Neo’s coughing shattered his trance.
“Gotta move, man. Gotta git it on!” he screamed at himself, trying to shake his funk.
His swift movement resulted in debilitating leg cramps the size of fists. Using his arms, he dragged his body up the remaining steps as the blood-red light arrived. The brilliance blinded him, and fragments of rock pummeled his exposed feet like shotgun pellets, tearing away flesh and smashing into the bones. He fell back on the cavern floor and rolled away from the cataclysm as the tunnel exit collapsed and sealed. The light and roar died away.
He touched the blocked tunnel and was bewildered by how, in such a brief time span, the fragments were now solid rock. Retreat in that direction was impossible. He was left with one possibility for escape: the daunting castle.
After what seemed like hours of vigorous massage, Neo finally stood without much pain and made his way stiffly toward the open drawbridge, eddies swirling in the mist behind him. A large black figure loomed beside the moat. He stopped and considered it. At last, he moved forward again.
He guessed it to be a statue, and he was right. It was about fifteen feet tall and sculpted from black granite. He inched closer, and then fell back a step.
“What the . . .!” he gasped. “Where am I? Hell?”
His outburst rolled around the cavern, but there was no response. He immediately regretted his outburst, because if the castle were occupied, he had just revealed his presence. He chastised himself for making such a rookie mistake. He ducked behind the statue and scanned the castle for signs of life, but he was fortunate. No lights appeared in the gloomy windows and the silence persisted.
After settling his nerves, Neo inspected the grotesque granite figure. It was human from the neck down, with a cruel expression and burning eyes etched into the face of a horned goat head. The left hand clenched a curved, jeweled dagger, but what unnerved him was the long stone table at the foot of the statue. It was adorned with thick leather straps, a shallow channel that navigated the table and emptied its contents into a stone urn on the floor, and grotesque demons carved into the surface. He inspected the urn.
Blood stains.
Neo pulled back. This was a sacrificial table. By the spacing of the straps, he noted that humans were the intended victims, not animals. He shook his head. This was no surprise. The recent developments in the Creeper case all involved witchcraft and voodoo. Why not add a dash of human sacrifice to the mix?
Neo suddenly felt vulnerable in the open, so he moved quickly across the drawbridge. The windows were darkly hooded eyes, watching his every move. He shifted his unsteady gait into a higher gear.
The drawbridge planks in the middle were ice slick, so he was forced to reduce his speed. That didn’t set well with him. His paranoia was growing with each cautious step. His imagination was kicking into overdrive. He saw ghosts in the castle shadows awaiting his arrival. The castle seemed to come alive with a malevolence all its own. He had to hurry. Find shelter. Hurry!
His pulse raced, and his rapid breaths were shallow by the time he reached the stone courtyard. He propped himself against one of the ramparts and surveyed the courtyard. It was vacant. No catapults, no scaling ladders, no armored knights.
Clank.
Neo stiffened at the noise and twisted his gaze around the castle. He saw nothing but mist and flickering shadows.
Clank.
His eyes searched the battlements and ramparts for its source, but found none. He relaxed. Probably rats, he thought. Hopefully rats.
Without warning, the dark torches attached to the inner walls exploded in flame, and the arched castle windows glowed like cruel yellow eyes. The drawbridge creaked as two heavy chains pulled it upward. Neo hit the floor in the rampart’s shadow, anxiety assailing his frayed nerves. Who had caused the castle’s unexpected metamorphosis?
He didn’t have long to wait.
A man appeared in a castle doorway. He wore a black suit, black cape, and a tall black hat. If not for his dread, he would’ve laughed at the sight.
“Come one, come all!” the man shouted as he moved toward Neo. “Experience the thrilling, chilling world of freaks!”
Neo stood awkwardly. “Who are you?”
The man ignored Neo’s question. “Welcome to the one true greatest show on earth! The carnival of freaks. And the price of admission?” He stopped a few feet from Neo. “Just one thin life, folks. One thin life for the show of a lifetime!”
“Danforth!” Neo exclaimed.
