Chimera (28 page)

Chapel leaned to one side to take a look at the mountain. He'd had other things on his mind and hadn't really bothered to check out the sculpture.

“It's the largest bas-relief in the world,” Julia read.

Chapel could believe it.

Stone Mountain lived up to its name. It looked like a single piece of enormous rock towering over the nearby landscape, a dome of gray granite almost denuded of trees. From where Chapel stood it rose over him like a sheer wall. Carved into that massive rock face was a portrait of the South's three greatest heroes: Stonewall Jackson, Jefferson Davis, and Robert E. Lee. From a distance the carvings hadn't looked like much, but from the base of the mountain they were colossal and incredibly detailed. It looked like the three giants on horseback were going to leap out of the stone at any moment and go racing across the country, capes flapping in the wind, the heads of the horses rearing, as the three men rode to glory.

Angel snorted in his ear. “What the brochure doesn't tell you is that this is where the modern Ku Klux Klan was officially organized, and where they had their big rallies until the eighties.”

“During the Olympics,” Julia read, “Stone Mountain facilities were used for the archery, tennis, and track cycling events.” She folded the brochure and put it in her purse. “Are we going to have to wait for the next car?” she asked, and a moment later they watched the Skyride lift away from the ground, headed upward across the carving toward the very top.

“Looks like it,” Chapel said.

“Chapel,” Angel said in his ear, “I know what I said last time, about your being a jerk when you left Julia behind. But I also know you made the right choice, no matter how angry she is with you now. You should leave Julia down here. Just try to say it in a nicer way this time.”

“Not a chance,” he told her. Julia looked at him for a second as if she thought he was talking to her. Chapel tapped the hands-free unit in his ear and Julia rolled her eyes and turned away.

“Listen, sugar,” Angel said, “if Funt is up there and you start asking him questions with Julia around, she's going to hear everything. That's not a good thing. Secrets don't work if everybody knows them.”

“The last time I spoke with him I left her behind. Look how that turned out,” Chapel said. “No, I can't let her out of my sight anymore.”

“Director Hollingshead doesn't want her hearing any of this,” Angel pointed out. “You know that, Chapel.”

Chapel sighed. He knew it perfectly well. He knew he was exceeding the limits of need to know. He was, frankly, taking a running leap and jumping as far as he could humanly get past those limits.

He glanced at Julia. She was part of this. She had a right to know. And maybe that exceeded the right of Hollingshead and Angel and the entire government to keep things from her.

He couldn't very well say that, of course. He was a silent warrior. The kind of man who could be trusted to keep his mouth shut.

Or at least, he'd thought that was who he was.

“She's coming with me,” he told Angel.

The operator was silent for a long time. “You've been given a lot of latitude on how you work this case,” she said, finally. “That latitude can be taken away. If Director Hollingshead needs to rein you in, he will.”

“Is that a threat, Angel?”

“It's a friendly warning!” she said, sounding exasperated. “I want you to succeed, sweetie. I want you to win this thing. Why are you fighting me?”

Chapel wasn't entirely certain himself. But he'd begun to suspect something. He'd known for a while that Angel—and Hollingshead—had their own agenda in this. That capturing or killing the chimeras was only part of what they wanted to accomplish.

Maybe it was time he had his own agenda. Maybe it was time to start thinking about what he wanted to get out of this. He looked at Julia again. This time she looked back, a question on her face.

He still didn't know what he wanted to happen. He didn't know how this could end well for anyone. But he was going to make sure Julia came out of this alive. That was a start. Alive, and, if he had anything to say about it, free.

If that fit into Hollingshead's secret plan, so be it. If not—Chapel would have to start making up his own rules for this game.

He had more important things to worry about just then, though. The time for his meeting with Funt was drawing near. He hadn't counted on having to wait in line to get to the top of the mountain.

“We're going to cut it pretty close,” Chapel said, staring at his watch.

