The guards never touched his books. They acted as though they weren't there. Invisible literature.
'What about the books?' Mercy had asked during his last cell inspection.
'What books?' the guard replied, staring straight at Mercy. 'I don't see any books.'
So the guards had been told to ignore the books.
In mid-September, six months to the day from the arrival of the first book, Mercerelli was prevented from leaving his cell for exercise. He was left alone in the wing for the first time in seven years. No explanation was given. His shouting through the bars went ignored, if there was even anyone around to hear it.
What's this about then?
Fifteen minutes later, lying in his cot reading about the Spanish exploitation of Mesoamerica, Merc heard a pair of shoes he didn't recognize. They weren't inmate issue, and they weren't the guards’ boots. This was someone new. Merc marked his page, shut the book and sat up, placing the book carefully on his table.
A man stopped at Merc's cell. He smiled. The man had black curly hair and intelligent dark eyes.
He was younger than Merc, maybe-mid thirties.
He obviously didn't understand prisons. He was standing too close to the bars.
Merc rose slowly from his cot, wary and alert. Visitors weren't allowed into the cell blocks. This man didn't look lost. He looked to be exactly where he wanted to be. He glanced over Merc's shoulder. 'Enjoying the books?'
Merc approached the bars. 'From you?'
The man was Merc's height, but less ruggedly built. He met Merc's gaze steadily. 'You didn't answer my question.'
Mercerelli wasn't used to being spoken to like that. He bristled, but kept himself in check. He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder towards the little bookshelf he'd fashioned. 'Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am. Very enlightening.'
'Nice bookshelf. I wondered where you kept them all.' The man smiled again, reaching through the bars to offer his hand. 'Call me Spader.'
Mercerelli looked down at the offered hand. He looked back up again into the man's face. He had a couple of options here. He could grab the wrist and yank the arm through the bars. From there he could wrench the arm backwards against the bars and break the joint. Or he could twist with his full weight and dislocate the shoulder. Both were good options. From there, with the man completely at his mercy, he could break fingers and thumbs. He would have all his answers, even if he had to use his teeth to strip away some skin and flesh.
Looking up, he saw that the man, Spader, knew all this. He had intentionally stuck his arm into the lion's cage. It was a test. He left the arm outstretched, waiting for whatever Mercerelli decided to do.
Mercerelli clasped the hand and shook. 'Giorgio Mercerelli. Thanks for the books. Why send them to me?'
'An investment,' answered Spader. 'Of sorts.'
And Spader explained. And what happened next, the good and the bad of it, was something that would stay forever between Spader and Mercerelli. Spader's investment in Merc had meant a lot of things in the following years, but today, here, it meant that Merc now needed to get back into the Gallery with enough firepower to obliterate Kline. The security tent, Merc reasoned, was where they could re-arm. Between Dale and Merc they had barely one full clip of ammunition remaining.
Skirting Rourke's security tent, Merc felt Dale tug his shirtsleeve.
'What?' hissed Merc. Dale pointed towards the ruins they nick-named the Roman Latrines: two buildings with walls completely fallen away to reveal a ring of seat-like structures within. Like a primitive meeting hall.
Something occupied the Roman Latrines.
Something unbelievable.
Merc watched a giant lizard stalking through the ruins. He recognized the shape from books, but the size was way out of line. This thing was longer than an Australian salt-water crocodile. Its back arched higher than a fully-grown bull. Its tail was curled at the end, otherwise it would have been even longer. Picking its way through the rubble, its silence was nearly as horrifying as its very presence. The animal disappeared from view behind a solid arch of freestanding masonry.
Merc glanced at Dale for confirmation.
Dale gawped towards the Roman Latrines. It looked like the messages from his brain were taking a while to reach his mouth.
When finally the words came, they erupted. 'Did you just see that? Tell me you just saw that! Because if you didn't see that, then I am going bug-ass crazy here! Answer me, Merc. Did you see that?'
'I saw that,' admitted Mercerelli, his own voice sounding a little shaky.
