you can tell me that might guide our search?”
“Give up and go home. There’s nothing here but legends.” Dane hoped his words sounded sincere rather than spiteful. True, the museum wasn’t at fault, but he wasn’t going to give this Locke fellow a bit of help.
“Too bad. Hopefully the museum won’t keep me on this wild goose chase for too long.” He bade them good day and left.
“If that guy’s an academic, I’m a ballerina.” Bones glowered at Locke’s receding form.
“I don’t think you’re in danger of having to wear a leotard any time soon,” Dane said. There was definitely more to Locke than a simple museum employee. “Since we’ve got some free time on our hands, I think we should see what we can find out about the Bailyn Museum.”
