The Ancient Breed (6 page)

Jay slapped her cheek again. “We cruise the area for dive boats and lighten them of their loads.”

“So you’re the jerks responsible for the boat thefts around here,” she said, fighting back the tears. Jay’s slaps stung like hell, but she was too stubborn to submit to his bullying.

He shrugged. “It’s all for the cause. We need a lot of coin for our operation. Our
major
operation.”

Lonny returned with the chest. His thin biceps bulged from the weight.

Jay yanked Blossom from the loveseat and dragged her toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“No!” she screamed. “You’ve got the chest; now leave us alone.”

“You belong with me, Blossom.” He turned to the tattooed man. “Let the white man go.”

Tattoo released Clay and joined his companions while Jay drew his gun. “Consider this an un-engagement present, Blossom.” Jay sighted the barrel and fired. Clay spun backwards into the bedroom and collapsed to the floor.

“Nooooo!” Blossom screamed again, reaching out for her fallen Clay, but Jay shoved her into the hall.

He grinned spitefully. “Now you have no reason to stay here, my love.”

5

C

row sat at the bar in the
Wild Dolphin
Bar and Grill
on the Pompano Beach Pier and sipped a Bacardi and Coke. He had spent the morning deep-sea fishing, and although the captain of the commercial fishing boat promised Crow that he would get his sea legs after an hour or so, he didn’t. Now he was inside the cool seedy bar trying to rediscover his
land
legs. Never, he promised himself, would he ever venture out on the ocean again. Give him a river or stream where he could fish without the perpetual rolling swells and the accompanying sickness.

Crow was the computer genius for the FBI’s
Orion Sector
division. He had built one of the world’s most powerful and resourceful computers and named it Geronimo, reflecting his Native American heritage. He was in the middle of a two-week vacation and he was rapidly growing bored. He was used to a fast paced environment, not the leisurely pursuit of wasting time beneath the broiling Florida sun.

Crow was the only name he gave to his friends and employer. No last name and no middle name. Actually, he hated his birth name, and when he left the Omaha reservation to go to college, he legally changed it.

He was short and stocky with his long black hair woven into twin braids. His knotted biceps displayed his daily exercise regimen, and his face suggested a man younger than his thirty-six years. Crow’s keen deep-set black eyes never missed a detail. The half-moon craters bordering his wide down-turned mouth belied his dry sense of humor.

He glanced around the
Wild Dolphin
Bar and Grill
and sipped his drink. The ceiling was draped with fishing nets while several spear guns, a whaling harpoon and a pair of stuffed sailfish adorned the pitted cedar walls. The table legs resembled barnacled pier supports, and numerous starfish and conch shells dangled above the gray tiled bar countertop. Faded window blinds kept the torrid afternoon sun at bay, and a half-dozen, low-hung ceiling fans kept the cool air circulating.

He ordered another Bacardi and Coke and glanced up at the muted newscast on the plasma television mounted above the mirrored shelves lined with liquor bottles. Another Jimmy Buffet Caribbean melody played on the jute box while the deeply tanned, drop-dead gorgeous blonde bartender swung her hips to the beat as she placed Crow’s drink in front of him. Suddenly Crow’s eyes widened. The television station cut from the news desk to a still photograph of his niece, Blossom; a picture of her Tallahassee boyfriend followed it.

“Can you turn up the volume?” Crow shouted and pointed impatiently at the television. By the time the bartender found the remote control, the news anchor had moved on to another story.

Crow’s sat phone rang and he snatched it off the counter. He covered one ear to block out the bar din and listened silently for a minute; his dusky complexion grew darker. After he disconnected the call, Crow tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and rushed out of the
Wild Dolphin Bar and Grill
.

After stopping twice to ask directions, Professor Lisa Anders finally located the remote rural construction site. It seemed like a long day already and it was barely eleven in the morning. Her early morning flight from Tallahassee and the car rental transaction in Tampa were a breeze, but when she attempted to check into her motel before ten that morning, the desk clerk rudely informed her that check-in was at four that afternoon. Lisa was forced to drive into the steaming Florida wilds with all her luggage in tow.