'What was that?' demanded Dale. 'When did things go crazy? When did monsters come into the equation! Did you see that! That was a frigging monster!'
'Shut up. Calm down. Let me think.'
Dale hissed. 'Think? You wanna think? I’ll give you something to think about! I saw someone who was torn apart by one of those things! That's something to think about, Merc! That's something to fucking think about!'
‘Shut up, Dale. Just shut up!' What kind of animals do they grow in these damn forests?
Squatting, Dale shifted on his heel. 'That ain't any kind of right. That's not normal. That's...well, that's something else out there, that is.'
'Doesn't change anything,' decided Merc. 'More reason to get heavier firepower.'
'Couldn't agree more,' said Dale, a moment before he darted into the security tent.
'Dale - wait!' barked Merc as loud as he dared, but Dale was already through the flap and inside. Merc cursed in his head and followed. The 'tent' was just the canvas addition to a mostly-intact original Plaza structure. Four stone chambers interconnected a common central room. Rourke's 'office' was the front chamber, half stone, half-tent.
Dale had found something.
Until recently, it appeared that Rourke's desk, a big wooden job, stood on an old green blanket. The table and blanket had been roughly shoved aside, revealing a long wooden trapdoor underneath. The trapdoor was open, and Merc could tell instantly it wasn't of original Plaza design.
The hole underneath was a different story. It looked like original Plaza architecture.
Dale hadn't had time to move the heavy desk. Someone else had exposed the trapdoor. Dale shone his light down. Like the trapdoor, simple wooden steps had been recently added.
'That must be where he keeps the good stuff,' guessed Dale. 'I'll go down. You keep watch.'
Dale sidestepped cautiously down the creaking stairs. The attack came from underneath. A hand darted between the stairs and jabbed Dale's calf. He sensed the trap too late. He shrieked and collapsed down the stairs. His flashlight went flying.
Merc charged down the stairs. He had no choice. He would have to blitz the chamber with his remaining ammunition. Hopefully he'd score a lucky hit in the dark. Dale's weapon would have landed at the bottom. Merc would try to reach it. He'd use Dale's weapon to take out whoever was under the steps. It was a suicidal plan, but it was all he had.
Merc dashed halfway down the stairs, raised his weapon...
...and stopped.
A woman held a scuba tank suspended over Dale's head. Her arms shook from holding up the heavy tank. She could have smashed Dale's head open with one pulverizing blow, but she hadn't.
She was alone in the chamber, apart from whoever was still hiding under the wooden stairs. She didn't seem to have any firearms.
'You, under the steps,' barked Merc. 'If you shock me, I'm going to shoot your friend with the tank. This situation can get really ugly, but maybe it doesn't have to.'
The woman with the tank backed away from Dale. She noticed Merc's uniform. 'Are you police?'
'That's right. We're police,' lied Merc after an awkward moment. 'Now put down that tank.'
The woman set down the tank, but still looked wary. 'I'm Claire Hudnell and she's Libby Fraser. You've come because of Joanne, right?'
Unsure to whom she was referring, Merc just nodded, letting the woman invent her own explanation. They seemed desperate and ready to believe ju
st about anything.
Dale regained his feet and collected his carbine from the bottom step. The woman crouching under the stairs, Libby Fraser, emerged to join the one who’d nearly brained Dale.
Libby had brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a one piece knee-length blue overall with lots of pockets. She was smeared with mud and grime. Claire Hudnell was more sturdily built. She wore a blue singlet, work trousers and boots. She had dried blood in her hair. Merc realized they must be from the Plaza’s research team.
'I'm so sorry,' stuttered Claire, trying to help Dale. 'We didn't know who you were. We thought you were Rourke or Kline coming back.'
'Hey, no permanent harm done,' said Dale, trying to shake some life back into his left leg. 'I hope.'
'You're not the two on the bike who got locked in the Plaza, are you?' asked Libby.
'What?' said Merc. 'What two?'
'The two policemen on the bike,' explained Libby. 'They were wearing the same uniforms as you. We saw the bike bounce into the Plaza just before Kline sealed the Gallery with the rocket.'
