has ever even seen the bestiary.” True, al-Kalli thought, he had allowed that lowlife Captain Greer to see the place, but then, Greer was expendable — and soon. “If I’m going to permit this, I will need to know that you are prepared to accept my offer.” He sat back in his chair, the sapphire ring catching the sunlight and glistening like ice. “I need to know that you’re going to help me save the animals.”
How could Carter refuse such a challenge? But how, he wondered, could he accept it? “I’m a paleontologist,” he said, “not a veterinarian.”
“I have a veterinarian — Rashid — you saw him. He has had the finest training available. But he no longer knows what to do. The animals are ailing; they are dying. And he does not know how to stop it.”
“Then you need to find someone else, someone better, more knowledgeable.”
“I can hardly bring these animals to the attention of your average vet. Even if I could, what would he know about them? Nothing. He wouldn’t even know what he was looking at.”
“I’m not sure I do, either.”
“I have great faith in you,” al-Kalli said, “perhaps more than you do. These are the last of the menagerie. When I left Iraq, I had to leave nearly everything I owned behind; God knows what Saddam and his troops did to the rest. Even the book, the book your wife is restoring for me now, I did not have time to recover; I had to make special arrangements, later, to have it brought out of the country.” He put his coffee cup back in its delicate Limoges saucer, then leaned forward in his chair. “You, better than anyone else alive, know what these creatures are; you know how they lived, how they bred. Help me save them,” he said, “and then, when that has been done, when the immediate danger is past, we can reveal our secret to the world.”
Carter had listened carefully to every word, but still wasn’t sure he believed it. Was al-Kalli playing him? Did he mean it when he said that he’d eventually share the bestiary with the world? Or was that just another ploy to ensure Carter’s cooperation?
“I’m simply not ready yet to part with my creatures,” al-Kalli said reassuringly. “Once the word is out, it will be difficult — probably impossible — to maintain any control over them. But give me some time, give me your help, and I will be.”
His black eyes were bright with sincerity; his expression was sober but hopeful. Carter wanted to believe him — or maybe, somewhere deep down, he too wanted to hold on to the secret, just for a little while longer. Something of this magnitude, once it came to light, would indeed spiral out of control quickly. The animals would be spirited off to some state-of-the-art facility, God knew where, and scientists from all over the world would flock to study them. Would Carter continue to have access to them? Or would his role be summarily forgotten? The science he knew he could cut, but when it came to politics and bureaucracy and all the cut-throat stuff that professional advancement seemed increasingly to demand, he was hopelessly at sea.
“You will, while the animals are here, give me unfettered access to them?” Carter asked.
“Of course,” al-Kalli said, leaning back and spreading his hands. He knew he had just won. “As far as I’m concerned, you can move into my house.”
“And whatever I recommend, even if it does mean ultimately moving them or calling in some other expert, you will do?”
“Yes,” al-Kalli replied, with well-feigned enthusiasm.
Carter didn’t know how, under these circumstances, he could possibly refuse. Nor, frankly, did he want to. “Then let’s get to work,” he said, rising from his chair.
Al-Kalli smiled up at him. “Splendid,” he said, clapping his hands for Jakob. “I’m so pleased.” He knew that he’d won this battle the moment Carter had appeared that morning, but it was good to have it formally concluded. People, al-Kalli thought, could always be made to do what you wanted them to — and then, just as easily, they could be gotten rid of.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“I don’t believe you.”
That was just like his mother. Anytime he gave her good news — which, Greer had to admit, hadn’t been all that often — she thought he was lying.
“Show me your pay stub,” she said.
“They pay me in cash.”
She put a cup of tea on the tray, right next to her toast and jam, and waddled back into the living room with it. “Hold this,” she said, and Greer did, as she settled herself back into her chair. “Now, you can rest the tray across the arms.”
He wished he had something to prove it to her — a company ID, a contract, a uniform. “Remember that guy from the army who called here the other day?”
“Yes,” she said, spreading the jam and paying more attention to
“The one I told you wanted me to complete a survey?”
“You were lying about that, too, I think.”
Damn, her radar was really pretty good. “I was, a little. He wanted to know what I was doing now as a civilian, and I had to tell him I was having some trouble finding work.”
That she heard. “Of course you couldn’t find any — you didn’t look.”
Why did he bother? What had made him think he should even tell her anything? But he was going to plow ahead. He was going to get this out. “He told me about a guy — a very rich guy, up in Bel-Air — who needed someone to run his entire security operation. He put me up for the job, and I got it.”
He was standing to one side of her chair, and she was looking at the TV, and the whole setup reminded him uncomfortably of the time he came home to tell her he’d been made captain of the baseball team and she’d been watching something on the TV — the big old one that still had an actual aerial on top — and instead of saying anything like “That’s great!” or “Good for you!” she’d said, “Your father’s run off again, and this time I think it’s for good.”
“When do you start this so-called job?”
“I already have. I told you.”
She bit off a hunk of the toast — more jam than bread at this point — and shrugged. “Does that mean you’ll be getting your own place?”
He couldn’t tell how she meant that — whether she was hoping he would or hoping he wouldn’t. She hadn’t exactly welcomed him home when he’d returned from Iraq, but seeing as he’d been wounded and all, she could hardly turn him away. And then she’d gotten used to the extra cash his disability payments had brought in, for groceries and rent and utilities and stuff. If he’d had to guess, he’d have said she was kind of torn.
“Maybe,” he said, letting her twist a little. “I’ll see how far the salary goes.” He liked the word “salary”; made it sound more authentic than the wad of bills Jakob had tossed him.
“If you’ve got a job,” she said, having had a minute or two to think about it, “why aren’t you there now?”
“It’s not that kind of a job, where you punch in and out. It’s an executive position.”
She looked dubious.
“And I’m going there now, in fact.” What was the use? He turned and headed for the door. He grabbed his windbreaker off the hook, and just before he closed the door, he heard her turn up the volume on the TV.
But she was right, whether she knew it or not — it was time he got a place of his own. This shit was definitely not worth it.
On the way to the VA hospital, where he’d been heading all along, he listened to a tape of Grand Funk Railroad — the old stuff was still the best — at full volume. His life, he thought, was coming together, but in a very weird way. What had started out as a blackmail plot — never a very good one, as he could never figure out exactly where the leverage was — had turned into a regular gig. He’d asked al-Kalli if his title was “Head of Security Operations,” and al-Kalli had said that was fine with him. Now here he was, a decorated Iraq vet, working for an Arab billionaire, in L.A. yet, and guarding a bunch of… dinosaurs, for all he knew. That guy he’d seen on TV–Carter Cox — was a paleontologist, and that must have been why al-Kalli had let him in. The only other guy Greer had seen