Professor Anders parked her black Jeep Liberty rental beside the Warnke Construction Company command trailer and entered. Inside the cool interior, Russ McKutchen and George Patrick, the Charlotte County medical examiner, greeted her. McKutchen’s eyes roamed Lisa’s shapely form as she shook their hands.

Lisa Anders was the youngest Florida State University archeology professor at age thirty-two. She moved with the unexpected grace of a dancer, not the awkwardness of a stereotypical field professor. Her fine red-gold hair was styled short, with wispy bangs veiling her forehead. Her oval face was a delicate ivory sculpture and spattered with freckles, but her fiery hazel eyes were anything but delicate. Her sensual shape was displayed beneath snug blue jeans and a tight coral tank top.

George Patrick was the first to step forward and introduce himself. Patrick was a plump gay bachelor in his mid thirties, and his dour countenance hinted at a solemn nature. His round face sported a van dyke beard, brown salted with gray, and his blue eyes were magnified behind thick black-rimmed glasses. He mopped his gleaming baldpate with a folded handkerchief. Dr. Patrick was a perpetual sweater who often joked that he could sweat in a cold shower.

Russ McKutchen was tall, olive-complected and was in his early forties. His face was plain and raisin-wrinkled from decades of continuous exposure to the Florida sun. It was one of the hazards of outdoor work in the Sunshine State.

“Russ McKutchen, Professor,” Russ offered and handed Lisa two-dozen photos of the bones that they discovered in the muck. The bones had been cleaned and photographed in Dr. Patrick’s lab in town.

“Lisa, please. Professor sounds so stuffy. You wouldn’t happen to have any bottled water in here?”

Russ nodded and retrieved a bottle from the small refrigerator beside his desk.

Lisa smiled gratefully and took a long drink. “Thanks,” she said and proceeded to study the pictures. After several minutes, she spread them out on the drawing table.

“I take it that the short deformed bones are the ones in question?” she asked.

Patrick nodded. “The shape, texture and coloring had some people jumping to conclusions about their origins,” he said with a slight lisp, glancing accusingly at Russ. “But after my preliminary analysis, I concluded that those bones
are
human after all.”

“But why are they so deformed?” she inquired.

“That took a while longer to assess, but of course my findings are only preliminary. The feds are picking up the bones tomorrow for a thorough analysis,” he explained. “After pulling an all-nighter last night, my staff and I believe we’ve located the mutating agent.” He paused to wipe the welling perspiration from his face.

Russ and Lisa waited anxiously.

“We’ve isolated an unknown virus in the marrow. One that has very unusual properties.”

“Such as?” Lisa was growing impatient with this self-righteous little man. Extracting information from him was like pulling teeth.

“Well, the virus appears to be able to transform the cells around it without altering its own form.”

“Transform them how?”

“This is going to sound incredible, but the virus appears capable of rejuvenating cells before altering them completely.”

“Make cells younger?” Lisa asked.

Russ chuckled.

“What?” Lisa demanded, her face suddenly beet-red.

“You looked like the cat that swallowed the canary when ole doc here was talkin’ about that rejuvenatin’ part,” Russ replied with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Well, I couldn’t help it,” she bristled. “It sounds a lot like something people have been searching for forever.”

“The fountain of youth,” Patrick said, clucking his tongue. “A fable if there ever was one. This is science, Miss Anders. Pure and simple. And this virus no doubt existed in this neck of the woods long before the first white folks arrived. It’s a killer and we’ve got to isolate this area until we are absolutely certain that no one has been exposed and become a potential carrier.”

“Is it an airborne virus?” she queried.

“We just don’t know, and until we do there’ll be no more excavating or exploring these premises.”

Lisa looked at Russ. “Do you have thermography scans on site?”

“Shore do.”

Russ unrolled the thermal scans of the entire construction site, and they huddled over them.

“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.