“Nothing unusual to indicate a big settlement here,” Russ said.
“Probably rotted in this swampy environment.” Lisa frowned. “What about that small gray square shadow east of here? How far is that from this trailer?”
“A few hundred yards,” he replied. “The geological engineers blew it off as some sort of rock formation.”
“In the middle of a damned swamp?”
Russ shrugged and Dr. Patrick remained silent, a smug grin plastered on his face. “I’m only quotin’ the engineers,” Russ said defensively.
“We need to excavate that site as soon as possible,” Lisa said excitedly.
Russ chuckled. “Why? You think it might be the fountain of youth?”
“Very funny,” she retorted, feigning a smile. “Since you uncovered a mountain of bones close by and there just happens to be an uncharacteristic rock formation in the vicinity, then I think the situation speaks for itself.”
Russ massaged his chin. “Mind spellin’ it out for us non-archeological types.”
“Sure. My guess is that there is an ancient ceremonial site out there where human sacrifices occurred, and I’d bet anything that the closer your excavation crews get to that formation, the more bones they’re going to dig up.”
The medical examiner cleared his throat. “The virus explains the bones, Miss Anders,” Patrick interjected arrogantly. “There will be no further excavating on this site until I say so.”
“Well, I’ll be damned, George” Russ said. “This investigation is sure bringing out the politician in you.”
“What . . . what are talking about?” he sputtered.
“You’re changing sides of the fence on this, and it ain’t even two days old,” Russ declared.
“I am not! I’ll stand by my virus conclusion as the cause of death,” he countered firmly.
Lisa folded her arms. What was Russ driving at?
“Well, George, that’s not what you said yesterday.”
“What . . . what did I say yesterday? I . . . don’t remember saying anything about causes of death,” Patrick stammered.
“Better make an appointment to get your memory checked, George, because you told me and Berger that the reason those bones were dismembered was that something real big and mean and hungry ate the people they belonged to. Ain’t that right?”
George Patrick was sweating profusely now. “Why yes, I did say that, didn’t I? Well, well, I guess that is correct, too.”
“So something ate all those people?” Lisa appeared dumbfounded. “I guess the virus didn’t bother the big badass creature a bit.”
“Maybe not – maybe not.”
“Then I think it would be safe to excavate that gray area tomorrow, don’t you, George?” Russ asserted.
“Unless of course, we run into whatever ate those people,” Lisa added with a hint of humor.
Patrick was apoplectic. “Okay, okay, just do it. But at least wear latex gloves when handling any new bone specimens.”
Russ winked broadly at Lisa. “That we will, doc.”
Lisa stretched and headed for the door. “I’ve got some friends to see by three this afternoon. What time do we start tomorrow?” she asked Russ.
“Six sharp. We try to beat the heat for a couple hours anyway.”
“Brutal, but I’ll be here.”
Dr. Patrick hurried past Lisa to his Explorer, and his green SUV spewed stones and dust as it accelerated across the parking lot. He grabbed his cell phone and nervously dialed a seldom-used number. His New York friends weren’t going to be happy with him for allowing Russ and that snotty college professor to continue excavating tomorrow. He wiped away the sweat burning his eyes. No, they weren’t going to like it a bit that he had failed to stop them.
6
N
ick Bellamy sat behind his desk and tried to focus on John Lonedeer’s dossier, but his mind kept straying from the case. Rance Osborne had properly chastised him for bungling last night’s operation, and now Nick wondered if he still had the right stuff for fieldwork.
It had been nearly a year since he closed the Creeper assassin case after thwarting an otherworldly catastrophic plot to eliminate the human race. After the congratulatory handshakes and backslaps had ceased, he had replaced Rance as Director of Orion Sector and had been exiled to an office and desk. No more clandestine field assignments. No more perilous mission predicaments. Just meetings, meetings and more meetings.
