by Tim Sullivan
"Hello, sailor," the intruder said.
Jack was just about to tear him apart when he felt something cold touch his head behind the right ear. He knew what it was, even though he couldn't see it.
"Smile," said a voice from behind him.
Jack grimaced.
"Now, you're probably wondering what we're doing here," the man in the leather jacket said.
"I know what you're doing here, scumbag," Jack said through gritted teeth.
"Do you? What are we doing here, then?"
"You're robbing my fiancee's apartment."
"Use your head, jocko," the man snapped. "Do you see any missing stereos, silverware, jewelry? Anything like that?"
It was true. "Then, why are you tearing the place apart?"
"Looking for clues, big boy. Just like in a mystery."
"Clues?" Jack said, his spirits sinking. "Clues to what?"
"To where your girlfriend has been taken by the Visitors."
Chapter 7
Jack mulled over what he'd been told. "How do I know you're being straight with me?" he asked. "I mean, with this guy holding a gun to my head."
"Put it down, Chris. Just to show the man we can be reasonable."
The icy metal was gone, and Jack heard the click of the pistol's safety. Knowing that he'd never have another chance like this, he swung around, lowering his body at the same time. He threw a cross-body block on the gunman, sending him smashing into a table. A lamp, makeup, and a box of Kleenex scattered, and Sabrina's big oval mirror shattered into a thousand pieces.
The guy was big, and he went down hard. He still had some fight in him, but three quick punches put him on the floor for the rest of the fight.
Jack turned his attention to the man in the leather jacket.
"Wait a minute, friend," the man was saying, his wise-ass expression gone now. He waved one hand expressively while he talked. "We're trying to help you. Let's not be hasty."
Jack didn't listen to him, and he didn't watch the gesturing
hand. He saw the other hand go inside the jacket, and that was
all he needed.
lie was on the guy in an instant. The first right hook probably would have done the job, but Jack gave him four more as he started to sag toward the floor.
The guy landed on the overturned mattress, bounced once, and was still.
'Breathing heavily from his exertions, Jack took their guns. He went into the kitchen and removed the ice-making tray from the refrigerator. He went back into the bedroom and dropped ice cubes on them until they began to stir.
"All ready to visit the city jail?" he asked as the gunman nibbed his jaw. He turned and poked the other one with his shoe. "How about you, joker?"
"They won't hold us in jail," Leather Jacket said, sitting up on the floor.
"Want to bet?" But in spite of the advantage he had gained, lack knew this was no ordinary burglary. He waited for them to explain themselves before going to the phone. After all, he had the guns now. There was no need to hurry. "Tell me why they won't hold you."
"We're CIA. My name is Ham tyler. This is my partner, Chris."
"Ham Tyler. Where have I heard that name before? And what was that bit about Visitors taking Sabrina?"
"You heard it right," Ham Tyler said, delicately fingering a bruise on his cheek.
"The Visitors are gone, Tyler."
"Not all of them."
"Come on. They were driven off the planet by the Red Dust. They come back and they die."
"Listen, my hard-hitting friend. Has it ever occurred to you I hat a technology eight hundred years ahead of our own might be able to come up with an antidote?"
Jack said nothing. He had thought of it, and there had been a lot of talk about that possibility in the weeks following the Visitors' departure. Now there was little speculation on the
subject. It was almost as if there had never been an invasion at all. The complacency that had so quickly set in was a little bit frightening, now that he thought about it.
"I can see that you have considered it." Tyler got slowly and shakily to his feet. "I'm here to tell you that those lizards have done more than just consider it. They've done it."
"Ham Tyler." Now Jack remembered where he'd seen this guy. "You were with Donovan and Julie Parrish, weren't you? I saw you on television."
"Yeah, not a good thing for a CIA man to be seen on the six o'clock news. Makes covert operations a little more difficult. Thanks for changing my face a little."
Ham helped Chris up. "Who do you work for, man?" Chris asked, his three hundred pounds nearly putting Ham back on the floor.
"Don't you recognize him?" Ham said. "He's a flanker for the Dolphins—Jack Stern."
"No kidding?"
"No kidding," Jack said.
"Well, since you're a football fan, Ham, maybe I won't turn you in."
"Thanks. We'll mention it to your girl friend when we find her."
"You have some idea where she might be?" Jack asked.
"Maybe."
Jack didn't have to think it over. He had no other lead as to Sabrina's whereabouts. "I'm going with you."
"Huh?" Chris still looked a little groggy. "No, man. Me and Ham work better on our own."
"I said I'm going with you." Jack hefted the .45 automatic in one hand and the Walther in the other. "You aren't in any position to argue at the moment."
"Man's got a point," Ham said, picking up a shard of glass with which to examine the damage Jack had done to his face.
"That doesn't cut any ice with me," Chris said.
"Take it easy," Ham told him, dropping the glass sliver on the floor. "Mr. Stern might come in handy."
Chris appraised Jack with one raised eyebrow. "You think
"I think so," Ham said. Ii was easy to see who the boss was. "Don't worry about this mess," Ham said. "We'll clean it up alter we get back."
