The Ancient Breed (16 page)

“It so happens that that information wasn’t in the news,” he pressed.

“Oh, I know. I did some research during my vacation last spring.”

“And where was that, if I may ask?”

“You may. Mmm, this salad is terrific. How’s your he-man, steak sandwich?”

“Melts in my mouth,” he replied. “And your vacation was . . . where?”

“Oh yes. I went on a combination rest and research vacation in Duneden, Ohio.”

Nick nearly choked as he swallowed. “For godsake, why?” he managed after taking a generous drink of his water.

Duneden was the site of the terrible
Mortal Eclipse
project that had spawned the monstrous killer and mage, the
Creeper
. Witches and their peculiar secrets mostly populated the small community.

Duneden also happened to be Nick’s hometown.

“I wanted to learn all I could about the
Creeper
investigation and the
Mortal Eclipse
project. It really interests me.”

“Interests you? Why would an archeologist be intrigued by current events?”

“Even though I’m an archeologist, I live in the present. Any news event on the unusual side grabs my attention. Knowing more about the present can also help us understand the past.” She took another bite of her salad. “I mean, the
Creeper
wasn’t exactly your typical, run-of-the-mill criminal. He had powers unlike anything the world’s ever seen.”

He waved his fork at her. “You’ve done a wonderful job of evading my original question. Sure you don’t have a political science minor from Florida State?”

She winced. “Sorry. My conversations and lectures have a tendency to drift off on tangents.”

“So I’ve noticed.” He looked her squarely in the eye. “So, what prompted you to tell me that I possessed
special gifts
?”

Lisa dabbed a corner of her mouth with her white, linen napkin. “Because you were the one who brought down the
Creeper
when no one else could.”

Nick nearly fell off his chair. “How did you . . .”

She shrugged her shoulders. “People in small towns like Duneden like to gossip, especially about their hometown heroes. Jill Sandlin told me.”

Nick nodded as his satellite phone rang. He apologized to Lisa for the interruption and spoke quietly into the phone. Less than a minute later, he snapped the phone shut and stared pensively at Lisa.

“Bad news?”

“Bad, and possibly some good, news. I don’t know yet. There’s been another murder. Your demon guardian’s MO.”

Lisa gasped.

“I’ve got to go and check it out.”

“Where?” she asked, suddenly alert.

“The Tampa VA Medical Center basement. Neo’s outside waiting in the car. Care to join me?” he offered.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t ask. Hell yes - let’s roll.” She quickly located their waiter and handed him a roll of cash that was more than sufficient to cover their check and an obscene gratuity.

Nick opened the restaurant door for her. “I didn’t know lunch was Dutch treat!”

“It wasn’t. It was my treat,” she answered as she stepped into the downpour and dashed toward Neo’s car.

During the drive across town, Nick explained the crime scene rules. Rule number one decreed that, under no circumstances, was Lisa to wander away from Nick and perform a little investigation of her own. She was instructed to stick close to him while they examined the gruesome crime scene in the medical center basement. When they arrived at the scene, they studied the demon guardian’s footprints on the stairway before the local cops in the basement were aware of their presence.

“Hey, you two!” a detective shouted. “Got some kind of ID?”

Nick flashed his FBI badge. “Where’s Lieutenant Cartwright?”

“Over here, Nick!”

He and Lisa descended the steps. “Got an ID on the victim yet?” Nick asked his old friend, Lieutenant Michael Cartwright.

Cartwright was a short, stocky African American man, with close-cropped, salt and pepper hair, a wide face with sharp features, and a no-nonsense countenance. “As a matter of fact, Nick, we have. The victim’s name is Juan Ramirez. A punk from Nebraska who has an arrest sheet the length of my arm. The kid dropped out of Nebraska University a couple years ago and hasn’t been seen since,” he reported.

Lisa and Nick appeared stunned. “Can you check with the locals in Nebraska to see if this Ramirez was ever known to hang out with a man named Jay Walkingman?”

“Walkingman? Are you pulling my leg, Nick?” Cartwright scowled and then relaxed when he saw that Nick was dead serious. “Yeah, I’ll check it.”

“Today—okay?”

Cartwright scrutinized Nick’s taciturn behavior. “Okay. You got something you want to share with me?”

A smirk slit Nick’s mouth. “If you come up with a connection between Ramirez and Walkingman, you’ll be sorry you asked that question, Mike.” He wrote down his satellite phone number on the back of one of his FBI cards and handed it to Mike. “Any time, day or night, pal. Sooner’s a helluva lot better than later.”

“Where do you think the . . . killer went when it reached the top of stairs?” Lisa asked.

“Since there’s no security camera up there, we have no way of knowing,” Mike replied. “Why?”

“It’s weird that no one upstairs in the lobby saw it escape through that door,” Nick replied.

“That’s because it never went into the lobby,” Lisa theorized. “I say it vanished before it even touched the door up there.” She pointed to the gray steel door at the top of the stairs.