He had been Orion Sector’s top field agent before being appointed director, but now he was merely a bureaucratic pencil pusher with nothing more dangerous on his plate than the FBI cafeteria food. There were days when he considered entering private investigative practice, and although he realized that Rance needed his help managing the ultra-secret Orion Sector, each day was a greater challenge just to climb out of bed and battle the rush hour traffic.
His phone rang and he plucked the receiver from its cradle.
“Bellamy,” he said and stifled a yawn.
“Rance here. We’ve got problems.”
Nick immediately perked up. “What’s up?”
“Crow’s niece was kidnapped down in Fort Myers and her boyfriend was shot. His condition is critical at the moment.”
“Blossom?”
“That’s her.”
Nick’s eyes were thunderclouds. “I’m on my way.”
“No,” Rance shot back. “Send Neo. I need you to follow-up on your Tampa lead.”
Nick slapped his desk. “That’s Secret Service or maybe even NSA Homeland Security stuff. They don’t need Orion Sector sniffing around on something like that. We’re way over qualified on this one,” Nick argued. He knew from experience that he was destined to lose the argument. “We’re the odd case specialists, remember?”
“Don’t give me a rough time on this,” Rance growled. “You’re the only one I trust to sort this damned terrorist thing out. Tampa isn’t much of a clue, and so far the NSA has come up with squat.”
He sighed heavily. “All right, I’ll contact Neo and send him down to Fort Myers.”
“That’s the spirit. Got any ideas about Crow’s niece?”
Nick thought a minute and then replied, “As a matter of fact, I might.” He explained it to Rance.
“It’s a helluva long shot, but I like it,” Rance said gruffly. “Get Neo on it right away.”
Nick hung up the phone and told his secretary, Velma Kisler, to locate Neo and inform him there was an urgent department meeting in Conference Room C in twenty minutes.
Orion Sector Supervisor, Neo Doss, knocked on the open Conference Room C door and strode in. He was a large strapping African American who had left a multi-million dollar NFL contract on the table to join the FBI. The former New York Giants defensive lineman had a clean-shaven scalp, an anvil chin displaying a meticulously clipped van dyke beard, a pair of piercing obsidian eyes, and an enormously sculpted face. Neo eased his massive, six-foot-six frame into a leather chair across the cherry conference table from Nick. They were the only two in attendance.
Neo grinned. “How’re things in the inner sanctum? Your paper shredder working okay? How about the pencil sharpener? Your coffee cup spotless?”
“Up yours,” Nick replied testily.
“Heard you blew your first assignment since last year. Getting a bit soft, are we?” He tapped the side of his head.
“Good news certainly travels fast,” Nick groaned.
“Especially when it concerns the boss man.”
“Yeah, well my timing was a little off, that’s all.”
Neo laughed. “At least they didn’t carry your ass outa there in a Hefty bag.”
Nick winced. “Might have been better than putting-up with your bullshit.”
They broke into laughter, and then Nick’s expression became grim again.
Neo’s eyes narrowed. “You look like you lost your best friend, Nick. Spill.”
Nick quickly detailed what little he knew about Blossom’s kidnapping down in Fort Myers. As
Neo listened, his jaw tightened. Nick then outlined his investigative strategy, and after a brief discussion, Neo stood.
“You coming, too?” Neo asked.
Nick shook his head. “You’re running point on this for me,” he replied. “Keep me posted on all developments.”
“I hope there are some,” Neo said, doubling his hands into enormous fists. “When I get a hold of those kidnappers, I’ll bust their asses.”
“Save a little for the prosecutors, okay?” Nick waited for Neo’s anger to subside. “Velma made your flight and motel reservations, so check with her before you leave the office.”
“Will do.”
“And Neo.”
Neo turned. “What?”
“Watch your back.”
The big man nodded and left.
Nick entered Orion Sector’s computer center in the J. Edgar Hoover Building and approached Crow’s assistant, John Lockwood.
“Anything yet on the Tampa angle or walking man?” Nick asked.
