I can’t watch this.
He wanted to retreat from the window, but a rifle barrel pressed against his spine and held him in place.
Gray noted his distress, glancing over to him for some explanation.
Ken couldn’t speak. Before him, the horde poured out of the neighboring pen and pooled onto the floor. The mass then swept outward along the room’s edges. He recognized this pattern from before, as the drones encircled their prey in order to trap it.
To the side, Valya spoke and lifted two fingers toward Gray. “This is your second chance to speak.”
Gray ignored her, his attention still on Ken. “What are they?”
He had to swallow to answer. “Harvesters.”
HARVESTER
It was truly they.
The small drone bumped carapaces with its neighbors. Long antennae tangled. Countless legs rubbed all around, making it difficult to tell where an individual ended and the horde began.
Strengthening this bond, their bodies were covered in tiny hairs. For many in the greater swarm, those fine filaments simply gathered pollen. For the horde, the hairs had adapted long ago into tools of communication. Through the brushing of those hairs, chemicals and pheromones continually passed across the mass of their bodies, merging one into many.
As the group flowed into this new landscape, their finely attuned senses identified the presence of prey. This detection was amplified a thousandfold by the rest of the horde. Hormones responded, firing the thick muscles woven around sharp mandibles.
Likewise, a gland between their eyes excreted a droplet of oil into their mouths, containing 2-hepatnone, a paralytic agent. Unfortunately, the poison of a single drop was only strong enough to incapacitate a caterpillar or some other small insect, but when working together, combining their strength, the horde could take down much larger prey.
In addition, their saliva held a potent slurry of digestive enzymes, strong enough to soften the hardest tissues. It was a trait that had evolved back when their meals were covered in armored scales.
Driven by behavior locked into their genetic code, the horde spread outward into two pincers, intending to snare their prey within their midst.
All the while, they continued to gather information about their meal, mostly gauging levels of threat. Still, the horde had little to fear. Their bodies were protected by hard shells, designed long ago to withstand tremendous forces, like the crushing footfalls of ancient giants. Within moments, estimates of risk were collected and shared.
As a consensus began to build, calculations became instructions.
Targets were selected, dividing the feast before them.
Finally, several groups within the horde snapped their hind legs, clacking them loudly and rapidly. Others took up this chorus. It was both a signal to be ready and a means by which the horde could more deeply analyze the quality of the meal before them.
Their reverberations echoed all around, returning with additional details.
First, only form, shape, and size.
But as the cacophony increased in volume, magnified by their great numbers, it succeeded in penetrating through the outer surfaces of their prey to reveal the feast within.
Around a core of hard bone, meat flexed, blood pumped, and viscera knotted. Electrical potential flowed throughout all, churning most strongly inside the skull.
At the sight of such a rich bounty, hunger flared throughout the horde, stoking an insatiable longing to strip the prey bare, to leave nothing behind but bones. The ravenous crescendo built until it could no longer be denied.
Moving as one, the horde descended upon the feast.
Nothing would stop them.
Nothing could stop them.
FOURTH
RIPTIDE
Σ
24
May 8, 4:00 P.M. CEST
Gdansk, Poland
A man hung in shackles in the open-air courtyard.
“Well, that can’t be a good sign,” Monk commented wryly, as they neared the prisoner.
Kat didn’t put any stock in omens or portents, but considering all that had happened in Tallinn, she kept her guard up.
Ahead, the prisoner giggled as his photo was taken by his companion, both tourists to Muzeum Historycznego Miasta Gdańska, a museum dedicated to the medieval history of Gdansk. The institution occupied a complex of Gothic buildings dating to the fourteenth century. Back then, the site had served as both the city’s jail and pillory. One of the museum’s towers still contained intact prison cells. There, old torture devices were currently on display in all their bloody glory.
But that wasn’t their group’s destination.
Past the historic courtyard decorated with leg irons and hanging chains, a majority of the museum’s five floors was dedicated to what the city called “the gold of the Baltic.” Over a pointed Gothic arch, a sign read MUZEUM BURSZTYNU.
“The Amber Museum,” Elena translated as they headed toward the archway. Gawking up, she stumbled on a cobble, but Sam caught her arm.
The entomologist had been sticking close to her side after they had landed in Gdansk. Though Elena seemed to have shaken off the effects of the sedative from her attempted kidnapping, Sam hovered next to her, especially as they traversed the length of Dluga Street, a picturesque pedestrian thoroughfare that cut between rows of tall historic buildings.
Kat had also kept a close watch as they’d walked—not on Elena, but on the surroundings. The street was packed with tourists, making her uneasy. To either side, the rows of old homes had been converted into shops, boutique hotels, and cafes. But many of the buildings’ cellars had been turned into jewelry shops or galleries specializing in the city’s “gold,” a constant reminder of Gdansk’s former glory as the amber capital of the world.
After paying at a small desk to enter, Kat led the group up a steep stairway into the museum proper. On the first floor, a sprawl of illuminated glass cases displayed examples of artwork sculpted out of amber. As they headed through this section, Kat’s attention divided between watching for any threat and gawking at the wonders glowing behind the glass. A tree with leaves of amber rose from a landscape of flowers with petals of the same gem. A medieval sailing ship, sculpted of ossified resin, had masts of raised amber sails. Lamps with polished pebbled shades glowed in their cases, adding to the room’s golden sheen.