The line moved forward again as the next car opened its doors. The tourists, and Chapel and Julia, filed in, filling all the available space. The operator of the Skyride announced that this was the last car of the evening, and that the mountaintop would be closing down in just thirty minutes. The tourists grumbled and booed but good-naturedly, disappointed that they weren't going to have much time at the top.

In compensation, though, they got to see the carving come alive with the sunset.

Red light washed over the face of Stone Mountain, filling in every crack and crevice of the massive bas-relief. The mountain itself seemed to glow like a titanic jewel, a rich luster that only brightened even as the sun faded.

“That's kind of beautiful,” Julia said, leaning against the side of the car, pressing her face close to the glass of its windows. Behind her the tourists
ooh
ed and
aah
ed, but Chapel only had eyes for her, this woman he'd dragged out of New York City and taken with him on this mad trip.

“It's exactly the same color as your hair,” he observed.

She turned and faced him, her mouth curled up in a look of bewilderment. “I'm trying to give you the cold shoulder,” she said. “You shouldn't say things like that to me right now. It was way too close to being sweet.”

“Couldn't help it,” he told her.

She shook her head and turned to look at the mountain again. “I know you were just trying to protect me. But not telling me about the . . . about you know what. That wasn't protecting me. That was hurting me.”

“It was?” Chapel asked.

“You took away my right to make decisions for myself. That's what I hate about secrets. If I don't know things, I can't do anything about them.”

“It's important that some secrets be kept,” he said. Because it was what he believed.

“I suppose so. And I suppose that's your job.” She sighed. “Chapel, how can I ever trust somebody when I know they lie to me professionally? This is just weird.”

“I can tell you one true thing,” he said. “When I came out of that hatch in the Underground, and you weren't there, my heart almost stopped. I didn't know what had happened to you. I was terrified you were gone. That I'd lost you.”

“As it turned out, I didn't need your protection,” she told him, though her voice was softer than the words would suggest. “Thanks. I guess.”

“When this is over,” he said, “maybe—”

“When this is over, I'm going back to New York. I'm going to live my life the way I choose to. Openly. Honestly. Or—or I'll go . . . where they tell me. The Catskills. Wherever.” She shook her head, and her hair swung around in front of the red-stained mountain. He wanted to reach out and put his hands on her shoulders but he didn't dare.

“That's what you want,” he said. It wasn't a question. “Just—we part ways, then. And I never see you again.”

“Just . . . stop, Chapel. Don't go there.”

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“It doesn't matter. Listen, I can't give you the silent treatment. We're stuck in this thing together, and if I don't talk to somebody, I'm going to go crazy. So we'll work together from now. Be civil to each other. But that's it. Let's just keep this relationship professional, okay?” She was silent for the rest of the ride to the top.

STONE MOUNTAIN, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+35:31

The top of Stone Mountain looked like a patch of the moon transported to earth.

Nothing grew up there save a few scraggly bushes and some lichens. It was bare rock, smoothed out by the wind but broken into ridges and basins where a little rainwater could gather and support the sparse plant life. By that point the sunset was over, though a yellow smudge of light still lingered on the far horizon. The rock was lit blue with deep purple shadows that were fading to black.

There wasn't much to see up top. Just a visitors' center where the Skyride ended, a few radio antennas topped with blinking bulbs to warn off low-flying aircraft—and the view. In the distance Chapel saw the lights of Atlanta scattered among the darkening greenery of Georgia.

A few of the braver tourists walked out onto the naked rock, perhaps in search of better views of the sunset or the scenery. Park rangers stood around with their hands in their pockets, giving everyone a little time before they had to head back down. There was no sign of Jeremy Funt.

“He must be here by now,” Chapel said. “This is right when he told me to meet him. Maybe he's hiding inside.”

“I wouldn't blame him,” Julia said, rubbing at her arms.

It was cold up top, much cooler than it had been when they boarded the cable car. She took out the pink sweatshirt she'd bought in the Underground and pulled it on, zipping it up to her throat. “This is the ugliest thing I've ever owned,” she said, “but right now, it's my favorite.”