“Zero, boss.” John was a tall gangly young man in his mid-twenties. His wild electrocution-victim hair accentuated his hypertension, but he was one of the best available or Crow wouldn’t have hired him. Sometimes, though, Nick felt an overwhelming urge to strap John into a straightjacket.
“Not good, John. Check into all upcoming Tampa events involving government officials at every level, from political functions like big-money fund-raisers to garden-club speeches,” Nick directed.
Lockwood typed in the search parameters and entered the commands. Minutes crept by like hours. Finally the monitor chimed. There were three responses.
“Looks like we have the Vice-President on a Republican goodwill tour this Saturday, arriving at ten hundred hours and departing on Air Force Two at eighteen hundred hours. Then we have both Florida Democratic Senators Brushwood and Knappe in Tampa this whole weekend for a variety of community suck-up activities, including Saturday at Busch Gardens with the mayor and other local muckity-mucks, a Devil Rays baseball game against the Cleveland Indians Saturday night, and a dinner roasting the retiring Democratic state commissioner Sunday evening.”
“They’d all make good targets,” Nick said thoughtfully.
“Right. The third hit is the First Lady who is flying in on Friday to help dedicate a new cancer wing at the local VA Medical Center.”
“Another prime target. I wonder if the Secret Service has beefed up security for those four?” Nick thought aloud.
John Lockwood typed furiously again and pressed enter. A few moments later the monitor chimed again. “Let’s take a look at their duty roster for those days,” John murmured.
“They’re going to be ticked off at us for breaking into their computer system,” Nick predicted.
“Hell, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.” John’s mouth split into a wide toothy grin. “Looks like standard security details except for the Vice President. They’ve doubled his protection and placed the Tampa Police Department on alert status.”
“That leaves both senators and the First Lady vulnerable.” Nick rolled his eyes. “Jesus, John, that’s what happens when you have a cost-cutting, unqualified bureaucrat running the show at the Secret Service these days.”
“That’s the truth, boss. My guess is that the brass over there didn’t take our Tampa Terrorist Bulletin very seriously.”
“Exactly. Okay, John, thanks for the help. Contact Homeland Security and have them get some NSA people down there yesterday!” Nick paused. “And if anything crops up on walking man, I want you to get in touch with me immediately.”
“Will do, boss.”
Nick rode the elevator up to his inner sanctum, as Neo referred to his new office. There was a bad feeling brewing in his gut about this case, and history dictated that he’d better trust his instincts or pay a steep price.
There were just too many unknowns to form an educated opinion on the case. What did a “walking man” have to do with the next terrorist strike? How did the warehouse shooters uncover John Lonedeer’s defection and learn about his rendezvous at the warehouse? The FBI classified all information concerning Lonedeer’s defection as top-secret.
Now Crow’s niece was kidnapped in the same general vicinity. Was it just a coincidence? Nick didn’t believe in coincidences. What really nagged him was the lack of a motive for her kidnapping. Was the crime preplanned or just a random motel room invasion? Were the terrorists involved somehow?
Nick flopped down on the sofa in his office. As usual, he was short on facts and long on unknowns. In his heyday, that necessitated fieldwork in the real world. Of course that was impossible now. Rance had tied his hands.
He brightened. Perhaps the recent information collected by the FBI and CIA concerning the threat from Lonedeer’s terrorist group had been misinterpreted. Maybe there weren’t any bona fide threats directed at any top-level government officials. The intended target could be a Tampa building, or an ocean freighter anchored in Tampa Bay, or one of the bridges at rush hour, or . . .
He massaged his pounding temples. Seemingly endless possibilities bombarded his mind. He closed his eyes. There wasn’t a damned thing he could do to protect any of them. His Orion Sector office insulated him from the world at a time when he needed to be out there working the case. Getting a feel for things. Running leads. Tracking terrorists and kidnappers. It’s what he did best.
At this point, all he could do was order extra government security for the U.S. Senators from Florida and the First Lady and trust that Neo and Crow would uncover enough facts to bring Blossom safely back home. Meanwhile, he’d just lay low in his office and wait for all hell to break loose.