Elena paused before a prominent case holding a Fabergé egg made of amber that spun atop a turning pedestal inside. Its webbed gold top was hinged open to reveal a polished orb of the same gemstone.
“Beautiful,” she mumbled, holding her reading glasses up to better examine it.
Sam bent down beside her. “Must be worth a king’s ransom.”
Elena nudged him with her shoulder. “You’re right in more ways than you know. I wager this egg, a gift from the tsars, represents the industry’s ties to Russia where a majority of amber—both in the past and today—is mined.”
“And where James Smithson was headed on his cross-continental journey,” Sam added pointedly.
Until it was cut short, Kat thought.
Elena simply nodded. “The Russian mining region is known as the Kaliningrad Oblast. But it was formerly called Königsberg, meaning the King’s Mountain.”
Sam straightened, rubbing a kink in his back. “So then this egg really has a royal history.”
“A history that goes much farther back in time than just the Russian tsars.” Elena squinted at the small polished orb inside the egg. “If you look closely, you can see a small fly floating in the amber.”
She shifted upright and eyed them all. “It’s as if the amber of this region has preserved this land’s entire history. Culturally, politically, and even biologically.”
“Unfortunately for Hawaii,” Monk added, “maybe it preserved too much.”
Reminded of this fact, Kat checked her watch. “We should keep going.” She directed them to a narrow staircase that led up one level. “This way.”
Before lea
ving Tallinn, she had contacted the museum director here. She had employed the same cover story as before: that her team was looking to rebuild James Smithson’s lost mineral collection, starting with a particular large chunk of amber mined from this region. The director had been happy to offer his assistance, especially upon hearing that the U.S. Librarian of Congress was part of this research team.
Kat only hoped the man’s cooperation did not end as tragically as it had for Director Tamm. The last she heard, the man was out of surgery, but his chances of surviving remained critical. His daughter, Lara, kept a vigil at his bedside.
As she climbed the stairs, guilt ate at Kat. She hated to put others at risk, but with the situation worsening by the hour in Hawaii—where millions were threatened—she had no choice.
They reached the next floor, which dealt with the history of amber. A large medieval map hung on the brick wall to the right. Similar to what Lara had shown them, it highlighted a historic trade route running along the Baltic coast from St. Petersburg to Gdansk, then coursing south through Poland until eventually ending in Italy.
The Amber Road.
Somewhere along that path, Smithson had obtained his artifact.
But where?
“Dear,” Monk said at her side, “I believe that man is trying to draw your attention.”
On the other side of the chamber, a short man in a suit that looked too tight for his ample belly waved to them. It was the museum director. He stood behind a velvet rope that closed off a neighboring room. He must have recognized Elena Delgado. This was confirmed as the man called over to them.
“Dr. Delgado, what an honor!”
The scatter of tourists looked between the man and their group.
Kat held back a groan. She had asked the director to keep this visit secret, but clearly her words had fallen on deaf ears. She herded her group quickly across the floor. As they reached the man, he lifted away the rope to allow them access to the cordoned-off room.
“What a pleasure,” the director effused, “a true pleasure to host the Librarian of Congress at our humble institution.”
Elena took this professional adoration in stride. She smiled warmly and shook his hand. “Thank you, Director Bosko. We appreciate your help . . . and your discretion.”
She emphasized this last word, while casting Kat an apologetic glance.
The director bobbed his head. “Oczywiście . . . of course. Come inside where we can discuss this privately.”
Kat followed Bosko into the neighboring chamber. Partitions divided the space, and several display cases stood empty. It appeared the room was being prepped for a new exhibit. The director drew them to the back wall. While the location was out of the direct line of sight of the entry, it was far from private.
Several items rested haphazardly on the table, all of them amber.
“I gathered these to perhaps assist you with your search,” Bosko said. “I hope that wasn’t too presumptive of me.”
“Not at all,” Elena assured him.
Kat frowned at the collection. She saw no documents, journals, or books. “Were you able to find any evidence concerning the travels of James Smithson to your city?”
Bosko pursed his lips and shook his head. “Alas, no. We searched all records leading up to the date when Mr. Smithson boarded the merchant ship and headed to Tallinn.” His sad expression quickly dissolved away, replaced again with his ebullient personality. “But perhaps with more time, we could still discover some reference.”
More time was not a luxury they could grant him.
Kat had a sinking feeling they were wasting valuable time.
“Look at this,” Sam said, as he stooped over one of the items on the table. “This is amazing.”
They all drew closer. A magnifying glass had been positioned over a fist-sized chunk of amber. It was lit from behind and polished to better reveal what was frozen inside.
Elena took a turn looking through the glass. “It’s a lizard.”
“This bit of scientific curiosity is from our collection,” Bosko said, puffing his chest proudly. “It’s rare to see such a creature perfectly preserved in its entirety, from the tip of its tail to its narrow nose.”