Chapel wanted to take off his jacket and give it to her, but he couldn't. If he did, everyone would see his holstered sidearm, and the park rangers would definitely have questions. If he was going to make this meeting with Funt, he had to stay inconspicuous.

“Let's walk over to the far side,” Chapel said, pointing at a fence on the other side of the mountaintop.

“There's nobody over there,” Julia told him.

“I want to make myself as visible as possible so he can find me,” Chapel replied. He didn't like this. He'd expected Funt to meet him as soon as he stepped out of the cable car. He'd expected the man to want to talk to him.

Maybe that had been too much to hope for.

“Chapel,” Angel said, “I've got bad news. Maybe.”

“Go ahead,” he told her.

“I've been listening to the chatter on the park service radio channel. They're all checking in, confirming everybody's off the mountain and they can close up shop for the night. Except one ranger hasn't called in yet. They keep requesting he confirm his position, but he's not responding.”

“Could be anything. Maybe his radio's battery just died. Or he could have ducked out for a smoke break.”

“Maybe,” Angel said. “Considering how things have gone since we started with this case, you think that's likely?”

“No,” Chapel agreed. He bit his lip. “Damn. If the CIA knows we're up here—” he began, but he was interrupted.

“Chapel,” Julia said in a forced whisper, “behind you!”

Chapel swung around just in time for someone to poke a gun barrel in his ribs.

He froze in place.

The gunman wore the uniform of a park ranger, including the Smokey Bear hat. He was grinning maniacally.

“Hi,” Jeremy Funt said.

STONE MOUNTAIN, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+35:36

“Nice to see you again,” Chapel said. He kept his hands at his sides. Funt hadn't told him to put them up, and he didn't want the paranoid ex-FBI agent to think he was reaching for a weapon.

“Give me a second here. Look behind you—there, you see?”

From the visitors' center a park ranger—presumably a real park ranger—made a series of hand gestures, rolling her hands around each other, tapping her watch. Clearly she was suggesting it was time for everybody to head back down. She looked over in the direction where Funt and Chapel were standing. Funt waved his free hand at her, then held up his fingers splayed out as if to suggest he needed five more minutes.

The female park ranger shrugged and headed inside the center.

“In a second we'll have this place all to ourselves,” Funt told Chapel.

“You know her? You set this up?”

“Nope. I was up here about a month ago, scouting out new locations for booby traps. I watched the rangers and studied their routine. Half of them are hard-core pot smokers. They invite their friends up here after hours and they get high while the laser show plays on the side of the mountain. The supervisors don't interfere as long as they don't draw too much attention.”

The tourists were all herded back into the visitors' center and into the Skyride cable car to head back down to the park below. All the park rangers went with them, including one who turned out most of the lights in the visitors' center before he boarded the cable car. Eventually it departed.

“Okay, just us, now,” Funt said. “Why don't you take two steps back, very carefully—the ground here is none too level. And then you can tell me who the hell Red here is, and why you brought her.”

“She's someone I'm protecting,” Chapel said, nodding in Julia's direction.

“I'm Julia Taggart. I don't work for the government.”

Funt didn't look away from Chapel's face. “Who do you work for, then?”

“Cats and dogs,” Julia said. She sounded perfectly calm.

Well, Chapel supposed that was easier when you didn't have a gun pointed at your large intestine.

“She's a veterinarian. A chimera tried to kill her in New York,” Chapel said.

Funt nodded. “I'll buy it. For now. I did some checking up on you, Chapel. I still have a few friends left in interesting places. You're definitely not CIA.” Funt stopped as if he'd just thought of something. “Wait a minute. Taggart?”

“William Taggart is her father. You know William Taggart?”

Funt shrugged. “I met him, a long time ago. Mad scientist type. Liked to clone up perversions of nature in his spare time. Made the chimeras.”