He bowed and tipped his hat. “The one and the same. You’ll have to excuse my theatrics, but the carnival was my life long before politics,” he replied.
“I’m so glad to see you. I have to get out of here,” Neo said, relieved.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Special Agent Doss, but I can promise that you’ll be part of my show to the very end. Your end, of course.”
“What are you talking . . .”
Infuriated, Neo lunged at Danforth, but two mutants with lizard heads, scaly frames, and long tails swiftly rose from the courtyard floor and secured his arms.
“Chain him in the dungeon,” Danforth snapped at the mutants.
“No, please. My legs are in bad shape. Get me some help first,” Neo pleaded.
“Oh, I think I can cure what ails you.” Danforth lowered his eyes and chanted. A minute later, the pain in Neo’s legs vanished.
“Thanks, man,” Neo said and then glanced down at his legs.
His enraged, piercing shout echoed throughout the cavern. “Goddamn you, Danforth! Goddamn you to hell!”
The lizard mutants pulled the squirming black merman into the castle as his newly acquired tail slapped the floor.
Chapter 49
The Cessna cruised smoothly on autopilot through the rainy night skies en route to Columbus. Nick repeatedly tried to contact Neo via satellite phone, but there was no response. He was anxious about his partner’s welfare and reprimanded himself for ordering Neo to enter Duneden alone. Nick hadn’t realized the full extent of the magic surrounding their investigation at the time, and even now, he found it difficult to believe just how bizarre and dangerous things had gotten.
He glanced at Bustillo, who was sleeping soundly. Nick hoped that Jill Sandlin’s information could help provide him with the final pieces in the Creeper puzzle. She might even be able to shed some light on his forgotten childhood memories. He was beginning to believe that his childhood was connected to Duneden, especially after he had seen the Creeper in its true form at the airport, and hadn’t been the least bit startled. He found that curious and more than a little disturbing.
Nick dialed Crow’s “Mo” number, short for Geronimo. If the computer was still able to communicate, it would transfer the incoming call to Crow wherever he was in the world. Hopefully, they were both doing well in Blue Lick Springs. After ten rings, Crow picked up.
“Joe’s Bar and Grill,” he said.
“Funny,” Nick replied, but he couldn’t help laughing. “How’re things in Kentucky?”
“Completely destroyed.”
Nick sat forward. “What?”
Crow described the Creeper’s unexpected appearance, and the devastating outcome of his visit. He left out the part about his escape.
“How did the Creeper find us there so quickly? We put enough red herrings in the Blue Lick file to keep him on the road for six months.”
“Got me, but I smell a rat.”
“Withers?”
“That’d be my guess,” Crow replied.
“We’ve got to warn Rance about this traitor.”
“I have a feeling that he already knows.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Geronimo intercepted a couple interesting tidbits from home.”
“And?”
“Patience, white man.”
“Damn patience.”
“My sentiments, exactly,” he laughed. “Okay, Withers was placed in charge of a nationwide manhunt.”
�
��For me.”
“Right. Plus, he claims to have witnessed Rance coming out of Anderson’s office a few minutes before the director was found dead. He’s Internal Affair’s star witness for bringing Rance down for Anderson’s murder. So to answer your question, yes, I do believe Rance is on to Ronnie boy,” Crow finished.
“I’d love to go back to Washington and nail the bastard,” Nick asserted heatedly.
“We’ve got bigger fish to fry,” Crow reminded him. “Where are you?”
“About an hour outside of Columbus, Ohio. I’m flying with one Hefe Bustillo.”
“You never fail to surprise this red man.”
Nick quickly briefed Crow on his experiences after he left Blue Lick Springs.
Crow whistled. “Man, you’ve had a full plate. So what’s in Columbus?”
“It’s fairly close to Duneden.”
“You’re taking Bustillo there? Man, you’ve got balls!”
“Hey, it’s the only place I could think of where there might be enough witch fire-power to protect him.”
“Man, I hope you’re right. What-say I meet you at the Champion Airlines hanger in C-town?”
