moment of earthly consciousness.
In silence, they approached the base of the rock. Scattered on the sand underneath lay a few pieces that had weathered from the fossil-including one long, black, scimitar-shaped tooth. Tom picked it up, hefted it, ran his thumb along the viciously serrated inner edge. He gave a low whistle and handed it to Ford.
It was heavy and cool in his hand. 'Incredible,' he murmured, glancing once again at the great silent monster.
'Look at this,' said Tom, pointing to some strange man-made objects partly buried in the sand-several ancient figurines carved in wood. He knelt down and brushed away the sand, uncovering more figurines below and a small pot filled
with arrowheads.
'Offerings,' said Ford. 'That explains the Indian trail up here. They were
worshiping the monster. And no wonder.' 'What's that?'
Tom pointed to a rim of metal that poked from the sand. He swept the sand aside to uncover a burnt tin can, which he extracted and pried up the lid. Inside was a Ziploc bag enclosing a bundle of letters, sealed in envelopes, dated, and addressed to 'Robbie Weathers.' The first one had written on it: For my daughter Robbie. I hope you enjoy this story. The T. Rex is all yours. Love, Daddy.
Without a word, Tom rolled up the letters and put them back in the can. Sally, standing farther toward the front of the cave, suddenly hissed. 'Voices!' Ford started, as if corning out of a dream. The reality of their situation came back in a rush.
'We've got to hide. Let's see how far back the cave goes.' Tom pulled the feeble flashlight he still carried and shone it into the back of the cave. They all stared in silence. The cave ended in a narrow, water-worn crack, far too narrow to admit a person. He directed the beam up, around, back and forth. 'We've walked into a dead end,' Ford said quietly. 'So that's it?' said Sally. 'What do we do now? Give up?' Ford did not answer. He moved swiftly to the mouth of the cave, flattened himself against the wall, and peered down. A moment later he was back. 'They're in the canyon below, three soldiers and a civilian.'
Tom moved to the opening himself and looked down in the small amphitheater. Two men with assault rifles, dressed in desert camouflage, were moving below. A third appeared, and then a forth. The men were examining the ground where they had brushed out their tracks. One was pointing up to the cave.
'That's it,' said Ford quietly.
'Bullshit.' Tom pulled the handgun out of the musette bag, popped out the magazine, topped it off with a couple of loose rounds, slid it back into place. He raised his head to see Ford shaking his own.
'You take a pot shot at those D-boys and you're looking at instant suicide.'
'I'm not going down without a fight.'
'Neither am I.' Ford paused, his craggy face deep in thought. As if absent-mindedly he removed the dinosaur tooth from his pocket, hefted it. Then he slipped it back in. 'Tom, do you have the notebook?'
Tom pulled it out.
'Give it to me. And the gun.'
'What are you-'
'No time to explain.'
13
MASAGO WATCHED FROM below as Hitt and the two other D-boys edged up the
steep sandstone slope and flattened themselves just below the lip of the cave, spreading out to cover the occupants within from three angles. It was a classic maneuver, a bit of overkill, perhaps, considering the targets were probably unarmed.
When they were in place, Hitt's voice sounded, not loud, but carrying a steely authority.
'You in the cave. You're outgunned and outnumbered. We're coming in. Don't move, and keep your hands in sight.'
Masago watched, fighting an uncharacteristic feeling of tension.
Hitt rose, exposing himself to the unseen targets inside. The other two remained covering him.
'That's right. Hands above your heads. Nobody's going to get hurt. 'He gestured to the other two D-boys, who rose from their cover.
It was over. The three objectives were standing in the open central area of the cave, hands raised.
Cover me.
Hitt walked over and patted them down, making sure they weren't armed. He spoke into his comm. 'Sir, we've secured the cave. You may come up now.'
Masago seized the first handhold, hefted himself up, and in a few minutes stood in the mouth of the cave, looking at the three sorriest bastards he'd seen in a long time: the monk, Broadbent, and his wife.
'Unarmed?'
Hitt nodded.
'Search them again. I want to see everything they have on their persons. Everything. Lay it out on the sand here in front of me.'
Hitt nodded to one of his boys, who began searching the bedraggled group. Out appeared a flashlight, wallets, keys, a driver's license, all carefully lined up in the sand. The monk's pack contained an empty canteen, matches, a few empty tin cans, and other camping gear.
The last thing to come out had been hidden in the monk's robes.
'What the hell's this?' the D-boy asked, holding it up.
Without changing expression, Masago said, 'Bring it to me.'
The boy handed it to him. Masago gazed on the serrated tooth, flipped it over, hefted it.
'You.' He pointed to the monk. 'You must be Ford.'
The monk gave an almost imperceptible nod.
'Step forward.'
The monk took one short step forward.
He held up the great tooth. 'So you found it. You know where it is.'
'That's correct,' said the monk.
'You will tell me where it is.'
'I'm the only one who has the information you want. And I'm not talking until you answer my questions first.'
Masago unholstered his Beretta, pointed the gun at Ford.
'Talk.'
'Screw you.'
Masago fired, the bullet singing past Ford's ear. The monk didn't even flinch.
Masago lowered the gun. The man wasn't going to be intimidated-he could see that now.
'Kill me and you'll never find the dinosaur. Never.'
Masago smiled thinly. 'All right then-you get one question.'
'Why do you want the dinosaur?'
'It contains highly dangerous infectious particles, which could be transformed into a bioterror weapon.' He could see the monk digesting this statement. He wouldn't say more: nothing that would contradict the Patrol Order that had been distributed to the men.
'The name of your detachment?'
'That's two.'
'You can go to hell, then,' said the monk.
Masago made a quick step forward and sank his fist in the monk's solar plexus; the man went down in the sand like a sack of cement. Masago stepped over him
while the monk coughed, rose to his knees, his hands convulsively sinking and digging into the sand in an effort to right himself.
'The dinosaur, Mr. Ford: where is it?'
'Water . . . please . . .'
Masago unhooked his canteen and shook it provocatively. 'When I hear the location of the dinosaur.' He
