Cryptozoica (24 page)

“What about the three men?” Belleau asked.

Kavanaugh didn’t answer for a long moment, dredging up fragmented memories of Shah Nikwan, Jessup and Cranston firing their weapons in a frenzy. Nikwan ran pell-mell toward the distant helicopter, fleeing like a panic-stricken deer.

A Deinonychus caught up with the running man in one spring-steel legged leap. Its jaws closed over Shah Nikwan’s head and the creature clutched the man in its arms as if it were embracing him. The Deinonychus chewed through his vertebrae, then let the man's head fall from its blood-flecked mouth. Nikwan’s head tumbled across the muddy ground like an awkward ball. Hugging the decapitated corpse to its chest, the creature gathered itself and bounded from sight into the high reeds bordering the stream.

Kavanaugh wiped at the clammy film of cold sweat, which had gathered at his hairline. He retained an exceptionally vivid recollection of the man's head rolling toward him, dead eyes wide with disbelief.

“Jack?’ Honoré inquired.

Stolidly, he said, “All three of them died….ripped to pieces. Arms and legs torn off, disemboweled, even decapitated.”

Reflexively, he fingered the scar on the side of his face. “I wasn’t much better off. I could barely move, lying in a pool of my own blood, going into shock. Then I heard a bird singing…but it wasn’t just a song. It was a voice. Or it was a song I understood, I don’t know which. I never believed in telepathy or anything like that. But in my mind’s eye, I saw her.”

“Her?” echoed Honoré.

“Her. She had skin like a snake’s hide and it shimmered with every step she took.” Kavanaugh broke off, swallowed hard and said in a rush, “I don’t know if I actually saw her or not, or if she transmitted an image of herself. But I knew she had sent the Deinonychus pack to drive us away. I was spared because she sensed I objected to the slaughter of the Hadrosaurs. I also knew she was not just a female, but the last of her kind, and females of her breed had been worshipped as goddesses by humans, thousands of years ago. She told me to get up and run…to never to come back…and that if I did come back, I would die.”

Honoré arched skeptical eyebrows but did not speak.

“I don’t know how I got there,” Kavanaugh continued, “but the next thing I knew I was climbing into the chopper. I had enough presence of mind to bring one of the raptor’s bodies with me, as evidence. Even though I was in shock, I managed to fly back to Little Tamtung. The rest you know.”

Crowe said quietly, “When I opened the chopper hatch, I couldn’t tell where the blood ended and Jack began. I still can’t understand how he lived or stayed conscious long enough to take off, fly and land.”

Belleau drawled, “Well, now you’ve come back to Big Tamtung, Kavanaugh. What do you figure she’ll do to you?”

Kavanaugh met the little man’s eyes. “I couldn’t say…but I know this much—if Bai Suzhen is hurt, I’ll arrange it so that whatever happens to me will happen to you.”

Oakshott glared at him, chewing slowly, with Mouzi still standing over him, knife at the ready.

Apparently oblivious to the upsurge in hostile energy, Honoré flipped through the pages of the journal, then stopped. She squinted. “These pages are written in French.”

“Yes, by my great-great-grandfather,” Belleau said.

Honoré turned to the next page and asked, “Did you ever see anything like this, Jack?”

He leaned close to her, their shoulders touching. An illustration of four square, squat stone columns dominated the page. Even though the image was rendered in charcoal and ink, Kavanaugh could tell that inestimable centuries of weather had pitted and scarred their surfaces so that the glyphs inscribed in them were barely visible. In the background he could discern a suggestion of ruined buildings. In the center of the cluster of structures was a pool or pond.

“According to what Jacque Belleau wrote,” Honoré stated, “He came across ruins and a dark green pool. Apparently, he was following a map.”

“A map?” repeated Crowe in surprise. “Where did he get a map of Big Tamtung’s interior in the 19th century?”

Honoré cast Belleau a challenging glance. “You know, don’t you, Aubrey?”

