After Noah shared his plan with Tony, they took the clothes and slithered aft like a pair of large snakes. Once again, they were out of the harpooner’s vision and were able to stand. First, Noah released the orange emergency Zodiac from its mount on the rear wall.
“What now?” Tony asked, wiping the stinging sweat from his eyes.
The skies were clear and the sun blistering; the temperature had climbed to over 100 degrees.
“Just watch.” Noah connected the fuel tank to the fifty-horsepower outboard motor and then molded the clothes into two lumpy human shapes on the bottom of the Zodiac. He hoped his handiwork would trick the harpooner into believing they were escaping the island in the raft.
The two young men carefully pushed the Zodiac into the cove waters.
“Cross your fingers.” Noah pulled the cord. The engine coughed to life before establishing a whirring rhythm. Gray puffs of smoke rose into the light breeze, and then were swiftly snatched away. Noah rotated the Zodiac’s bow until it faced the cove’s south end before shifting the motor into forward gear. Slowly but surely, the raft motored past the end of the dock toward the distant cove exit.
Tony was a ball of nerves, so Noah gripped his arm. “Settle down! My plan will work, because two the armed men are already running across the beach toward the dock … and right into our trap. So sit tight and stay very quiet. Got it?”
Tony nodded. “My last name’s Lozano,” he volunteered.
Noah removed his REC7 from the deck. “Nice name. Now stay out of sight, and let me handle the ambush.”
“Gotcha.” He sat, crossed his legs, and leaned back against the wall beneath the vacant Zodiac mount.
Noah warily peered over the top rail and clenched his teeth. A large triangular serpent head surfaced beside the Zodiac that was larger than the entire orange raft! The sea creature’s trailing scaly body swam parallel to the raft. Its wake threw the boat off course. What’s the enormous monster doing in the shallow cove?
If the serpent attacked and sank the raft before the two killers reached the dock, his plan would sink with the Zodiac. The men would witness the attack and head back to their jungle hideaway. He and Tony would be trapped and never get off the boat alive.
For a change, Noah’s luck held.
The men’s running footfalls resonated on the wooden planks. A tall, muscular man clutching a large hunting bow was in the lead, and Noah presumed he was the harpooner. The other man was the same height but much slimmer. Both of them passed the boat and paused at the end of the dock. They laughed at the scene unfolding near the Zodiac. Noah held his breath, hopeful that the sea serpent would delay its attack long enough for him to spring his trap.
The archer surprised him by removing an arrow from his quiver and preparing to sink the raft before the sea serpent made up its mind whether to attack or move on. The large man assumed a shooter’s stance, with his body perpendicular to the moving Zodiac and his feet shoulder-width apart. After he positioned himself correctly, he nocked the harpoon-like arrow into the bow’s string and drew it back. The other killer raised his 30-30 rifle and sighted the emergency raft through the scope.
Noah stood and pointed the REC7 at the back of the gunman’s knees, but that was as far as he got. A gun barrel sharply jabbed his back.
“Drop the rifle, Noah.” It was Tony’s voice, cold but definitely not nervous.
Noah was caught with his pants down. “You men are working together?”
“Sure. It was the only way to flush you out. Too bad Josh had to be sacrificed, but we had to make you believe I was legit. The bottom line is, you swallowed our con hook, line, and sinker. Now drop the rifle.”
The two killers on the dock threw their heads back and laughed again. They lowered their weapons and nodded at Tony. “Good trick, man,” the archer said lightly.
“The jerk fell for it big time,” the rifleman added.
Noah rationalized that if he abandoned his REC7, he was a dead man. He chose to go out fighting.
He sprang sideways and fired the assault rifle at the grinning pair on the dock, and the bullets shredded their knees before Tony got off a shot. When he did respond, he was too late for life. Noah hit the deck hard but managed to swing his rifle barrel around to Tony’s sunburned chest. He depressed the trigger, and Tony pitched backward into the water. The muddy and bloody water churned up a white froth where his sagging body splashed. The mermen and mermaids devoured him like ravenous piranhas before his body resurfaced.
