Wolf Island (10 page)

“I’ll have it sent down,” Shark says, and ushers us out.

“Perhaps I should stay and keep an eye on him,” Antoine says nervously.

“No chance,” Shark responds firmly, and pushes out the suave chief executive, ignoring his spluttering protests.

Some of the rooms on the uppermost floor have beds, or couches that pull out into sleeping cots. Members of the higher echelon
move around a lot between buildings owned by the Lambs. Given the secretive nature of their business, they often prefer to
stay onsite rather than check into hotels.

I’m sharing a room with Spenser and James. They don’t speak to me much. They know I’m part of Beranabus’s world of magic and
demons, but they’ve had little first-hand experience of that. They find it hard to think of me as anything other than an especially
large but otherwise unremarkable teenager. I’m not too bothered. I find most of their conversation pretty boring — weapons,
planes, helicopters, war, battle tactics. I’m happy to be excluded.

I spend my spare time experimenting, testing my powers. I don’t know how much I’m capable of doing on this world, in the absence
of magical energy. I want to find out what my limits are, so as not to exceed them and leave myself exposed.

I’m pretty good at moving objects. Size doesn’t seem to matter — I can slide a heavy oak wardrobe across the floor as easily
as a telephone. I spend a couple of hours moving things around. I’m pretty beat by the end, and not back to full health until
the next morning. It’s reassuring that I can recharge, but worrying that it takes so long once I’ve been drained.

Other maneuvers are more demanding. I can heighten my senses — to eavesdrop on a conversation, or view a scene from a few
miles away — but that takes a lot of effort and quickly eats into my resources. I can’t change shape, but I can make myself
partially invisible for a very short time. I can create fire and freeze objects, but again those demand a lot of me. I can
shoot off several bolts of magical energy, but I’m good for nothing for hours afterwards.

There are all sorts of compensating spells that I could make use of if I knew them. But I refused to dabble in magic when
I lived with Dervish and I didn’t need spells in the Demonata universe — if a spell was required there, Beranabus took care
of it. He wasn’t interested in training Kernel or me, just in using us to bully and kill demons.

I wish I’d demanded more of Beranabus and Dervish. Mages can do a lot with a few subtle spells. As a magician I could do even
more. I get Meera to teach me some simple incantations, but we don’t have time to cover much ground.

I worry about my uncle constantly. What’s he doing? Where is he? Time moves differently in the other universe, usually faster
or slower than here. Years might have passed for him, or only minutes. Is he alive or dead? I’ve no way of knowing. Beranabus
taught me how to open windows, so I could go and find them. But I couldn’t guarantee how long that would take.

I have to remain here until our mission’s over. I’m the reason the others are involved, the one who vowed to track down Prae
Athim and uncover the truth. I can’t cut out early. That would be the selfish act of a child, which I’m not. I’m a Disciple.
We see things through to the end. No matter how scared and alone we feel.

Four days pass. Everyone’s impatient for news, but Timas refuses to provide us with partial updates. On the few occasions
that Shark barges into Antoine’s office and demands answers, the reply is always the same. “I’ll summon you promptly when
I’ve concluded my investigations.”

Timas finally reaches that conclusion shortly before dawn on the fifth day. Shark hammers on our door, waking us all, then
sticks his head in and shouts, “The office! Now!”

Five minutes later we’re all huddled around Timas and his computers. We’re bleary-eyed, hair all over the place, typical early
morning messes. Except Timas. As far as I know, he’s worked almost nonstop since I last saw him, sleeping only two or three
hours a night. But he looks as perky as an actor in a TV commercial.

“I’ve found them,” he says without any preliminaries. “They’re on an island. It has no official name, but the Lambs nicknamed
it Wolf Island. Prae Athim purchased it through a fifth-generation contact several years ago.”

“What’s a fifth-generation contact?” I ask.

“A contact of a contact of a contact of a contact of a contact,” Timas intones. “She conducts most of her business that way,
making it almost impossible to trace anything back to her personally.
Almost,
” he repeats with a justifiably smug smile.

“Where’s the island?” Shark grunts.

Timas passes him a stapled printout of about twenty pages, then hands copies around to the rest of us. The small sheaf is
crammed with all sorts of info about the island, its history, dimensions, wildlife, plant life, natural formations. There
are several maps, most of the island, but also of the surrounding waters, noting currents, depth, temperatures, sea life.

“They’ve built a base,” Timas points out. “Page nine. They constructed it on the island’s largest crag, so they need only
face an assault from one direction if the werewolves get out of control. That extra measure wasn’t a necessity — the fortifications
are sound, with more than six separate security systems in place, powered by a variety of independent generators. The werewolves
might have the run of the island, but the people inside the compound are quite —”

“The beasts are running free?” Shark interrupts.

“Yes. That’s on page four. They were set loose once delivered to the island, though they can be recaptured, singly or in small
groups, using a variety of equipment provided for such a purpose.”

“Maybe Terry was right,” Meera says dubiously. “Perhaps Prae took them there to let them live naturally.”