“Of course I do,” Belleau said pridefully. “I memorized my great-great-grandfather’s notes on his visit to this place.” The little man cleared his throat and quoted, “ ‘I would like to say that the columns and the buildings were built of sun-dried brick, but I am not sure of their composition. I judged they were many thousands of years old. However, there was none of the grace of say, classical Greek architecture. They seemed closer to Egyptian, perhaps even Sumerian or even a blend of all those styles.’ ”

“Is that what it really says?” Kavanaugh asked Honoré.

Tracing the lines with a forefinger, her lips moving as she read along with Belleau’s recitation, she nodded. “Substantially, although the elder Belleau preferred to express himself in a vernacular form of French that has long since gone out of style.”

“What was so special about the pool?” Crowe asked.

Belleau quoted, “ ‘Charles so often cited warm little ponds as being the source of all life on our world—if only he had been able to plunge his hands into the pool of primeval matter and let the very sperm of the earth run through his fingers. Ah, it was an experience like no other. Just holding the Prima Materia in my hands made me feel like a god!

“The cryptogram decoded by Brother Dee and Edward Kelley has led me to the greatest discovery in Mankind’s history. It has come to pass that the School will safeguard the means of humanity’s next evolutionary step, if only Charles agrees to remain silent.’ ”

“What the hell is all that gibberish about, Aubrey?” Kavanaugh demanded.

“I’d like to know about that myself,” said Honoré. “What cryptogram was your great-great-grandfather referring to? Who is Brother Dee?”

Belleau hitched around in his seat, inclining his head toward the illustration on the journal page. “Do you see those inscriptions on the pillars?”

Honoré eyed them critically. “Yes.”

“What do you make of them?”

“They’re not hieroglyphics or cuneiform. They almost look Greek.”

Belleau chuckled. “They are letters in what is known as the Enochian alphabet. Most scholars and historians believe it was a coded language created by Dr. John Dee and his seer Edward Kelley during Elizabethan times.”

“I read something about that,” Crowe said. “Dee was a secret agent for Queen Elizabeth, right?”

Belleau smiled appreciatively. “You surprise me, sir. Yes, John Dee acted as something of a spy for the queen and was well known for concealing secret messages in fiendishly complicated cryptograms. However, he did not create the language known as Enochian. Withal, he did spend most of his adult life trying to decode and translate it.”

Honoré stared at the glyphs on the journal page, turning it this way and that. “What language is it, then?”

“Dee often referred to the alphabet as ‘Adamical’, because he theorized it was spoken by Adam and the early Biblical patriarchs. In reality, it is a language that predates humanity’s first written records. It’s a pre-Adamical alphabet.”

“Talk sense, Aubrey,” snapped Honoré.

“I am attempting to do that very thing, darlin’.” Belleau’s smile broadened. “The alphabet is called Enochian because the patriarch Enoch was reportedly the last man to have ever spoken it. You do know who Enoch was?”

“A Biblical prophet, I think.”

Belleau nodded. “Enoch is mentioned in Genesis as the son of Cain and the father of Methuselah, and he is believed to be one of the antediluvian patriarchs who, along with Noah, personally ‘walked with God’. Books written by anonymous scribes were credited to Enoch and were given great credence by early Jewish scholars. They influenced the writers of the Old Testament. Parts of the books of Enoch were found among the scraps of parchment in the caves of Qumran in 1947, having been placed there nearly 2,000 years before by the Jewish sect known as the Essenes.”

“The Dead Sea Scrolls?” inquired Crowe.

“Yes…and although most of the books credited to Enoch were written in Aramaic, there were many scrolls rendered in the so-called Enochian alphabet. It was not code, but the actual language of a race of non-human creatures that once shared our planet with us—what some scientists have classified as the anthroposaur.”

Before Honoré, Kavanaugh or Crowe could even begin to formulate a response, Mouzi’s head whipped toward the river, her eyes narrowing, body tensing, as if she were a hunting cat that had caught a scent.

“Hear something,” she whispered. “The
Keying
is coming.”

“About half a mile downriver,” Mouzi said. “Little less, maybe. Not travelin’ fast, about four knots, max.”