Cartwright laughed humorlessly. “Professor, you’ve got a future in Hollywood. On the other hand, we cops are trained never to use our imaginations except for wet dreams. We just let the cold, hard facts do the talking, and they tell us that it escaped through the lobby.”

“Really. I would’ve thought that a creature ten to twelve feet tall and weighing close to five hundred pounds might’ve been spotted hurrying through the lobby,” she responded sarcastically.

Nick grinned. “I think she might have a point there, Mike.”

He looked around to see if anyone was within earshot and then leaned close to Lisa and Nick. “I already had someone check the hospital lobby and perimeter, but my idea rolled snake eyes,” he whispered. “I believe you, unofficially of course.”

“And you said you didn’t have an imagination,” she said, relieved.

“Lisa and I have got to run, Mike.”

Lisa glanced at her watch. “We’ll never make it to the construction site before dark,” she groaned.

“Trust me, we will.” He turned to Mike and shook his hand. “Thanks for the tour, Mike.” He lowered his voice. “Watch yourself. This killer is more dangerous than anything you’ve ever come up against,” he warned.

“We’ve got enough firepower in this department to tan its five-hundred-pound hide,” Mike boasted.

“Try poisoned donuts instead,” Nick quipped as he and Lisa climbed the basement stairs.

“Nice meeting
you
, Lisa.” Cartwright waved. “But you’ve got to upgrade your choice of male companions. Ditch that loser.”

Lisa merely flashed him a grin as she nervously pictured herself exploring the eerie swamp with Nick in the dark. They rushed through the lobby into the rain outside and flagged a taxi.

Just how was Nick planning to get them to the construction site before nightfall?

18

D

usk fell over the swamp. The two cops assigned to the Warnke construction site to keep the reporters and thrill seekers off the property sat in their squad car with the air conditioning blowing full blast. Outside, hungry mosquito hordes swarmed the car, searching for a way inside the human diner. Bats flitted in the twilight sky, owl hoots drifted on the still air across the drained swamp, and the crickets performed their two-note symphony. The rain quit two hours ago, but the humidity remained close to one hundred percent.

Headlights appeared down the sole road to the site, and the cops swore a blue streak. Now they’d have to leave the comfort and safety of their squad car and suffer the suffocating air and ravenous mosquitoes. They climbed from the cruiser and waved at the approaching car. The approaching car crunched to a stop on the gravel access road ten feet from their position, and its high-beam headlights effectively blinded them.

“Hey, shut off your damn lights,” one of the cops yelled.

The car doors opened, and two men emerged and stood silently beside the car.

“Shut off your lights,” the cop repeated, shielding his eyes from the glare.

“Sure,” the driver replied. The lights went out, and the sudden darkness impaired the cops’ vision as much as the headlights. Before their eyes adjusted, the two strangers strode up to them with guns pointed at their chests.

“Good night,” the other stranger said.

The cops heard two muffled burps and felt a bee sting in their chests before crumpling to the gravel. The driver stooped over the unconscious cops and withdrew two darts.

“Should keep ‘em knocked out till morning. Give me a hand, and we’ll stow ‘em in their cruiser,” the driver ordered.

“Why waste the energy?” the man who rode shotgun grumbled.

“Because the mosquitoes’ll drain ‘em dry if we don’t, and the boss was very adamant about keeping them alive. No deaths.”

“Smells like death in the air to me.”

“That’s the damn swamp, you idiot.”

“Okay. Let me give the boss the go-ahead first.” Shotgun pressed redial on his radiophone and spoke in low tones. “They’re on their way.”

“I can see that.” The driver pointed at the advancing lights on the horizon. “Now let’s take care of these two and get the hell outta here. We’ve done our job for the night.”

The brilliant floodlights of the enormous Sikorsky S-64 Sky Crane swept the earth around the muck mound and black cavity near the target site. Two large aluminum cylinders were mounted to the Sikorsky’s belly, and a mechanical shovel, identical to those used by Warnke Construction, dangled like a stationary puppet on thick cables. The helicopter slowly descended and positioned the shovel on the soft ground beside the gray area coordinates indicated on the thermal scans. After the mechanical shovel was freed from the cables, the helicopter landed; two dozen men dressed in black camouflage outfits scrambled from the Sikorsky S-64 Sky Crane like ants scurrying from their hill. One of them fired up the shovel’s powerful diesel engine, and the excavating began. Within an hour, the workers had totally unearthed a strange stone building without doors or windows.

The team leader radioed the command helicopter and informed them that
their objective had been met
. That code phrase signaled the all clear for the command helicopter to arrive. Shortly, more low-flying lights appeared in the closing darkness.

The FBI helicopter settled on the helipad at the Fort Meyers Airport where a Range Rover, sporting a rooftop bank of spotlights, awaited Nick and Lisa. Lisa examined the overcast sky.

“I can’t believe we actually got here before dark,” she said as the two of them climbed into the SUV.

“Buckle up. We’re heading out,” Nick announced, and maneuvered the Range Rover from the airport to an access road that led them to I-75 North. Nick checked the clock. It read seven-thirty. He’d have to keep the pedal to the metal if they were going to have any daylight when they searched Boneland.