Kat also appreciated it as a stark reminder of what it was they pursued. This apparently was not lost on the director.
“When you described the artifact obtained by Mr. Smithson—a large boulder of amber holding the bones of some ancient reptile—I couldn’t help but think of this exhibit piece.” He lifted both eyebrows. “And perhaps a way to help you in your search for its source.”
“How?” Kat asked.
Bosko waved to the lizard in amber. “That little fellow is thirty-two million years old, which is typical for the age of the amber found in this immediate area. The deposits in Russia and around the edges of the Baltic Sea are quite young. They formed during the Tertiary Period, some thirty to fifty million years ago. In fact, despite looking rock solid, our amber has not yet fully set.”
Monk studied the collection on the table. “You’re saying this stuff is still hardening.”
“Indeed.” Bosko smiled broadly, his cheeks blushing pinker. “It’s why I know Mr. Smithson’s artifact did not come from our Baltic coast.”
Kat’s lingering despair settled back to her shoulders.
Have we been on the wrong track all along?
Bosko continued: “For the truly ancient amber, you have to look elsewhere. Deposits scattered around the world. Like over in your country or in Spain—where amber can be found that is two hundred million years old.”
“But what does any of this mean?” Kat asked. Her question came out a bit sharply as her patience wore thin.
The director noted her tone and tamped down some of his natural exuberance. “Yes, I’m sorry. You mentioned in your call that the bones in the artifact were believed to be those of a small dinosaur.”
“That’s correct.”
“Then Mr. Smithson must have collected his sample from a deposit of amber that was very old. If you assume the creature came from as recently as the late Cretaceous Period—when the dinosaurs started to go extinct—then the amber would still have to be somewhere between eighty to a hundred million years ago. That’s twice the age of the amber you’ll find around the Baltic Sea.”
Kat pictured the medieval map on the wall outside. “So the artifact couldn’t have been found along the Amber Road?”
Monk cursed under his breath. He fiddled with the wrist of his replacement prosthetic. From past experience, he always brought along a spare, which he had left on the jet. It was a nervous gesture, as if he were trying to wear in a new pair of shoes.
“I didn’t mean to suggest that,” Bosko corrected her. “I only meant it didn’t come from our coastline. But once upon a time, a prehistoric sea—the Tethys Ocean—covered all of southern Poland. Back then, forests along the Tethys’s coastline oozed thick resin that would eventually harden into amber.”
Kat followed his logic now. “So the farther south you go”—she pictured the map again—“the older the amber.”
The director’s subdued manner brightened again. “Old enough to perhaps preserve the bones of a dinosaur.”
But where?
“You’re probably wondering where that could be,” Bosko added, as if reading her thoughts. The man was clearly sharper than his clownlike enthusiasm suggested. He moved over to the table. “I’ve laid out samples of amber here, from oldest to youngest. Note how the amber darkens as it ages, eventually becoming a deep reddish-brown. Most of the oldest amber is found in blue earth.”
Monk frowned. “Blue earth?”
“The scientific term is marine glauconitic sand. Basically, salty sandstone that forms at the edge of retreating seas.”
Monk nodded. “Like would’ve been deposited as the Tethys Ocean dried up.”
“Precisely. So the oldest and deepest deposits of blue earth are found in southern Poland.”
“A region through which the
Amber Road runs,” Kat said.
She suddenly wanted to get a closer look at that map. Something nagged at her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Bosko’s grin turned mischievous. “That’s why I took the additional liberty to—”
A loud bang cut him off, making them all jump and turn toward the room’s entry. One of the metal stanchions holding up the velvet rope had toppled over. Footfalls hurried in their direction.
Kat reached for the weapon holstered under her jacket.
4:20 P.M.
Elena retreated to the table as Monk and Kat simultaneously pulled out pistols and pointed their guns toward the doorway. Sam moved to her side.
The director looked aghast at the exposed weapons, but he finally collected himself and lifted a palm. “Don’t shoot. This is what I was about to tell you.”
From around a partition, a tall, stooped figure hurried into view. His long coat billowed like a cape from his bony shoulders as he rushed forward. He clutched a worn messenger bag protectively to his chest. Though the man was likely only in his forties, his gaunt face made him look both older and more dour. As he noted the raised guns, he seemed unfazed, his expression merely gloomy, as if he had somehow expected to be ambushed.
“This is Dr. Damian Slaski,” Bosko introduced, stepping between the newcomer and the weapons. “He’s a colleague. From our sister Amber Museum that opened recently in Krakow. He was already here when you called, to borrow some of our pieces for an exhibit on amber manufacturing during the eighteenth century.”
“How many amber museums are there?” Monk mumbled.
Bosko heard him and took his inquiry seriously. “There’s one in Copenhagen, another in the Dominican Republic, and of course, in Kaliningrad to the north.”
“Do not forget the Palanga Amber Museum in Lithuania,” Slaski added solemnly, then shrugged dismissively. “But it is just a division of the Lithuanian Art Museum.”
Kat cast Monk a scathing look for distracting the pair and tried to get the conversation back on track. “Director Bosko, I’m assuming you must have solicited Dr. Slaski’s help.”