No one questioned the quality of Mouzi’s hearing. Crowe swiftly examined the satphone, then pressed the power button with a thumb. With an electronic chirp, the surface of the phone lit up with various icons.

He stood over Belleau and said, “I’m going to hit the redial. I’m betting you’ll be connected right to Jimmy Cao.”

“And if I am?” Belleau’s tone held a hard, defiant edge.

“Then you’ll talk to him and tell him about your situation. But do not tell him where you are.”

Belleau shrugged as best he could. “Fine.”

“Don’t think you can pull something over on us by talking to him in any other language but English.” Crowe smiled menacingly. “I may not look it, but I’m multi-lingual.”

“I would have taken you for a Baptist,” Belleau muttered. “Of course, you realize that Mr. Cao wants both Bai Suzhen and myself. Separately, we are useless to him.”

Kavanaugh made a show of popping the magazine out of the butt of the Bren Ten and sliding it back in. “We realize that, Aubrey. It’s up to you to convince Cao that trading Bai Suzhen for you is an equitable exchange.”

“But it isn’t,” Honoré protested. “Jack, while I certainly can’t blame you for being angry with Aubrey, if this triad fellow went to such violent lengths to bring Bai Suzhen under his direct influence, he won’t agree to give her up.”

“We’ll see.” Crowe touched the redial icon and listened as the call was conveyed to a satellite and then to another telephone unit, less than half a mile away.

A man’s voice, rich with suspicion but also pitched high with anger filled Crowe’s ear. “Belleau, is that you?”

Crowe put the phone to Belleau’s ear, but leaned close so he could listen in. “Hello, James. This is Aubrey Belleau.”

“Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to call you for over three goddamn hours!”

“I am on Big Tamtung. My helicopter flight ended with a bit of a mishap, stranding me here. Where might you be?”

“On my way to pick you up. I was told you were at the Petting Zoo place, is that right?”

Belleau evaded answering the question. “You are on a boat?”

“Yeah, the
Keying
, that junk of Bai Suzhen’s. We’re already coming down the river. According to her, we’re about five miles from the Petting Zoo. Are we?”

“Is Bai Suzhen with you?”

“Yeah, she’s right here. I’m keeping my eye on her.” The suspicion in Jimmy Cao’s voice acquired a sharper edge. “What about the people with you on the flight? Kavanaugh and Crowe and that scientist bitch you’ve got the hots for?”

“We’re all just waiting to be rescued.”

“Uh huh.” Cao’s tone turned abruptly non-committal. “They’re standing all around you, aren’t they?”

“Yes. They have proven to be the proverbial flies in the buttermilk.”

“What?”

“They have it in their heads that once Bai Suzhen signs over her interests in Cryptozoica Enterprises to me, you’ll kill her and probably them, as well. Therefore, since Madame White Snake can’t sign the paperwork without me, they’re not inclined to allow me to join you.”

Cao didn’t reply a long moment. Then he asked, “That man Kavanaugh—Tombstone Jack—is he there?”

“He is.”

“Let me talk to him.”

Crowe hesitated, then handed the phone over to Kavanaugh. He whispered, “Jimmy wants to speak with you.”

Kavanaugh took the satphone. “This is Kavanaugh.”

“You stupid bastard,” Cao snarled, his voice made so guttural with rage that it was almost unintelligible. “Do you have any idea of who you’re fucking with here? You got a death-wish, putting yourself in the middle of this?”

“What happened to Howard Flitcroft, Jimmy?”

“I killed him. Shot his ass dead and threw him over the side. He sleeps with the fishes, just like you and your friends will if you keep fucking with me.”

Kavanaugh’s hand squeezed the phone so tightly the molded plastic and metal creaked within his grip. “You’re not offering much in the way of inducements to cooperate with you.”

“Fuck cooperation! This isn’t a bargaining table—

“—I beg to differ,” Kavanaugh broke in coldly. “You need both Bai Suzhen and Aubrey Belleau to complete the deal. I have one, you have the other. You really need to start bargaining.”