Today was Tuesday. Nick wouldn’t have long to wait.
7
B
lossom awoke in total darkness. She tried to move from her sitting position, but she heard the rattle of a handcuff on her left wrist and stopped. She felt blindly for the handcuff with her right hand and found the opposite end attached to something metallic. Was it the footer of a bed? She traced the outline of a cool tube glazed with condensation but it provided no clue to the bigger picture.
Her lower back muscles ached and she discovered that staring into the inky black void made her stomach queasy. She closed her eyes and took slow deep breaths until her nausea passed.
She heard distant voices, but in the darkness she couldn’t pinpoint where they were coming from. She licked her cracked dry lips and moved her mouth in an attempt to speak.
“Jay?” she ventured nervously in a weak whisper.
The muffled conversations continued, but none were directed at her. Her back muscles knotted and cramped and she quickly arched her spine to quell the spasms. After several agonizing minutes, they finally loosened.
Where was she? A debilitating fog blanketed her mind, but with great effort she recalled a blurry image of Lonny poking her with a hypodermic needle as soon as they were inside their SUV – she couldn’t remember the make or color. She strained to squeeze more from her memory, but her mental block refused to budge. This was the first time she’d been conscious since that frightening Lonny moment. She hadn’t even come to when they had carried her into this – creepy dank place, wherever it was.
Blossom stiffened. A door handle turned and door hinges squeaked. She shrank back against the metal tubing as a spreading wedge of light spilled into the room and dispelled the darkness.
“Blossom?”
She recognized Jay’s voice.
“I’m . . . I’m awake,” she replied hoarsely. Suddenly her mental fog lifted and a stifled memory surged into her consciousness with the force of a tidal wave. Heartrending grief engulfed her fear and anger as a horrible nightmare played over and over in her mind. Jay had murdered Clay with no more feeling than someone shooting a rabid dog! Damn him!
“Clay!” Her cry was a dry screech.
“Shut-up!” Jay snapped and jerked her head back by the hair. “Listen and listen good. Your precious Clay is dead. They reported it
on the news a little while ago. Now it’s you and me, baby. Forget the white boy. You’re where you belong.”
His cruel words only produced hysterical sobs. Jay unlocked her handcuff, freed her from a badly discolored brass bed and pulled her roughly into the adjoining room.
“Thought you might want to watch as we open our gold chest,” he announced, ignoring her emotional maelstrom.
Blossom tried to rein in her heaving sobs but it was nearly impossible. Her emotions were way beyond her control at the moment. Clay was dead. She was alone. Alone with this madman and his baleful friends. The bleak notion of suicide flashed through her mind. She had nothing to live for now. Her true love was gone forever. If she was forced to make a choice between Jay and death, she would gladly choose the latter.
Jay forced a box of tissues into her hand, and her depression abruptly changed into a steely resolve. There was something to live for after all, and that singular purpose stained every thought – every memory – every hope.
Blossom blew her nose and scrubbed the hot tears from her face. From this moment forward, she vowed to dedicate all her energy and effort, no matter how degrading and painful it might be, to accomplishing that solitary goal.
Kill Jay.
The tattooed man’s name was Jose, and he stood expectantly beside the wobbly dinette table at one end of the small living-dining room and anxiously awaited Jay’s command to break open the chest. A crow bar hung limply in his left hand while his right pinched an unfiltered cigarette close to his lips.
Blossom noticed that the heavy drapes were tightly closed and the sole window above the kitchen sink was painted black. Pale green-flowered wallpaper curled off the walls and the wood trim was rotted black from the dampness. The loops of the blue shag carpeting were flattened by years of heavy foot traffic, puddles of mold beneath the roof leaks and layers of filth. The air was stuffy, a foul mélange of mildew, cooking grease and cigarette smoke. From the layout of the place, she guessed that they were inside a bungalow.
Jay handed her a glass of water. The tepid sulfur water nearly gagged her as it passed through her parched throat.
The Ancient Breed Page 5
