Medusa

  Wen Lo’s mood brightened.

  “London is fine. I have a town house in Soho.”

  “Too public. The government will find you a less obvious place to live. Do you still play tennis?”

  “Every day. It’s my passion.”

  “Splendid. You will have endless time to work on your backhand.”

  Ming lit a cigarette, took a drag, and tapped on the window separating the backseat from the driver. The car pulled over to the curb, and the colonel said to Wen Lo, “See you in Paris.”

  The husky man got out of the front, opened the door, and escorted Ming to a second Roewe sedan that had pulled up behind the first one. As Ming got into the second car, he said to the man, “Make sure it’s neat.”

  As the colonel’s car pulled away from the curb, he tapped out a number on his cell phone. After a few rings, a man’s voice answered.

  “Mr. Austin?” Ming said.

  “That’s right,” Austin replied.

  “I have the information you are looking for.”

  WHILE THE COLONEL WAS talking on the phone in his car, the husky man walked back to the first car and got in next to the driver. He tapped on the glass behind him and slid the partition open. Wen Lo looked right at him. This gave the man a perfect target when he shot Wen Lo directly in the right eye with a .22 caliber pistol.

  The shooter slid the glass partition closed and grunted an order to the driver. They drove Wen Lo’s warm body to a mortuary that was waiting to embalm it. A glass eye replaced the one the bullet had vaporized. The embalmed corpse was turned over to the Bureau of Police. A tag attached to the big toe there certified that he had died while being incarcerated in a Chinese prison.

  The police noted the death on records that were promptly destroyed. The body was shipped to a warehouse where the receiver complained about the quality of the merchandise. The corpse was dissected, immersed in acetone to eliminate all traces of moisture, and then given a bath of polymers. The muscles and bones were touched up with paint, and the body bent into a standing position, the arm cocked and ready to smash a tennis ball.

  When the transformed corpse arrived in London to join other bodies in an exhibition that would take it to Paris and New York, a tennis racket was placed in the boney hand.

  In time, Wen Lo’s skinned body would adorn T-shirts, key chains, refrigerator magnets, even the cover of the catalog sold at the traveling exhibition.

  And, as Colonel Ming had promised, Wen Lo had endless time to work on his backhand.

  Unknown

  NUMA 8 - Medusa

  CHAPTER 48

  WHEN JOE ZAVALA WASN’T DATING HALF THE FEMALE POPULATION of Washington or tinkering with his Corvette’s engine, he loved figuring out how things worked. To Zavala, the hologram projection room adjacent to Chang’s garishly appointed ship’s salon was nothing but an elaborate engine whose purpose was to send and receive lifelike images.

  Zavala prowled through the intricate arrangement of microphones, lenses, lasers, projectors, and computers that surrounded the circular table and three chairs under the hanging cones. Austin was standing by, connected by cell phone to Hiram Yeager back at NUMA headquarters. Yeager was an expert on holograms, having developed a lovely young holographic woman named Max as the personification of the NUMA computer system, which he presided over. Austin relayed questions to Yeager and sent him photos of electronic or optic devices that Zavala was unable to describe.

  After an hour of analyzing the ingenious setup, Zavala stepped back and brushed his palms together.

  “She’s all set and ready to go, Kurt. You can project yourself with a push of that button.”

  Austin peered up into one of the cones overhead.

  “This isn’t going to reassemble my molecules so that I end up with the head of a fly, is it?” he asked.

  “Nothing to worry about, Kurt. This is all high-tech illusion, smoke and mirrors.”

  “Keep a flyswatter handy, just in case,” Austin said, settling into the padded, contoured chair.

  Zavala stood off to the side ready to intervene if something went wrong. Austin glanced across the table at the two empty chairs, studied the control panel for a moment, and then punched in the code number Wen Lo had given Colonel Ming before the Triad triplet met his premature demise.

  Lights blinked and machinery hummed as a complex set of optics scanned every square inch of Austin’s body and transmitted the information via electronic pulses to a computer that digested the information and sent it to another computer to be reassembled in a 3-D projector. The scan was all smoke and mirrors, as Zavala had said, but Austin tensed his shoulders, expecting to feel an electrical tingle that never came.