'Into the Gallery?' asked Merc. 'You saw them get safely inside?'
'I don't know how safe they were,' interjected Claire, but when the Gallery sealed up, they were definitely not on the outside.’
Merc and Dale looked at each other.
'They're not dead,' said Dale, smiling cautiously, turning his attention back to the women. 'What are you two doing down here?'
'They're hiding,' murmured Merc. 'They came to find Rourke's radio. Instead they found Rourke’s secret door. When they heard us coming they bolted down here and set their trap. Right?'
Merc was pleased by Claire's surprised look. It meant he'd read their situation correctly. He was rapidly getting a handle on this new development.
'That's exactly what happened,' she confirmed. 'How did you know?'
'Because we're doing the same thing,' admitted Merc. 'Except we're looking for firearms, not radios.'
Merc saw the hope drain from Claire's face. 'So you're in as much trouble as we are. Of course. How many of you are there? You couldn't have been expecting all this. I mean Rourke and all the....'
Claire trailed off.
Dale finished her sentence. 'Monsters? You mean the giant lizards running around eating people?'
'Megafauna,' corrected Libby. 'Not monsters. They're megafauna.'
Merc raised an eyebrow.
'I'm sure of it,' she said. 'I'm an entomologist - insects and their close relatives - but I studied megafauna during undergrad. Scientifically, that's how these animals would be classed. I think the most recent megafauna species was discovered in 1998. A coelacanth. Latimeria menadoensis. Megafauna live on every major continent. Things like elephants and hippos. The oceans have megafauna like giant squids. All those animals would sound unbelievable until you saw one. These are exactly the same.'
Merc asked, 'How can people not have discovered these already?'
'Maybe they have,' suggested Claire. 'Doesn't mean they lived to tell anyone about it.’
Libby nodded. 'New species of megafauna are found every few years around the world. In a remote location, a small population could easily stay undetected. Especially a species with the ability to camouflage.'
'That's a good point,' agreed Dale. 'But that camouflage drops away when they're attacking.'
'I thought humans were supposed to be the pinnacle of evolution,' commented Merc. 'I'm really starting to feel like the underdog here.'
'Nature can swing a big stick when she wants to,' said Libby.
'We've worked this site for years now,' observed Claire. 'Why have they only attacked now?'
'I have a theory,' started Libby. 'It's the exact middle of summer, right? The equinox. We planned our research around it. It's the best time for sampling insects. Reptiles are ectodermic. They need outside heat sources. More sun makes them more active. Summer provides their best chance to build fat reserves for higher reproduction success.'
'The sun!' realized Claire. ‘The Aztecs sacrificed hundreds of thousands of people to keep the sun appearing every day. Then these megafauna start appearing around the equinox when the sun is highest in the sky and the days are at their longest all year. They must have seen the pattern. They probably thought these animals were gods. I bet that's why they built this entire place. That's Joanne's missing connection.'
'That might also explain the smell,' said Libby. 'I think it might be an attractant. Some predator species gather around key botanical indicators of ecosystem health. Some flowering plants are called attractor species. Predators move towards them because they indicate a healthy ecosystem rich in prey. They mark the most pristine hunting grounds.'
'This place isn't pristine,' observed Merc. 'The whole place smells like god-knows-what.'
'That smell is attracting them,' explained Libby. 'It's the pollen extract in the silt. Whoever built this place must have used tons of the stuff over the years. They wanted all the megafauna to converge here.'
'And we're right in the middle of it,' realized Merc.
'No,' corrected Claire. 'The Gallery is in the middle. Have you two seen the artwork in there? It depicts thousands of people being torn to pieces by something invisible. I think this entire place was designed to funnel megafauna and people together into a killing zone. I wouldn't want to be in the Gallery right now.’
Merc and Dale looked gravely at each other.
'Our friends are in there,' said Merc. 'If it's sealed up, we need to find a way inside. We could blast our way in. Rourke might have some explosives hidden.'
Dale shone his flashlight around the chamber. His light reflected off a rippling surface at the chamber's rear. 'What the...is that water?'