Noah darted across the gangplank to the dock and rolled the archer and rifleman into the churning water. He ignored the carnage and retrieved the foodstuffs and medicines from the boat, but he had to leave the food behind because the carton bottom was too soggy from the leaks to support the weight of its contents. He slipped the blue bag over his shoulder, picked up his REC7 rifle, and returned to the dock.
While Noah was recovering his supplies, the mermonsters made short work of the two killers and began swimming alongside the dock. They were hunting for more food. Noah hurried toward shore, his heart in his throat; he was the only meal left on the dock. Green scaly hands shot up from the water and curled around both sides of the dock. The nasty predators grunted loudly as they strained to heave their hefty forms onto the planks. Noah danced around and over several grasping webbed claws.
He was mere steps from the beach when he saw three mermen waiting for him on the sand near the end of the dock. His breaths came in heaving gasps when the scaly carnivores opened their toothy mouths and emitted shrill, almost human screams signaling their brethren to join the dry land welcoming party. Appetizers provided.
Six more mermen clambered awkwardly ashore. The assembly was growing. A loud POP and a trumpeting wail rattled the dock and the listing boat and captured everyone’s attention, including the mermen. The Zodiac was no longer in sight, and the irate brown sea serpent blanketed with glistening iridescent scales thrashed angrily in the cove around the ruined raft, realizing it had been duped. There was no food inside the small inflatable.
Noah was so intrigued by the ancient sea serpent’s fierce tirade that he didn’t notice the five dripping mermen sprawled on the dock behind him. By the time he noticed them, it was too late. He was trapped. Even the deadly REC7 couldn’t fire in two directions at once. He would kill a lot of them, but sooner than later one of them would seize him and end his defense.
He dropped the blue bag at his feet and prepared for the battle of his life. This was déjà vu all over again. Terror Island was one big thrill park, with hostile plants and animals hungering for human flesh.
Two more mermen scrabbled onto the dock.
Noah scowled and targeted the mermen on the dock while those on the beach moved toward him.
This could easily be his last stand.
34
Nick left the Scripps building and climbed up to the steps to the Scripps parking lot. The stiff Pacific sea breeze tousled his blond hair until it resembled a disheveled wheat field. He mulled over his aunt’s possible involvement with Noah landing on Terror Island for a show that never aired. If she willingly sacrificed her own son on the island, the chances of Noah still being alive were thin and none.
Nick took a final look at the hypnotic ocean whitecaps. He hated to give up this beautiful California vista, but he needed to book a reservation for the earliest flight back to Columbus. There was a tiny chance Noah was alive, and time was the only commodity Nick couldn’t afford to squander. He realized he would be seeing those exhilarating waves again soon on Terror Island.
Nick’s hand grasping the ignition key hesitated an inch from the car’s door handle before inserting it. His mystical sixth sense warned him of a deadly hazard, so he slowly backed away. The danger was beneath the Impala, so he dropped to his knees and inspected its undercarriage. He saw the ominous threat immediately.
There was a bomb fastened to the transmission with a thin trip wire running to the bottom of the driver’s door. Nick got to his feet, wip
ed the dirt off his hands, and imagined the bomb detonating in a remote unpopulated area off the California coast. In an eyeblink, the bomb vanished from the transmission, and Nick presumed it detonated safely out in the Pacific.
He slid behind the wheel and drove away, keeping a sharp eye out for the saboteur. A lot of bomber assassins enjoyed witnessing their handiwork, and if he failed once, he might try again before his prey moved too far from his lookout. But there were no further attempts on his life, and nobody tailed him as he sped toward the San Diego International Airport.
Once he arrived there and turned in the Impala, he was lucky enough to book one of the three final seats on the next flight to Columbus. He found a place in the second floor bar and emailed the four alien beast pictures to Geronimo. When he finished, he sipped his scotch and watched for someone who seemed too interested in his well-being or acted suspiciously.
Nick was sure the assassin would make another attempt on his life before he landed in Columbus.