“I can’t wait that long. Keeping our drug friend alive is my first priority,” Nick said.
“I’ll be there before you,” he announced.
“But you’re in Nebraska.”
“Yeah. Mind if my grandfather tags along?”
Nick puckered his brow. Crow was talking nonsense. “You and your grandfather will arrive there before we do?”
“That’s the scoop, Custer.”
“Crow, have you been smoking some of that wacky weed out there?”
The Indian laughed. “I’ve learned a few new tricks since Blue Lick Springs. And, Geronimo’s discovered some wild things about Danforth.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’ll show you when we pow-wow in C-town.”
The line went dead, and Nick shook his head. Now Crow was getting all funny on him, too. And where was Neo when he needed him? The big guy was always triple “s”: mentally stable, sensible, and sarcastic, the perfect characteristics for a partner to have against this mounting madness.
Earsplitting static crackled in his headphones, and he yanked them off his head.
Bustillo snapped awake. “What’s the matter?” he asked nervously.
“Damn static nearly blew out my eardrums, that’s what! Go back to sleep. We’ve got another hour’s flight time,” Nick replied irritably.
Bustillo grumbled something in Spanish and went back to sleep.
Nick cautiously raised the headphones to his ears. Instead of static, he was greeted by a woman’s soft, but troubled voice.
“Nick Bellamy, are you there?” she asked.
Nick cleared his throat. “Who is this?” He knew that air traffic controllers never hailed an aircraft with an unofficial, personal greeting.
“An old friend. This is Nick, isn’t it?” she answered.
“All right, yes, but breaking in on an air traffic control frequency is a federal violation,” he warned her.
“Nobody can hear me but you.”
“Really,” he said skeptically. “And exactly how is that possible?”
“Magic.”
Of course. “What do you want?”
“I need a favor.”
He was suddenly alert. Maybe this was the Creeper’s familiar. “Sure.”
“Meet me at the Southwest Airlines gates after you land. And please hurry.”
He smiled acerbically. “And exactly how will I recognize you? As a Siamese cat?”
There was a brief silence.
“I think you have me confused with Thomas’s familiar,” she said stiffly.
Nick was bewildered. “How do you know that?”
“There isn’t time. Just meet me.”
“Why should I?”
“You’re a stubborn man, Nick,” she said, annoyed.
“That’s beside the point. Why should I meet you?” he repeated.
“Because Jill Sandlin’s in danger!” she cried. “We might be too late already. I’ve got to go.”
“Wait. How will I recognize you?”
Silence again.
“Okay, I’ll be there,” he promised.
“Look for a blonde woman in a wheelchair with a white cat on her lap.”
“Are you leveling with me?” he asked.
His headphone was filled with air traffic chatter again. She was gone.
Nick brought the Cessna in below the rain clouds blanketing Columbus. He slipped the Heckler & Koch strap over his shoulder and practically dragged Bustillo down the steps and into the hangar. The leader of the local Champion Airlines FBI security team met them inside and eyed them suspiciously. Nick flashed his NSA identification.
“In a hurry, Mr. Findlay?” The FBI agent was the typical square-shouldered, somber field agent.
“This my prisoner, and we’re late for our connection. If we miss it, I’ll have to put him up locally, and that’ll take a lot of red tape. I’m sure you know what I mean,” Nick responded brusquely.
The agent shrugged. “That’s your problem. I go by the book here, and you are not the scheduled pilot. Where’s Ben Holdress?”
“Dead,” Nick replied simply. “Haven’t you heard?”
“Yeah, I heard. I also heard I’m supposed to hold the pilot and any passengers for questioning. Especially those toting a submachine gun.”
“Take that up with my superiors,” Nick said sharply. “We’re leaving.”
The agent grabbed Nick’s arm, and Nick reacted swiftly and decisively with an upper chop to the man’s throat. He collapsed, gasping for breath. Two other security agents closed fast with their guns drawn. Nick raised the MP5K and fired over their heads. They stopped dead, dropped their guns, and clasped their hands behind their necks.
