Suddenly a tall, sinewy Indian appeared. “Where’s Crow?” he demanded.
“He’s running an errand,” Nick replied vaguely. “You must be Charlie Crowfeather. I thought you were supposed to be guarding Jill, Blossom, and Clay.”
The big man grunted. “I was out front eliminating a few terrorists the old-fashioned way.” He pointed to the four freshly scrubbed shrunken heads dangling from his rawhide belt.
“How did you . . . ,” Fritz began but was interrupted by Glenna.
“Don’t ask, Fritz,” she ordered sternly. “Some things are better left a secret.”
Charlie nodded in her direction. “Thank you, ma’am. Now it appears that my work is done here.” He turned to Nick. “If you need my help again, just tell Crow, and I’ll know.”
“Will do,” Nick answered.
The formidable Charlie Crowfoot exited the house before anyone could thank him.
“Just what is in store for us tonight?” Fritz asked his grandmother.
“A confrontation with the most powerful life-form seen on this Earth in the past four thousand years,” she replied bleakly.
Fritz shivered, but Hugo’s countenance was dead calm.
Nick spoke up. “Glenna, I think I might’ve figured out why your ancestors never found the cages in that spaceship for the small killer creatures.”
Her brows arched. “Really?”
“From what Crow told us, I believe those little creatures are the Cumalodin’s offspring.”
Her eyes widened in fear. “In that case, we could very well be facing an army of those monsters tonight.”
Nick sighed. “I’m afraid so. . . with Neo stuck right in the middle of the action. I sure hope you know what you’re doing, using him for bait like that. It’ll practically be impossible to rescue him.”
Glenna paled. “I didn’t count on facing more than one Cumalodin. Oh dear! We might be in for a tougher fight than I bargained for. I just pray we’re up to the task.”
Nick cleared his throat. “You told me earlier that you volunteered me to be the monster slayer tonight, but I’m not sure I could knock off one of those bad boy Cumalodins, much less an army of them,” he confessed.
Glenna put an arm around his waist. “Why Nick, dear, I wasn’t referring to the Cumalodin. I was referring to the shape-shifter.”
62
C
row and his entourage arrived outside the entrance to the Old Mother Hubbard’s secret computer center that was cleverly hidden in a small copse of maples and oaks. After locating the camouflaged access keypad to the underground facility, Crow neutralized the complex security network. In addition to being one of the most sophisticated electronic-security surveillance and counterattack systems in the world, it was a low-tech lattice of trip wires, pitfalls, and snares.
Crow punched in the access code, and the ground behind the keypad dropped away from them. A sloped, concrete walkway appeared that led down to the facility’s uppermost floor. The top level of the complex was barren concrete, except for a pair of elevator doors and another keypad.
When everyone was safely inside, Crow entered a second code, and the elevator doors slid apart and the opening above them closed. The four rode the swiftly descending car into the bowels of the complex. After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator braked and the opening doors revealed a brightly lit, cavernous maze of antiseptic, white corridors. Crow led them around the corner to the right, and they walked nearly a quarter of a mile before they reached a door stenciled with a single word: Geronimo.
Crow unlocked the door and admitted them into what appeared to be the heart of a computer. Three walls were stainless-steel and blanketed with beeping, blinking LCD lights, text and numeric diagnostic screens, and an army of printers. The fourth wall housed twenty various-sized, color plasma monitors. A solitary, ergonomically designed leather chair and a pedestal keyboard resembled a lonely outpost in the center of the vast room. A gridiron of recessed lights beamed down on the amazed visitors, with the strongest illumination directed on the vacant chair and keyboard.
“What a setup!” Jill exclaimed, who liked the feel of Crow’s arm wrapped around her waist. “You really created all this?”
He smiled modestly. “It was nothing. As a kid, I used to help Grandfather build teepees, so this was a piece of cake,” he quipped.