'Come on,' said Merc. 'There's nothing down here we can - '
Gunfire interrupted Merc's comment. 'It's Kline. He must be falling back to this tent!'
At least four weapons were firing. Kline wasn't alone. With no other options, Merc dashed up the stairs and grabbed the trapdoor.
At that exact moment, Kline burst into the tent.
Merc and Kline's eyes met for a second, then the trapdoor slammed shut.
#
Kline saw the trapdoor fall.
A flash of blue shirt identified the culprit.
Rourke had discovered the underground chamber eighteen months ago. To conceal the discovery from Ethan, he’d relocated their security tent to cover the site. He’d built the steps, then the trapdoor, then the heavy desk to complete the subterfuge.
Now one of the intruders had used Rourke's trapdoor to flee underground.
Well, if Kline survived the next few minutes, he'd worry about the intruders. He still had five men at his disposal.
'You,' pointed Kline, not really caring who he was pointing at. ‘Get on the roof and keep watch. Stay low. I don't want any of those things seeing you.’
He pointed again. ‘You two, into the back rooms and get all the ammunition.'
The last two guards automatically took position either side of the canvas tent-flap. They didn't need to be told. The guards who had lasted this long had the best survival instinct. Kline recognized the faces of Rourke's five most experienced staff. Experience seemed to be counting today. If only Kline felt up to the task himself. He couldn't expect assistance from Rourke. Rourke was sealed in the Gallery. As Rourke's number two man, Kline was now in charge. Problem was, he had no idea what to do. He hadn't had a plan since the animals attacked. Three of his guards were torn apart outside the Gallery. Kline had barely escaped with his own life. He'd radioed for everyone to meet him at the security tent. He'd arrived with one guard, and found four more already waiting.
What he'd wanted was somewhere safe to plan his next move, but rallying at the security tent now felt like a mistake. The tent had no lockable doors. Hell, the front entrance was just a canvas flap.
Kline knelt beside the trapdoor. He bent and pressed his ear near its edge. He heard talking. Whispered, but urgent. One v
oice sounded like Claire Hudnell’s.
I thought she was dead. Maybe she made it back here somehow.
She wasn't alone. But how many were down there, and how were they armed? As long as they didn't want to come up again, it shouldn't be an immediate problem.
Kline glanced towards the canvas flap. The sun was shining straight through from the outside. The animals might be able to camouflage themselves, but they couldn't prevent their bulks from casting shadows.
Kline waited nervously for two minutes. Nothing attacked, but neither did he think of anything they should be doing. Maybe they could reach a jeep? But then what? A jeep could only get them onto the jungle tracks. Those tracks led nowhere, and the animals would be even harder to see in the jungle. They needed a boat or an airlift. The second option, an airlift, was something Rourke was meant to arrange. Rourke had been tight-lipped on the details.
Should I sit tight and wait for the airlift? Will they even leave without Rourke?
Unlikely, but maybe if they saw the animals.
Kline jerked around as a piercing shriek sounded from above him.
The guard on lookout was being attacked. Kline heard another shriek, then manic scuffling from up on the roof. Wooden reinforcing beams groaned above Kline's head. The chamber serving the lookout ladder darkened as something blocked the light.
Kline pointed and shouted, 'They're coming through the roof. Quick, block that archway. Use the desk!'
Four guards scrambled to barricade the archway with Rourke's upturned desk. They smacked the desk squarely against the chamber's single archway. The desk was wide enough, but not tall enough. At least ten inches of clearance showed above the top edge.
'Hold it in place!' yelled Kline. 'All of you push against it.'
As four shoulders pushed up against the desk, something immensely stronger began pushing back. The men strained. The desk bucked. Boots slipped. They couldn't hold it long.
Kline spun towards the canvas flap. They'd have to risk making another dash through the ruins. But to where?
As Kline took his first step towards the flap, something massive came nosing through the canvas towards him. The blunt head and twitching eyes came into view as Kline raised his weapon. He fired full-auto back through the canvas.
PLAZA Page 20
