THE DEVIL COLONY

Gray sat down next to her, leaning back. He remained silent for a long moment before speaking again. 'They call it sundowner's syndrome,' he said, plainly venting, or maybe he was trying to make sense of it himself, to give his pain a name. 'Dementia symptoms get worse at night for some Alzheimer's patients. Don't really know why. Some say its hormonal changes that occur at night. Others that it's an unloading of the day's accumulated stress and sensory stimulation.'

'How often does this happen?'

'Getting to be regular now. Three or four times a month. But he should be fine for the rest of the night. Outbursts like this seem to exhaust him. He should sleep well. And once the sun's up, he does much better.'

'And you come out here every time?'

Again that shrug. 'As often as I can.'

A silence settled over them. Gray looked off into the distance, likely into the future. She suspected he was pondering how long he could keep it up on his own.

Sensing a distraction might do him good, Seichan turned the conversation toward their other problem. 'Any word from your partner?'

Gray shook his head. His voice grew firmer; he was on steadier ground with this subject. 'No calls. It'll probably take until morning for the archivists to do a thorough search. But I think I figured out why that letter-the one from Franklin to that French scientist-turned up amid all the Guild activity of late.'

She sat straighter. It had cost her much, came close to exposing her, to retrieve a copy of that letter.

'According to what you told me,' he said, 'Franklin's note surfaced twelve days ago.'

'That's right.'

'That was just after the cave was discovered out in Utah.'

'You mentioned that before, but I still don't see the connection.'

'I think the crux comes down to two words found in Franklin's letter. Pale Indians .'

She shook her head, remembering the line from the letter. She'd read the translation enough times to memorize it.

With those deaths, all who had knowledge of the Great Elixir and the Pale Indians have pass'd into the hands of Providence.

She still didn't understand. 'So?'

Gray shifted closer on the bench, as if physically trying to make his point. 'Just after the discovery, an investigation began to identify the mummified remains found inside that cavern. Native American groups were claiming rights over the bodies, but ownership was in dispute, as the remains appeared more Caucasian in appearance.'

'Caucasian?'

' Pale Indians,' Gray stressed. 'If the Guild-Franklin's old enemy-was involved in the past with some matter concerning white-skinned Indians, the sudden discovery of a cave full of such mummified remains, along with their relics, would certainly draw them out. Back then, Franklin and Jefferson were clearly searching for something, something that they believed threatened the new union. Apparently their enemy was after it, too.'

'And if you're right, they're still after it,' she added. 'So what do you think? Did the Guild cause that blast out in Utah?'

'I don't think so. But either way, I've got to brief Director Crowe. If I'm right, he's stepping into the middle of a centuries-old war.'

Chapter 13

May 30, 11:33 P.M.

Provo, Utah

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness in the lab, Kai slipped her wrist from her uncle's grip. A weak glow flowed in from the hallway, coming from illuminated emergency signs.

She searched the maze of the dark lab, ready to run. It was her first means of defense. Passed among foster homes, she had quickly learned to read the warning signs around her. It was vital to survival, to sense the mood, to know when to walk warily and when to stand your ground in homes where you were unwanted or barely tolerated.

Professor Kanosh rose up from one knee, where he'd been calming his dog, Kawtch. 'Maybe it's just an ordinary power outage,' he offered.

Kai latched onto that hope but knew it was desperation. She looked to her uncle for some reassurance.

Instead, Painter crossed to a desktop phone and lifted the receiver. Kai flashed to the old stereotype of an Indian pressing his ears to the ground to listen for signs of danger. This was a modern version of that.

'No dial tone,' he said, and replaced the receiver. 'Somebody cut the lines.'

She crossed her arms, holding tightly. So much for that hope...

Painter turned to the big man he'd come here with and pointed to the lab's door. 'Kowalski, watch the hall. Be ready to barricade the door if necessary.'

The hulking man moved to the exit, sweeping aside his long jacket to reveal a shotgun strapped to his leg. Kai was familiar enough with guns from her hunting days with her father, but there was something odd about the weapon, especially the extra shells mounted on the gun's butt. They were spiked at one end. Still, the sight of the shotgun made the situation all the more real. Her heart began to pound harder in her throat, her senses stretching to a keening edge.

'What're we going to do?' Denton asked.

'We should hide,' Kai blurted out, fighting back a tremble that threatened to leave her quaking on the floor. She took a step away, seeking the comfort of dark spaces.

Painter stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. He pulled her closer. She didn't resist, leaning against him, but it was like hugging a metal post. He was all hard muscle, bone, and purpose.

'Hiding won't do any good,' he explained. 'Clearly someone had you all under surveillance. Tracked you here and sent a strike team to flush you out. They'll sweep the place until they find you. Our only hope is that it'll take time to search the main building before they venture down to the underground facility. Until then, we need to find another way out of here.'

Kai stared toward the ceiling, picturing the buried lab in her mind's eye. 'How about up ?' she asked, grasping for anything.

Painter gave her an appreciative squeeze. It did much to return some strength to her legs.

'What about that?' he asked the two professors. 'Are there any air vents? Service tunnels?'

'Sorry,' Denton said, his voice quavering. 'I know the entire schematics of this place. There's nothing like that. At least not large enough to crawl through. Only thing above our heads is a foot of reinforced concrete and about a yard of soil, rock, and lawn.'

'Still, the kid's idea is a good one.' The gruff words came from the doorway, from the man named Kowalski. 'How 'bout we make our own exit?'

He tossed something the size of a ripe peach toward her uncle, who caught it one-handed. She felt Painter flinch next to her, then swear under his breath.

11:35 P.M.

Painter stared down at what he held. Though his eyes had somewhat adjusted to the dark, it was still difficult to examine the object-but from the chemical smell and the greasy feel to the claylike substance, there was little doubt of its identity.

He fought through his shock to ask, 'Kowalski, what are you doing with C4?'