The three of them started toward the front door. As they passed the china closet, Jack asked, "Why did you look in there?"
"Why not?" Ham said. "It seemed as good a place as any to
start."
They went out under the stars, ready to begin their search.
Blue light spun around and around Billy, and he felt a terrible throbbing, as if his head were swelling to twice its normal size. Was he having a nightmare?
Crackling, sizzling noises filled the air around him. And there was a smell that reminded him of thunderstorms. And those yellow eyes were watching him . . . watching him . . . watching him. ...
And it hurt. God, how it hurt. Why were they doing this to him? He'd never harmed them.
He'd never harmed anyone but himself. And still the terrible blue light spun around him endlessly. How long had it been, now? Where was he?
At the bottom of a swamp.
They were watching him through their cold, reptilian eyes. The 'gators. The ripple on the water's surface was above him now, not next to his canoe.
He was in the 'gators' world now.
How could he breathe here? How could they keep him alive underwater? And why?
They said 'gators liked to let their meat rot before they ate it.
Maybe that's what they were doing to him—waiting for him to rot before they ate him.
No! He was still alive. As long as he was alive, they couldn't Inivr him. He would fight the 'gators. He wouldn't let himself down as he had done before, back among those reptiles at the university.
He had felt their cold stare. They came from a different world than his—a world of privilege, a world full of people who always got their way. Reptiles. Billy felt as though they would eat him up, always so polite, always knowing just what to say and when to say it, always acting so understanding toward the Indian boy, the affirmative-action, token Seminole in the classroom, like a goldfish in a bowl.
He had never been so alone in the Everglades, even while drifting miles from the reservation among the herons and the cranes. Never so alone. . . .
"I am your
friend," a strange, grating voice said from somewhere beyond the flickering blue beam that danced around him here in his fish tank.
"Did you hear me? I said I am your friend."
"I heard you."
"Do you believe I am your friend?"
"No."
A searing pain shot through Billy, beginning at his toes and traveling all the way to his head. He thought his skull would explode. His body shook as if ten thousand volts were passing through him.
"Once you clearly understand that I am your friend, then the pain will stop," the voice said.
"No," Billy moaned.
"Those who have hurt you in the past are responsible for the pain you suffer now," the voice went on. "These are not your people. You owe them nothing. Look how much they hurt you, Billy."
A jolt of pain shook him; it was much worse than anything he had ever felt in his entire life. They were trying to kill him, but who were they? Was it the 'gators? Or was it something else?
"You think of them as your own people," the voice said, "while they put you through this. You fool. I want to help you."
"No. You are hurting me, not them."
"Not me, Billy. Them."
A monstrous surge of pain coursed through Billy. He would have fallen to the floor; but something held him up. Something he couldn't see.
His father, Paul, held him by one hand. His mother held him by the other. He looked up at them, and they smiled, white teeth showing in their brown faces.
Ahead of them, Johnny walked, calling for them to catch up with him. Billy would be just like him when he got bigger, he hoped.
His dad let go of his hand. His father was wearing a uniform. He had to go back. To Vietnam.
To die.
And his mother cried. She cried every day and every night for a long time. And then she got sick. They said it was cancer.
And she went away too. To a hospital. She got weaker and weaker, and then she died, just like Paul.
And John and Billy were alone.
Alone.
"You will not be alone anymore," the voice said. "For I am your friend."
Maybe it was true. He was alone now. He no longer had Johnny. He had been taken away from Johnny—and from Marie.
Another cycle of terrible pain shook him to his very soul. But still he hung on to the train of thought that the pain was intended to wipe out. Marie.
She loved him, and he had been taken from her—and from John.
And the one who said he was his friend was the one who had taken him from his loved ones and brought him here to torment him.
"Liar!" Billy screamed. "You're not my friend! You're my enemy!"
Cycle after cycle of increasing pain followed. Billy knew they were going to kill him, but he didn't care. He would not allow them to take his mind.
The waves of pain were so intense now that he could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing but the agony that stiffened and vibrated his body.
And then the cycles began to decline somewhat. At first he thought he was dying, but the pain shrank down to nothing but exhaustion, and the blue beam spun around him slower and slower until there was no light at all.
Billy fell backward. He hit his head, but it didn't hurt. He was still in the aqueous, transparent chamber, but it had become dark and silent.
He heard footsteps somewhere; they were coming toward him. He tried to open his eyes, but he could only manage it for a second or two.
There were lizard men all around him. They were all dressed in red uniforms except for one, who was all in white.
"This one is strong," the lizard in white said, flicking his forked tongue. "He may be just the one we've been searching for. Take him to the laboratory."
Billy felt claws on his limbs; they picked him up and carried him out of the fish tank. The 'gators still had him, but they had not yet broken him.
He wondered groggily what they would do with him next. Could they have something even worse in store for him? He was spared thinking about the possibilities as he slipped into unconsciousness.
"We don't want an air boat," Ham said. "Too noisy and too conspicuous. We want something quiet, like a canoe. Good enough for the Seminoles, good enough for us."