They welcomed the opportunity to laugh and release their tension. The stress from the summer’s terrible events strained their civility and sanity. Blossom’s high, exotic cheekbones were drawn and pale; her passionate, fiery eyes were reduced to dull, smoldering embers. Clay, still in the early recovery stages from his near-fatal bullet wound, was experiencing regression, not progression. Only Jill Sandlin remained enthusiastic, an upshot of her love for Crow.
Blossom examined the monitors. “Can we listen to this one?” she asked.
Crow obliged by verbally ordering Geronimo to increase the volume for the screen displaying CNN.
“. . . and all of Europe is in mourning for Germany’s late Chancellor Wilhelm Gerhardt and France’s late President Jean-Luc Vaugirard, as well as the plunging Eurodollar. Now, with the attack on the White House and President Hanover among the missing, the Americans have joined the world’s chaotic fraternity. At an unscheduled press conference moments ago, officials at the Pentagon just gave notice to the world that our defense readiness has been raised to DEFCON 3. This is a clear warning to our enemies that we remain in a state of readiness for any hostile strikes against the United States during this time of crisis, and we are ready to respond with deadly and decisive retaliatory measures.”
The CNN news anchor continued. “The White House has assured Americans that Vice President Donaldson is prepared to lead the country if the worst fears concerning President Hanover’s well-being become reality. We’ll have more on that press conference in a few minutes from our Washington correspondent, Leslie Kifer.
“Turning to the rest of the world, political unrest and financial turmoil are severely impacting the Far East, too, where . . .”
“Turn it off!” Blossom shouted, trembling. “It like the end of the world!”
Clay hugged her close as Geronimo muted the monitor.
Crow kissed Jill. “Geronimo and I have a lot of work to do before sunset,” he told her softly. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you take Blossom and Clay next door to the lunchroom and brew us all some coffee? It could be a rough night.”
She pecked his cheek. “Good luck, honey,” she whispered and guided the couple out of the computer command center.
When Crow parked himself in his leather chair, a large, retractable monitor rose out of the floor until it was perfectly positioned behind the pedestal keyboard. He gazed directly at the supercomputer’s programmed, Indian warrior face.
“Well, old buddy, what’s your take on this prairie fire we’ve gotten ourselves into?” he asked Geronimo.
“The facts indicate that your conflict is not winnable. The shape-shifter you described is an unknown factor, with no listed weaknesses except for a reluctance to approach meteors from our parallel dimension. The Cumalodin is a mythical beast with superior strength and a protective force field that repels all weapons,” it replied. “From the data input of your experiences at the White House, I conclude that the creatures you confronted were young Cumalodins. They could possibly grow much larger, and that might exponentially increase the strength of their protective shield. This is all theoretical at this point.”
“I agree,” he said pensively. “Go on.”
“An army of these monsters could defeat all human armies, including nuclear strikes against them, within two years.”
Crow whistled. “Are you certain about that?”
“There are, of course, many variables that could affect the timing of the outcome, but not the ultimate outcome.”
“Shit! There’s got to be some way to kill the bastards. After all, Glenna Guttentag’s ancestors managed it thousands of years ago.”
/> “There are written chronicles that suggest those people utilized magic to defeat the Cumalodin, but since no specific course of action is identified, I have disregarded that data as a nonfactor. As an aside, if it were possible to determine an effective method for exterminating the Cumalodin, you would still possess no way of killing the shape-shifter.”
“Could the shape-shifter be a destroyer like Hollis Danforth from the Mortal Eclipse project?”
Geronimo processed the request. “The fact that it is repelled by a meteor from its own dimension, when a known destroyer like the creator of the Mortal Eclipse project, Hollis Danforth, was not, implies that the black mass is not a destroyer.”
Crow sighed. “Thanks for nothing.”
“You’re welcome.”
Crow drummed his fingers on the armrest.
“I have noticed your trepidation. What is on your mind, Great Red Hunter?” Geronimo asked.
“I was just thinking about Neo.”
“What about him?”
“Forget it.”
“I cannot forget data once you have input it,” Geronimo reasoned.