“I think not,” Timas purrs, “and would refer you to page fourteen, appendix Bii, in support of my opinion.”

Antoine and a few of the others flick forward. Shark tosses his copy of the report aside and snaps, “Don’t play games. Just
tell us.”

“No games,” Timas says mildly. “The appendix outlines everything concisely. But if you would prefer an oral report…”

“I would,” Shark snarls.

“No!” Antoine gasps, turning a shade paler beneath his tan. He must be a speed-reader because he’s already flicking from page
fourteen to fifteen, eyes scanning the lines super-fast. “This can’t be right. I would have known.”

“The figures are accurate,” Timas says. “Nothing is speculative.” He faces Shark. “A third have been genetically, surgically,
and electronically modified by Prae Athim and her team. She found a way to corrupt their metabolisms. This allowed her to
do two things. First, using steroids, implants, and a variety of drugs, she created faster, stronger animals. Second, by operating
on their brains and using other implants, she was able to train them.”

“They can’t survive at those levels,” Antoine says, glancing up from his report. “Their bodies can’t hold, not subjected to
such degrees of abuse.”

“Their long-term prospects are grim,” Timas agrees. “But they can last a few years, or so the scientists believe.”

“What have they been trained to do?” Shark asks.

“Nothing too complex,” Timas says. “They can hunt in small groups, in pursuit of predefined targets — like hounds, they can
be given a person’s scent. They’re not as reliable as hounds. In a crowded environment they might be distracted and chase
others instead. And they’ll turn on their handlers afterwards unless subdued. But that’s a huge step forward.”

“I’d no idea she’d advanced to such a stage,” Antoine whispers. “We’ve been trying to install control mechanisms for decades.
We could have done so much good if we’d known about this. We still could.”

“The Lambs are finished,” Shark says, “at least as far as werewolves are concerned. Do you really think people will trust
you with their young once word of this gets out? And it will — have no doubt about that.”

“You’re right,” Antoine sighs. “But those on the island are still alive. If we can bring them back under our authority and
follow up on these incredible breakthroughs…”

“You’re assuming we’ll leave any of them alive,” Shark laughs brutally. Before Antoine can react to that, he says to Timas,
“What’s the best way to hit them? Do we need more troops?”

Timas purses his lips. “If the original implants had been left intact, we could have electronically disabled them from the
air. But they were all secretly removed or rendered inactive prior to the abduction. The safest way would be to blanket-bomb
the island.”

“No!” I cry. “You can’t just kill them. They were human once.”

“They’re not anymore,” Shark shrugs.

“I won’t let you,” I growl.

“You can’t stop me,” he says blankly.

“Actually, I can.” I raise a hand and let little forks of blue lightning crackle between my fingertips. Shark squints at me,
taking my measure.

“He’d whup you,” Meera says to Shark. “He’s a magician. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Probably not.” Shark grimaces. “Besides, I don’t trust fly-boys and their damn guided missiles. They could level the compound
by accident, and we need Prae alive. Options, Timas?”

“Go as we are.” He holds up his copy of the report, flicks to near the end, and taps the page. “There are very few guards.
It’s mostly scientists and medics. If we just hit the compound, we can drop in and make a neat job of it.”

“You’re sure?” Shark asks.

“Absolutely,” Timas says. “I can provide you with a complete breakdown of the odds if you wish.”

“No need,” Shark smiles. “Twelve it is.”

“Thirteen,” Antoine corrects him.

Shark laughs. “You’re not serious.”

“Never more so. I’m coming.”

“You’re not,” Shark says, his smile disappearing. “This is a job for soldiers and Disciples.”

“I won’t pretend to be an action hero,” Antoine says with quiet dignity. “I’m not your equal in matters such as these. But
I’m coming regardless. I run this operation now. I’m not sure what you want with Prae, but if you don’t kill her, I plan to
bring her to justice. And there’s the matter of the specimens. They have to be returned. Or perhaps we can continue our work
on the island. I need to undertake a study before I make a proposal to the board.”

“You can do that later,” Meera says. “Let us go in, shut down Prae’s operation, and take control of the situation. You can
fly in after we’re finished and —”

“You don’t understand!” Antoine shouts, losing his temper for the first time. His jaw trembles as he glares at us. “This happened
on
my
watch. I was supposed to control her. There have already been calls for my head. I’m hanging on to this job by my fingernails.
If the board of governors finds out about this island and that I let you waltz in unrestricted and unmonitored…”

Antoine looks appealingly at Shark. “I need to come with you. And it won’t be a one-way favor. I can help. I know Prae, her
people, the specimens. I can advise and caution if necessary.”

“It’d be dangerous,” Shark says. “If you come, you’re on your own. Nobody will risk their life to save yours.”

“In this business, you never expect anyone to be helpful.” Antoine smirks, in command of his temper again. “Do I have time
to pack a few things?”

“No,” Shark snorts, and marches out of the office. The rest of us follow him up the stairs to where the helicopter is waiting,
and off we set for Wolf Island.
Aroooooo!