"What if we have to get out fast?" Chris asked.
"Then we scatter and hide in the swamp. They'd be able to track an air boat easily, but three men on foot will be a lot more difficult."
"Look," Jack said as he poured himself a cup of coffee, "how do we know they've taken Sabrina into the Everglades?"
"We don't. Not for sure. But we do know a woman was picked up by a chopper on Friday at Lantana airport. The tower report says they headed due west out into the 'glades.".
Jack nodded. It was by far the most substantial lead they had had up to now. He could have knocked himself out from now till doomsday and never come up with anything else. He'd always wondered if what they said about the CIA was true. Apparently it was. It was going to be interesting working with these two guys. Despite what had happened last night, Jack was beginning to gain some respect for them.
Stern, you're absolutely certain you want to go along on this mission?" Ham Tyler said.
of course I do. I'm going to marry Sabrina. Do you think I'm just going to let a bunch of lizards have her without putting up a fight?"
Whoa, Lone Ranger." Ham put up his hand. "It's one thing to be gung ho on the football field. But these lizards aren't playing a game. They shoot to kill. And if they don't kill v mi , what they do with you after they catch you could be worse than dying."
A fate worse than death, huh?" Jack said. "You think Sabrina is going to be raped by a lizard?"
Stranger things have happened," Ham said. "Let's hope they just want her scientific knowledge."
Jack was surprised to hear something that sounded like concern coming out of the mouth of the usually cynical Ham. He had known a lot of tough guys, both on the playing field and in the service; they often weren't so bad once they got used in you. Ham struck him as a man who had started out with a desire to help his country, who had somehow become so involved in the intricacies of his career that he had almost lost sight of human values. His career frequently involved killing people, after all, and that would make the best of men, and women, a little grim.
"Okay, let's get some rest. Wake-up call at six," Chris said.
"Can't we get started now?" Jack asked.
"Don't be a wise guy," Chris said, mimicking Curly of the Three Stooges so perfectly that Jack couldn't help laughing. Ham laughed too, and so did Chris. They laughed at the way they were laughing, and then they laughed at that. Jack laughed so hard his eyes watered, and it felt good. He lay down on the hotel bed, realizing that he hadn't cracked a smile for days before this.
"All right," Ham said, following Chris's bulk through the door, "we'll see you in the morning, Stern. Don't get lost."
"Right."
A moment later they were gone. Jack lay on the bed, restive, eager to go after the lizards who had taken Sabrina. He knew he should get some sleep, and he turned out the lights and shut his eyes.
"Big game tomorrow, Jack" he said aloud. "You need your rest."
But he couldn't doze off, thinking of what might be happening to Sabrina. Hard as it might be to accept, he'd rather learn that she'd run off with some other guy than this. Well, Ham could be wrong. The CIA had been wrong before.
But this time Jack had the bad feeling that there was no mistake.
Billy didn't know exactly how long he'd been in the red chamber. At first, he hadn't minded. They fed him here, gave him water, and inflicted very little pain.
Every once in a while he was strapped down to a table, and one of the 'gator men took a little knife and scraped some skin off his arm or back.
That was all they did to him here, not like in the transparent chamber with the blue beam spinning around him.
"Why are you doing this?" he'd sometimes ask them when ihey were scraping his skin, "Are you trying to find out
what makes humans tick?"
They never answered. They just scraped away silently in the dim red light as if he were a plant specimen.
Well, maybe to these 'gators he was like a plant. Maybe they were just trying to figure out what seasoning would go best on him before they cooked him and ate him. That would explain why they kept him here, feeding him. Fattening him up for the kill.
Somehow Billy didn't believe they were going to eat him, though. Not just yet. They had something else in mind. He was some kind of guinea pig, some kind of lab animal they were testing.
Not a white rat. He'd been allowed to run no mazes. Unless they were examining his mental mazes. But they couldn't find out what he was thinking by taking skin-tissue samples. No, whatever they were up to, it was biological, not psychological.
The door whooshed open, and a lizard in a white smock entered, carrying a food tray.
"How ya doing?" Billy said.
The alien set the tray down on a flat surface that Billy had been using for his dining table. At first he had been bothered by the trays being in lizard hands. The first time they had brought food, he didn't want to touch it. But he'd still been weak from the ordeal in the transparent chamber, so he had forced himself to eat a few bites.
The food was odd—lumpy pastes and starchy rings—but he was getting used to it. He had to keep up his strength or he'd be unable to make a break for freedom when the time came.
And the time would come. He had to believe that the time would come. Otherwise, he might as well lie down and die right now.
Billy had tried to scratch lines in the wall to amuse himself, but he couldn't damage the smooth material, even with the odd little spoon they had given him to eat with. They gave him nothing to write on, no books or magazines, no television; food and water only. Billy had never been so bored in his entire life, even at the University of Florida.
At least his boredom gave him time to plan his escape. Just how he would go about it was still rather vague in his mind. One of the times when they brought in food, he would jump the guard, perhaps. Or he could make a weapon of the spoon.