Cao said nothing for such a protracted length of time, Kavanaugh wondered if he had dropped the call. Then, in a dispassionate voice, he said, “I’m not just going to turn Bai Suzhen over to you.”

“And I’m not just going to turn Belleau over to you. So we’ve got a Shanghai stand-off here.”

“I’m Taiwanese, asshole.”

“Good for you. The best bet all around is for you to back water, reverse course and go back to Little Tamtung. We’ll follow you in a few minutes.”

“Follow me?” Genuine surprise shook Cao’s voice. “How?”

“There’s a boat here at the Petting Zoo. We have it running and we were just waiting to hear from you.”

“So once I get back to Big Tamtung, then what?”

“We meet at the Phoenix of Beauty and have a formal paper-signing ceremony, all neat and legal with armed witnesses to make sure nobody gets out of line.”

“And after that?”

“Everybody goes their separate ways, me included. You and Belleau can spend the next couple of years trying to out swindle and backstab one another.”

“Why would we do that?”

Kavanaugh chuckled patronizingly. “Oh, come on, Jimmy—you know that if Belleau has told you this island is worth a hundred fortunes, you damn well can bet that it’s really worth a couple of thousand fortunes.”

“What do you know about it?” Cao demanded.

“We’ll discuss that later. Do we have an agreement?”

Jimmy Cao’s weary sigh whispered into his ear. “All right. I’ll give the orders to turn us around.”

“One more thing—I want to talk to Bai.”

“No,” Cao snapped.

“You talked to Belleau,” Kavanaugh pointed out reasonably. “It’s only fair. Quid pro quo.”

Cao didn’t reply. Kavanaugh heard a rustle, a muffled voice, then Bai Suzhen said, “Jack?”

“Are you all right?”

“More or less,” she said calmly. “They haven’t hurt me—much. What is going on?”

“Jimmy will fill you in. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve always admired you as a dancer.”

“Thank you,” Bai Suzhen said, sounding only a little puzzled.

“The way you’re able to think fast on your feet, jump and back flip at a moment’s notice is very impressive. That’s true art, you know.”

“Thank you,” she replied again.

Cao’s voice came back on the line. “What a bunch of bullshit. Okay, you talked to the dirty lesbian bitch, now let’s get on with this.”

“See you back on the island, Jimmy.” Kavanaugh clicked off the connection, ending the call, but kept the satphone’s power on.

Honoré asked, “Can’t he use a GPS trace to pinpoint our position?”

“He thinks he can,” Kavanaugh said. “But a GPS lock isn’t as precise as the manufacturers want you to believe. We’re too close to him. All Cao knows is we’re on the island, but not exactly where. I’m hoping he assumes we’re still at the Petting Zoo.”

“What was all that blather about admiring Bai Suzhen’s skills as a dancer?” Belleau demanded.

“Never mind.” He turned to Crowe. “We’d better get ready for the party.”

Without a word, Mouzi took the Kel-Tec SU-16 carbine and cradling it in her arms, crept out along the gunwales to the prow of the boat and stretched out on her stomach. She cycled a round into the breech.

Honoré watched the activity with a tight, strained expression. “Do you really intend to shoot at these triad fellows?”

“They certainly intend to shoot at us,” Kavanaugh replied, flicking off the safety of his autopistol. “They’ll kill us if they can, make no mistake about that. The Ghost Shadow triad has a rep for hiring homicidal maniacs. If we had a peaceful alternative, we’d take it. But since we don’t—

Facing Honoré, McQuay, Belleau and Oakshott, Kavanaugh announced, “Things will become more than a little wild in a few minutes. We can’t afford to have people onboard that we can’t count on. I’m putting Aubrey and Oakshott ashore. Dr. Roxton, McQuay—I’ll give you the option to share the risks.”

The cameraman glanced at the overgrowth beyond the line of pagke trees and swallowed hard. “I think I’ll share your risks.”

“Me, too,” said Honoré.