*************************
Richard Benjamin observed Nick Bellamy from the crowded shopping center parking lot across from Scripps. He wanted to see his bomb blow his mark sky high.
But somehow Bellamy caught wind of the attempted sabotage and looked under the car. Within seconds, he opened the Impala door, but the bomb didn’t detonate. What the hell? Bellamy just drove away in one piece. The guy should be ground beef by now. Benjamin was more than bewildered—he was totally rattled. How did Bellamy disarm the car bomb when he didn’t even touch the damn device? The answer escaped him. Bellamy was just an ordinary man, wasn’t he? Strasser hadn’t warned him otherwise.
The killer idly scratched his forearm, his customary reaction to rare failures, while he watched Bellamy drive away. Benjamin fired up his unremarkable gray sedan, zoomed across the street to the Scripps parking lot, and inspected the pavement where the Impala had been parked. There was no bomb lying on the asphalt or physical evidence of a muffled blast.
Benjamin kicked a tire and jumped into his car. Bellamy forced him to leave his beautiful Southern California home to finish the job. He managed a pathetic grin. At least Strasser would pay him a fat bonus for his trouble.
Richard turned into the Montgomery Airport where Chrysalis International Corporation stored and maintained its private green and white HondaJet aircraft. After he told Strasser what happened at Scripps, his boss called ahead and scheduled Benjamin’s private flight to Ohio. He parked the car and stared long and hard at the executive plane. He hated flying. High altitudes upset his equilibrium and prompted airsickness.
But he had a hit to complete, so he would man up … again.
Benjamin was so distraught about flying, he didn’t notice his tail from the Scripps parking lot. The white dry cleaning delivery van stayed a discreet three cars behind Benjamin’s gray sedan the entire trip.
The Superior didn’t trust Strasser’s man to successfully murder Bellamy, so she sent her own wet work specialist, Na Chang, to keep an eye on Benjamin. She further instructed Chang to exterminate Benjamin if he botched the assassination. Once Benjamin was disposed of, he was to finish Bellamy before he reached Ohio.
Earlier, Chang saw Benjamin secure the bomb and wire the detonator under Bellamy’s Impala, but when Bellamy showed up, he sniffed out the bomb and just drove off scot free. No explosion. No dead Bellamy.
Benjamin’s furious reaction after the fact confirmed Chang’s suspicions that Benjamin’s assassination attempt failed miserably. Na Chang followed Strasser’s hit man onto the Montgomery Airport grounds, pulled up beside the preoccupied Benjamin and rolled down the van window.
“Can I help you?” Benjamin asked curtly.
Those were his final words.
Chang smiled, raised his silenced QSZ-92 semi-automatic pistol, and blasted Benjamin’s skull to bony fragments. He burned rubber away from the scene, narrowly avoided colliding with several cars as he crossed traffic, and then nonchalantly headed toward the San Diego International Airport.
It was now Chang’s turn to dispatch Bellamy.
And he wouldn’t fail.
35
Nick spotted his Oriental shadow during his flight to Columbus, but he allowed the man to believe he was undetected. Twice, his tail swanned past Nick on the pretense of entering one of the two front restrooms, and each time Nick shrank from the man’s malevolent aura. The stalker was toxic and needed to be stopped—permanently.
But how without being observed by the plane’s passengers?
Every method Nick imagined was too messy, raised too many airline security red flags, or labeled him and the others as prime murder suspects. He finally threw in the towel and psychically channeled someone who was much more adept at subtlety when exterminating dangerous pests.
When the Oriental hit man slid into the restroom for the third time, Nick stood, stretched, and sauntered up front, where he pretended to wait his turn to use the lavatory. A stunningly attractive woman exited the other restroom and jauntily greeted Nick in the narrow kitchen area hidden from the passengers. Although she was casually dressed in jeans and a smock top, her luminous white-blond hair and beguiling body were both head turners.
“Is the pain in the ass in the other lavatory?” Gabriella Wolfe asked simply.
Nick nodded.