Nick collected their guns, locked them in a maintenance closet, and ran out into the parking lot with Bustillo trailing a step behind. Crow waited beside a blue SUV. Dawn broke over the gray horizon as Nick shoved Bustillo into the back seat and then jumped in front.
Crow slid behind the wheel. “Nice to see you, too,” he grumbled.
“Get us to the main terminal fast!” Nick hissed. “Jill Sandlin’s at one of Southwest’s gates and needs our help now.”
Crow stomped on the accelerator, and minutes later, they screeched to a stop at the main terminal entrance. An airport security guard turned and stared at them.
“You’ll never get through security armed like that,” Crow said.
“Don’t have a choice. It’s official government business.” Nick climbed from the SUV and waved at Crow’s grandfather in the back with Bustillo. “You and your grandfather take real good care of this fella while I’m gone.”
Crow scowled. “Don’t you need my help?”
“It’s too dangerous. If anything happens to me, you get Bustillo to Duneden.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
Nick smiled. “Right.” He slammed the door and flashed his ID at the guard who was talking excitedly into his radiophone at the curb.
The travelers in the security checkpoint lines shouted at the man carrying a machine gun, most believing Nick to be a terrorist. He flashed his ID to the assembled security staff and explained that there was a very dangerous assassin due to arrive at the Southwest terminal any minute. They asked where his backup was, and Nick lied that he had just gotten the tip and that the others were on their way. The airport security chief insisted that two of his armed men accompany Nick.
“We’ve got to hurry,” Nick pressed.
The chief nodded and released the three of them before contacting the Columbus police and the Southwest managers, requesting that the pilots and attendants hold all in-coming flight passengers on the planes until the danger was past. They begrudgingly agreed. Nick and the two security men were out of sight as the chief hung up the phone.
The three sprinted past the Ohio
State Buckeye souvenir shops, open restaurants, and newsstands. On the way, people resembled bobbleheads the way they craned their necks and bobbed up and down in the crowd trying to get a look at the armed men. Mothers snatched their young children to the side while others fled into the restrooms or flattened themselves against the walls.
A frightened buzz swept through the seated passengers in the Southwest terminal. Nick and the two security men stopped and inspected the area. Nick instructed the two men to take flanking positions while he searched the center of the concourse. Before he had taken a single step, his eyes fell upon the mystery woman in the wheelchair with the white cat.
She was stunningly beautiful, but her eyes were her most striking feature. They were translucent indigo teardrops that seemed to gaze right through him. The luminous white-yellow hair spilled across her shoulders and breasts, with wisps curled into a shadow of cleavage. The exquisite features of her oval face were delicately carved from a pearl complexion with a faint rose blush upon her cheeks. There was softness in the classically sculptured outline of her parted lips that were at once intriguing and seductive.
Her slender body was clothed in a short, blue-flowered dress that perfectly matched the indigo sparkle of her eyes. After recovering from her striking beauty, Nick displaced the image with the purpose for his being there. A potential catastrophe. He rushed to her.
The woman extended her hand, and the cat on her lap meowed. “Gabriella,” she said softly.
He took her hand, and her silky flesh felt vaguely familiar. That’s ridiculous, he thought. He’d just met her. “I guess you know I’m Nick. Now what’s the problem?”
She pointed to a woman who stood near the window looking out on the plane parked at Gate 22. Jill Sandlin was a pretty woman in her early thirties who had a thin, athletic build, shapely muscled legs, and an apple face with hazel eyes and full lips. Worry deepened the lines above her brow.
“Jill’s waiting for her sister to leave the plane, but someone has put out the order that all passengers must remain on the planes.”
“Standard procedure,” Nick informed her. Jill’s sister. He knew something about her, but what was it? Older sister. A lawyer from . . . Atlanta. Jane Sandlin. It was coming back to him now. Lynn Baker’s computer search uncovered the information that horrible night at the DEA “guest” house. He also recalled that Jane had been kidnapped in the Bahamas and had been missing since January.
Mortal Eclipse Page 27