Belleau’s face twisted in a mask of revulsion. “You can’t be serious!  Just leave us here to our fates? You can’t do that!”

“Sure we can,” Crowe said casually. “But don’t worry—we’ll untie you first.”

Belleau cast a beseeching glance at Honoré. “You can’t let them do this—

“—She has nothing to say about it,” broke in Crowe harshly.

Honoré said, “Aubrey, I don’t pretend to understand what you really had planned here on Big Tamtung, but I know one thing—you’ve played me false from the beginning.”

“And on that note,” Kavanaugh said breezily, hauling Belleau and Oakshott to their feet by the collars of their shirts.

With Mouzi’s butterfly knife, Crowe cut through the ropes binding their wrists and then pushed Oakshott toward the railing. “Over the side.”

The big man gingerly threw one leg over the edge of the boat, then slowly slid overboard. The river barely reached his waist. He said, “It’s fine, doctor.”

Belleau stepped to the side and gestured to the journal. “Please look after that.”

Honoré nodded. “I will.”

Aubrey Belleau awkwardly climbed over the side, into Oakshott’s waiting arms. “The water is quite warm,” the big Englishman said soothingly.

“And therefore the perfect breeding ground for parasites and bacteria,” Belleau said bitterly.

Carrying Belleau like a child, Oakshott waded to the riverbank, grasping a root as a handhold to pull himself onto a hummock of grass and reeds.

Putting the journal back into the metal case and securing the clasp, Honoré said, “I’m sure it must have occurred to you that they may be no safer there than here.”

“It’s not their safety I care much about,” rasped Crowe, turning the cruiser’s ignition key

The engine purred to life, the props slowly churning the water. Kavanaugh stared at the GPS tracking screen on the satphone. “No change in their position,” he said, “Which doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“We’ll hold position here until we have a visual,” Crowe said, removing a compact set of binoculars from a drawer beneath the console.

Squinting downriver through the eyepieces, Crowe noted how the mist thickened, floating above the water, wreathing the surface with vapor. The fog felt like the touch of a clammy hand on his skin.  A distant sound floated to him, vague and watery.

Out of the vapor a shadow appeared. Crowe stiffened, squinting as the shadow shape resolved into a looming, elongated outline. At the edges of his hearing he heard a distant, rhythmic throb, which he recognized as the growls of twin diesel engines.

“There’s the
Keying
,” Crowe said, pushing the throttle forward.

The
Alley Oop
slowly eased from beneath the page tree and into the river. Despite the scraps of fog, Crowe’s eyes still probed ahead. The cruiser hugged the bank for fifty yards, reeds whispering along the hull. The thudding of the
Keying’s
pistons grew loud, far louder than the drone of the Nautique’s engine.

Lying among the leaves and twigs on the cruiser’s prow, Mouzi sighted down the length of the carbine at a dark silent figure standing on the deck of the junk. She figured he was a lookout, but not doing a very good job of it. He wore a black-and-white headband. She lined him up between the front and rear sights of her rifle, waiting for the man to spot the boat sliding almost soundlessly through the mist.

Suddenly, he leaned forward, stared and whirled around, mouth opening to voice a warning. Mouzi squeezed the trigger. She leaned into the recoil, letting the hollow of her shoulder absorb it. The shot sounded lackluster, like the breaking of a twig. There was nothing lackluster about the man’s reaction to the impact of the bullet punching him between the shoulder blades. Throwing up both arms, he screamed loudly and fell forward, out of sight.

Crowe slammed the throttle to full and the cruiser’s engine bellowed. The boat lunged toward the
Keying
, its prow rising like the snout of a killer whale diving toward helpless prey.

Guns crashed with deafening echoes from the mist. A bullet tore splinters from the railing to Bai Suzhen’s right. Jimmy Cao screamed orders in Cantonese and Mandarin. The
Keying’s
crewmen dropped flat to the deck while the Ghost Shadows came racing from all directions. The man in the pilot house wrestled with the wheel, turning the junk to starboard. He was not as experienced a pilot as Bai’s man and had difficulty steering the boat.