Crow exhaled sharply. “Okay, you literal bucket of bolts, I’ll tell you. I was just wondering why Neo was kidnapped.”
“Neo Doss is a powerful man with an above average intelligence.”
“So?”
“The facts would seem to indicate that the shape-shifter needs such a man if it is to succeed.”
Crow sat erect. “I’m still not following you. Could you be a little less vague?”
“Yes, I can. From my previous input, a reasonable deduction would be that the shape-shifter plans to transform Neo Doss into the most powerful Cumalodin of all,” it replied, “one so powerful that it cannot be defeated by any kind of magic.”
Crow smacked his forehead. “Leapin’ lizards!” he exclaimed and immediately ordered Geronimo to connect him to Nick’s sat phone.
Nick and the Guttentags would have to bump up their timetable if they were to have any chance at rescuing Neo before . . .
Crow squeezed his eyelids shut and attempted to block the horrific consequences of another mission failure from his mind.
63
A
fter speaking with Crow and hearing Geronimo’s theory about Neo being transformed into a Cumalodin, Nick hung up thoughtfully. The idea wasn’t exactly news to Nick. Ever since his contact with the meteor in the grotto, he seemed to know a lot of strange facts. However, hearing the speculation from someone other than himself made him even more determined to rescue his friend, no matter what the personal sacrifice.
Nick’s sat phone rang again; this time it was a perturbed Rance Osborne.
“I’m at my wit’s end!” Rance exploded. “With Hanover missing, the damned congressional leaders are breathing hard down my neck every hour on the hour about the status of our investigation. Of course, I have nothing to report. Our agents are stymied, and on top of that, I had to explain why one of Orion Sector’s people was inside the locked-down White House when all that went down. And now I hear Neo’s missing.”
“Whoaaaa, Rance. We’re doing the best we can to locate him.”
“Best you can? I need results . . .now!” Rance exploded. “What kind of Orion Sector director are you?”
Nick bristled at the finger-pointing. “I’m the kind of director who has identified the people behind the worldwide assassinations and who has been face-to-face with their leader, an unidentified life-form. My guys are putting their lives on the line for their country, Rance, and all you can do is assign blame? I certainly believe they deserve a helluva lot of respect for what they’re doing.”
Silence.
“I have no idea how Crow and Lisa Anders got into the White House, and neither do they. I sent them to New York to help Neo. Now Lisa and Neo are missing, presumably kidnapped like Hanover. And Rance, from what I’ve heard, we’re not dealing with ordinary people in this investigation. We’re dealing with aliens and destroyers, and nothing in any armed forces arsenal could possibly bring them down,” Nick explained angrily. “But don’t worry, you can tell your political attack dogs that I have a plan to eliminate the worldwide threat to our existence, but whether I survive it or not, Orion Sector is not in my future. One way or the other, Rance, this is my last case for Orion Sector.”
Nick disconnected the call without waiting for Rance’s response and strode outside onto the back porch. The birds sang beneath the sinking, late afternoon sun, and a light breeze carried the pleasant fragrance of freshly mown hay. But Nick didn’t much notice. His mind was focused elsewhere. He had a bad feeling about tonight. His friends’ lives were at stake, and he felt accountable for their safety. After all, he was the head of Orion Sector. To make matters worse, Glenna had thrown the responsibility of killing the unkillable on his shoulders, and the weight was wearing on his psyche. His usually staunch confidence waned. What could he possibly do to stop the shape-shifter if they didn’t even know what it was? It had already proven its superior power in the grotto.
“Gabriella,” he said softly, “where are you? I need your help here. I’m a little out of my league with all this magic, and you of all people know how uncomfortable I am with magic to begin with.”
He descended the steps and hiked into the woods toward Lake Griffin, kicking twigs aside as he went. “Gabriella, I’m afraid of never seeing you again after tonight. I’m afraid of losing our love after I spent an entire lifetime searching for it. I want a chance to grow old together, even if it means being married to a two-hundred-year-old wife.” A slight grin curled his lips. “If you can hear me, I want you to know that I love you more than mere words could ever express. At least any words that I could put together.”