She smiled seductively at her fiancé, cast a spell on the hit man, and pecked Nick’s lips before teleporting home from inside the vacant restroom. Nick shuffled back into view, expressed annoyance at the long wait, and stomped back to his seat.
The cocky hit man opened the door and looked like death warmed over. His complexion was wan and his eyes beet red. He staggered up the aisle toward his seat and slammed into dozens of shocked and angry passengers. His abdomen burbled noisily like a sucking drain, and the sweat discoloring his shirt reeked of sourness. The other travelers pinched their nostrils as he stumbled past, but the man was oblivious to their theatrics. Nick smiled. Gabriella’s spell worked like a charm.
An elderly woman screamed as blood dribbled from his ears, eyes, and nose, but the man wasn’t aware of his physical woes. Two flight attendants ceased their trash collection, dropped the bags and dashed to the rear kitchen.
A menacing dragon mirage wafted up in front of the Oriental hit man, and he didn’t care. He stumbled right through the nebulous vision before it vanished. Nick saw the dragon, too, but none of the others did. The reeling Oriental slipped to a knee and vomited a thorny rose. When the rose touched the floor, the Superior’s wet work specialist heaved up a second rose. That was when the dragon mirage reappeared and released a steady stream of real fire on the hit man.
Chang’s thin body rapidly went up in flames and was incinerated to ash in no time. The plane’s passenger compartment filled with clouds of acrid smoke and the malodor of burning hair and flesh. Many of the passengers screamed for help in the makeshift crematorium while Nick rushed to the man and stamped out the remaining green flames. He was worried. The magical dragon mirage and the subsequent inferno were not part of Gabriella’s rose regurgitation spell. That left him with one answer.
There was another necromancer involved who wanted the hit man dead. A potent master of the black arts. And someone unfamiliar to Nick.
One of the flight attendants tried to subdue the mass hysteria sweeping through the plane. Overwrought passengers abandoned their seats and crowded the aisle like livestock in Chicago slaughterhouses.
A few men began shoving each other for the right to occupy the same space, and their violent behavior soon escalated into fisticuffs. Children shrieked and bawled, and cowering women sobbed or screamed in their seats. Thankfully, half the passengers kept their cool and either prayed for a safe landing or demanded alcohol.
Nick reached out for the lingering dragon mirage, and when his hand made contact, an icy chill frosted his flesh and sowed goosebumps along his arm. Shrill cackling resonated in his ears before the lethal dragon disappeared.
The frosty dread remained with Ni
ck long after the mirage left. He stood trancelike amid the earsplitting chaos. The illusion had dumped a mind-numbing jumble of thoughts in his head, and when the muddle cleared, Nick was able to organize the extraordinary data.
The communication amazed him. From it, Nick learned he was looking at the Final Scream mystery from the wrong angle. Natalie Wright’s Wicker transformation and the purloined E.V.A.N. creature were clever investigative distractions. How did he know this? For some reason, his mind was able to extract information from the sorcerer responsible for the dragon illusion … . and the hit man’s death. He was both mystified and thrilled with his latest supernatural ability until he realized how unstable his genes were. That translated into more frequent strange transformations, and that reality frightened him. Where would his genetic evolution stop? When he was totally inhuman?
Genetic transfiguration was impossible to predict, but it made him uneasy just the same, especially when it might threaten Gabriella’s safety. Would his numerous transformations render his impending bride vulnerable over the course of their marriage?
Nick snapped out of his protracted stupor and elbowed his way through the unruly mob to the closest lavatory at the rear of the plane. He pushed the aggressive man blocking the entrance aside, slipped into the cramped space, and engaged the lock. He readied himself for his magical return to Columbus, where Neo waited to drive him to Old Mother Hubbard’s.
But recalling the sorcerer’s message stalled his teleportation. There was one terrifying piece of data that worried him. He and Gabriella were murder targets, too, and since the necromancer’s identity was unknown, Nick didn’t know who to evade.
Basically, they were a couple of sitting ducks.
Final Scream Page 16
