The tiger was Church.
Chapter Forty-Eight
The Deck
Saturday, August 28, 9:46 P.M.
Time Remaining on the Extinction Clock: 86 hours, 14 minutes E.S.T.
“We’ve located the facility,” said Otto as he tucked the Irish linen under Cyrus’s chin.
“Where?”
“In the Bahamas, those arrogant brats. They bought an island. Dogfish Cay. Thirty-eight acres, volcanic but with a solid bedrock base. Very lush, with several buildings and a lagoon that looks like it might have been dredged to take small cargo ships. My guess is that most of the facility is built down into the bedrock.”
“My young gods,” Cyrus said with a smile. “They learned well.”
Otto grunted and arranged the platter on his lap tray. “It gives them easy access to the states, they can hide small shipments among the tourists and pleasure craft, but they’re outside of U.S. waters.”
“Which is why we couldn’t find them. I was sure they would build in one of the Carolinas. They bought property there under half a dozen names.” He paused and picked up his knife and fork. “Mmm, now that I see the whole picture I can see where the land purchases were misdirection. Good for them.”
“What do you want to do now?”
“Now I’ll eat. What is it? Not more dodo-?”
“No, it’s Alsatian. Grilled with onions and peppers.”
“Do I like dog, Otto?”
“You requested it specially.”
“Whatever could I have been thinking?” he said as he cut a piece of meat, speared a plump slice of green pepper, and ate it. He chewed thoughtfully. “Mm. This is a bit of a disappointment.”
“What do you want to do about the Dragon Factory?”
Cyrus cut another piece of meat and stabbed it with his fork, then waggled it at Otto. “Infiltrate it, of course. Send two teams in a look-and-follow pattern. The New York boys will do for the first-in. What’s the weather like on Dogfish Cay?”
“Eighty-six degrees with light and variable winds out of the southwest. Cloud cover coming in over the next few hours.”
“Are the teams ready?”
“They were in the chase planes.”
“Then go tonight.”
“Very good.”
“And Otto…?”
“Sir?”
“Have them kill either Hecate or Paris. One or the other, but
Otto stared at him in surprise. “Are we having one of our episodes, Mr. Cyrus?”
Cyrus smiled. “No, we’re not, and don’t be a smart-ass. God! Look at you-you’re white as a ghost.”
“Kill one of the Twins…?”
“Sentimentality creeping in on you in your dotage, Otto?”
“Hardly. I just don’t understand why you want one of your children murdered. What does it do for us?”
“If we do it right, Otto, if we make it look like a government hit-which is easy enough considering where we get our equipment-then it will drive the remaining Twin closer to me. A family brought together in shared grief. Us against the world, that sort of thing. Instead of stealing the secrets of the Dragon Factory he-or, more likely,
Chapter Forty-Nine
Private airfield, Denver, Colorado
Saturday, August 28, 10:59 P.M.
Time Remaining on the Extinction Clock: 85 hours, 1 minute E.S.T.
Jerry Spencer reached the airfield just as we were loading the last of the Haeckel records onto the C-130. I waved him over and we shook hands.
“What the hell’s going on today, Joe?” he asked in his usual gruff voice. “You look like you just got kicked in the nuts. What is it?”
I told him about the ugly secrets we found down there in the dark.
He paled. “First Russians and now frigging Nazis? Are you shitting me?”
“Wish I was. Look, we had to mess up the crime scene-Church wants those records back in Baltimore-but try to find me something to go on. We’re starting to make headway, but we could still use a few more answers. One of the Hub boys will run you out to Deep Iron. Go down there, man… do your magic.”
Jerry took a pipe out of his pocket and tapped the stem on his thumbnail. He gave up smoking a couple of years ago, but he carried the pipe so he could fidget with something. It beat biting his nails.
“You didn’t find any trace of Jigsaw Team?” he asked.
“Nothing. Maybe you will…”
From the look on his face I was sorry I said it. At this point there was a good chance that anything he found would be bad news.
“I’ll do what I can, Joe,” he said. “Call you when I have something.”
He headed off, head down, his cold pipe tight between his teeth.
I headed across the tarmac to the C-130. We were wheels up in ten minutes.
Chapter Fifty
The House of Screams, Isla Dos Diablos
Sunday August 29, 12:43 A.M.
Time Remaining on Extinction Clock: 83 hours, 17 minutes
The compound was never silent. Even here in the middle of the night there was noise. Cries of the jungle parrots, the incessant buzz of insect wings, the rustle of leaves as the breeze pushed its way through the palms. And the screams.
Eighty-two crouched in the dark and tried to remember if he had ever heard real silence here, if there was ever a time when someone wasn’t shouting, or weeping, or screaming. He was sure there must have been times, but he couldn’t recall. It wasn’t like living at the Deck. Sure, there were screams there, too, but not all the time. Eighty- two had watched a lot of TV-even regular stuff he downloaded from satellite feeds-and he knew that hearing screams was not part of ordinary life.
Then again, he already knew he was a freak.
After he’d snuck out to recover the stone, Eighty-two had climbed back into his bedroom so that he’d be there for the midnight bed check. When the nurse and guard-there were always two of them-were sure he was in bed and asleep, they closed and locked the door. That left him four hours until the next bed check.
Eighty-two lifted the corner of his mattress and removed a small tool kit. The cover was part of a leather work apron he’d picked out of the trash, and the individual tools were things he had collected over the last two years. None of them were proper tools, but each of them was carefully made. Eighty-two was very good with his hands.