The path opened to a clearing on the lakeshore, revealing a weathered wooden dock; Nick walked to the end and watched the sun sink toward the cloudless, cobalt horizon. “When you return to this dimension, Gabriella, there’s a good chance that the shape-shifter will be running things around here. I’m asking you to just leave it alone; don’t try to destroy it. Please, enjoy what life you have and think of me once in a while, but leave that strange life-form alone. You can’t destroy it. Nobody can.”
Suddenly, Nick heard a hauntingly familiar, sinister voice in his head. At least that’s where he hoped it was. Panicked, he searched the lake and woods for any sign of him, but he came up empty. That hated voice spoke again. Despite the oppressive heat, goose bumps prickled his flesh.
“Just use your special gifts, brother,” it advised him in a deep, rumbling voice. “Wipe that son-of-a-bitch from the face of the Earth.”
“Where are you?” Nick shouted, but there was no reply.
Silence returned, and Nick was grateful. His nerves were already jangled, but an unexpected revelation that the Creeper was still alive would have sent them over the edge.
Where had his voice come from? Could Nick have imagined it? The more Nick brooded over it, the more convinced he was that the mysterious message had come from somewhere else. Was it the Creeper’s ghost? A message from the grave? Ridiculous! Then he wondered if it could have been someone else’s voice. No, that voice was unmistakable.
If it really had been the Creeper speaking to him and Nick wasn’t willing to admit that just yet, the message must have been important. The words were practically identical to Gabriella’s before she faded into the next dimension.
“Just use your special gifts.” What special gifts were they all referring to? Perhaps later, before it was too late, he would understand exactly what they were trying to tell him.
“Nick!” Glenna called from the back porch. “Time to get ready!”
Nick took a long last look at the lake, sighed, and made his way along the path to the mansion. It was showtime.
64
“T
his sure beats flying on a broomstick,” Nick grimly commented as he, Glenna, Hugo, and Fritz materialized beside the blackened remnants of the Warnke Construction trailer. They st
ood three hundred yards west of Alick Tobhor’s fortress.
The setting sun blistered the Gulf of Mexico, igniting the serene surface into an inferno of tangerine, violet, and coral. Two dozen National Guardsmen sat beneath reflective canopies encircling the fortress that had protected Alick Tobhor from his three kidnappers for over four thousand years. Nick scanned the landscape for signs of the shape-shifter, and seeing none, called Crow on the sat phone.
“Anything new?” Nick asked, as soon as he heard Crow’s voice.
“Nothing yet, but Geronimo and I are still working on your plan. I’m still not in favor of it,” Crow responded bleakly.
“You and me both, but it’ll probably be our last hope.”
“I hope the hell not.”
“At least I think we’re on the right track,” Nick said, and then hurriedly described the Creeper’s eerie message.
“Holy wampum! If it wasn’t your imagination, and if the Creeper isn’t still hanging around this ole planet, where did that voice come from?” Crow asked, as baffled as Nick on the subject. “Anyway, how could the Creeper possibly know what in buffalo blazes Gabriella told you last year? The son-of-a-bitch had already checked into the Hell Hotel.”
“Yeah, he was dead all right,” Nick agreed, stumped.
“Maybe it was a warning,” Crow offered.
Nick brightened. “Or maybe it was a clue for us.”
“Fat chance,” Crow replied skeptically. “Why would the Creeper, dead or alive, want to help us?”
“Maybe it wasn’t the Creeper at all. Maybe . . . ,” Nick’s voice trailed off.
“Hey, Nick, you still there?” Crow prodded.
A stiff blast of air stirred the surrounding palms and live oaks and rustled the thick undergrowth of briars, tall grass, and cabbage palms. He felt the shape-shifter’s presence. Not beside the trailer, but close. Glenna urgently signaled for him to end the call.
“Listen, do me a favor, Crow. Phone Rance and have him call off the National Guardsmen here.”
The Ancient Breed Page 37
