'I insist. You'd better enjoy it while you can. It will be a long time before we receive French imports again.'
His soft laughter echoed over the muted strains of Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons.' He poured a second glass and handed it to the bodyguard. Bates accepted, sipping dutifully.
'Thank you, sir. Most excellent.'
'That it is.'
Ramsey studied the bodyguard. Dressed in sartorial elegance, black ponytail hanging down to the middle of his back, Bates was still an enigma after all this time. Two tours of duty in the Marines with the 24th MAU, followed by a stint with the Navy SEALS.
After rejoining the civilian world, Bates had started his own private security firm, boasting dozens of the world's most affluent and popular rock stars, athletes, and actors as clientele. Then Ramsey hired him exclusively. He'd served Ramsey for almost twelve years. He continued to serve him now, as Chief of Security, whipping investment bankers and short-order cooks and legal secretaries into shape, filling the gaps in the security staff's ranks. Bates was loyal, and Ramsey trusted him implicitly with every detail of his empire. After all, his life was in Bates's hands. But as pleasant and courteous as Bates was, there were occasions when Ramsey had the distinct impression that, rather than looking into a man's eyes, he was looking into those of a serpent. Bates had that look now as he sipped the proffered wine and stared out at the night sky.
'Cigar?'
'No thank you, sir.'
'Very well. Suit yourself. But I don't imagine that we'll be getting more Cubans, either.'
Ramsey lit up, puffed until the end glowed in the darkness, and exhaled a thick cloud of fragrant smoke.
'So,' he continued, 'we know that they are inhabiting the bodies of the dead, but we can't determine why brain trauma seems to be the only way to destroy them. Why not other injuries or even holy water and crucifixes?'
'That's what you were pondering, sir?'
'Yes. Do you know much about Native American culture, Bates?'
'Not much, sir, other than their warfare tactics.'
'You know that many tribes scalped their enemies, yes?'
Bates nodded.
'Do you know why?'
'Trophies?'
'Partly. But also because they believed that a man's spirit resides in his brain. They didn't just take the hair, as portrayed in the movies. They took the top of the skull. They believed the soul resided in the head.'
The seemingly lidless eyes stared at him, and Ramsey grew uncomfortable.
It was the snake stare again. For a moment, he half expected a forked tongue to slither out from between Bates's lips.
'The head, Bates. Don't you see? Perhaps these creatures directly inhabit the head. Or more specifically, the brain.'
'It would make sense, sir.' Bates shrugged. 'A head shot seems to bring them down permanently. It would also explain why the U.B.R.D. works so well on the birds.'
Ramsey nodded, agreeing with Bates's assessment of the Ultrasonic Bird Repelling Device, which they'd obtained from an abandoned air base during a recon patrol. 'I'd considered that as well. Birds do have a sensitivity to sound, and the mechanism physically damages them as a result. That was a stroke of luck, obtaining it. Dr. Stern's hypothesis proved correct, it would seem. If their ears were in their wings, then I suppose the device would be no more fatal to them than a rock 'n' roll concert.'
He drained his glass and poured another.
'Are you familiar with acupuncture, Bates?'
'Yes, sir. It was very popular when I worked in Hollywood.'
'I suppose it would have been. The Oriental physicians found that the various functions of the body could be influenced by pressing upon specific points on the body's surface.'
Bates set his glass on the desk. 'You're talking about meridians, right? I studied them during my martial arts training.'
'Correct. Each meridian is a pathway for specific energies-one of which is the head and brain.'
Bates nodded. 'An energy pathway. I see.'
'Do you? It all comes back to the cranium-the brain.' Ramsey pulled out the overstuffed leather chair from behind his desk and sat. He waved a hand at Bates to join him. 'So, what's our status?'
Bates took a chair in front of him and checked his clipboard.
'We just finished inventory of our armory. I don't think we'll need to risk a raid on the National Guard or NYPD stockpiles after all. The federal armory raid netted us just over one hundred M-16 assault rifles and approximately one thousand rounds of ammunition apiece, plus magazines.'
'I thought you didn't like M-16's?'
Bates nodded. 'I don't. Personally, I prefer the M-l Garand, but beggars can't be choosers. The weapons were kept cleaned and serviced, and they should perform well enough. It doesn't matter what we defend ourselves with, as long as we have the ability to do so.'