  Instead, the air under a cone across from Austin shimmered as if heated. A cloud of whirling motes began to form with no distinct outline at first, then materialized into the rough image of a human head and shoulders, transparent at first, becoming translucent, then solid, as the facial features filled in. Austin knew from his encounter with the Dragon Lady that the hologram was mutable and could be changed at a whim. But the face across the table was stranger than anything he could have imagined.

  The eyes below the gracefully arched brows were the same jade-green as Chang’s hate-filled orbs. The fleshy lips were feminine, but the soft-featured face was at odds with stubble on the chin and the professional wrestler’s body with shoulders straining the seams of the black collarless shirt. The third Triad triplet seemed to be neither man nor woman but a freakish combination of both, a hermaphrodite.

  The hologram remained as still as a marble statue. The small, delicate hands remained on the table. The features were frozen, eyes staring straight ahead. Then the lips moved, and a mellow voice, neither male nor female, came through the surrounding speakers.

  “We meet again, Mr. Austin,” the hologram said.

  “Should I call you Dragon Lady or Lai Choi San?” Austin asked.

  “I am known as One to my followers. I was the first of my siblings to come into this world, by a few minutes. We Chinese are superstitious when it comes to numbers and believe a low number denotes good fortune.”

  “From the way your luck has been going lately,” Austin said, “you’d better look for a new number. Your holographic image is all out of whack too. Nothing is moving except for your mouth.”

  “That’s because I can’t move my limbs. I have limited movement of my eyes and full movement of my lips only.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me that, Mr. Austin.”

  Austin paused, recalling Kane’s revelations about the paralyzing effects of the medusa toxin.

  “We wondered what happened to the vaccine,” he said. “The ship’s helicopter was gone, so we concluded that the cooler with the vaccine and cultures was no longer on Chang’s freighter.”

  “The serum was transported directly to me. Upon the assurance of my brother Chang, I orally vaccinated myself. I knew that the virus would spread to my city in a matter of hours and I wanted to be the first to be made immune. I became paralyzed as I sat here trying to contact my brothers.” The thin lips spread in a grotesque parody of a smile. “It seems that the chemical was flawed.”

  “The cylinder Chang sent you contained a transitional vaccine that was going to be discarded. It could kill the virus, but it still paralyzed the host.”

  “Then the research was a failure?”

  “Not at all, One. The real vaccine is rapidly being produced throughout China and around the world in quantities that will stop the epidemic you started.”

  The lips snapped back to a thin line.

  “The fact that you are on Chang’s ship tells me that my brother is no longer in the picture. He would never allow you to live if he were alive.”

  “I’m afraid Chang became a victim of his own violent impulses.”

  “Too bad,” the hologram said without sadness. “Chang was brilliant in many ways but too often impetuous.”

  Austin’s j
aw hardened.

  “The murder of scores of innocent people,” he said, “is not what most people would describe as impetuous.”

  “That’s because our family has always looked at the world in a different way from others. Pyramid Triad was in existence centuries before your rabble chased the British back to England. We have not survived all this time by being sentimental when it comes to the deaths of others, or even deaths in our own family.”

  “Glad to hear that,” Austin said, “because you won’t shed any tears over the loss of your brother Wen Lo.”

  “Wen Lo is dead too?”

  “He ran afoul of the Chinese Army . . . another casualty of your insane scheme.”

  “There was nothing insane about it. Our country’s leadership is extremely fragile. The government would have reacted violently to protests in the streets. We would have encouraged the mob rule that would have followed and then stepped in to end the epidemic and take over the reins of government. With the vaccine, we would have held the power of life and death over a billion of our countrymen. We would have offered the same choice to the rest of the world in exchange for money and power. The plan was well thought out. We didn’t anticipate the interference from you and your NUMA friends.”

  “NUMA doesn’t deserve all the credit,” Austin said. “You planted the seeds of your own destruction when you decided to play at being a three-headed god. You’re not the first ones to appoint yourselves immortals, and you won’t be the last, which is why I will always have job security.”

  “Did you say the same thing when your CIA unit was dissolved?”

  “I’m happy to say that my work became no longer necessary with the end of the Cold War, but, from the sound of it, you’ve been digging into my past.”

  “I know more about you than your closest friends, Zavala and the Trouts. I have studied your house on the Potomac via satellite. I know what kind of music you listen to, what kind of philosophy books you read. But some of your life is hidden in the shadows, which gives me hope.”

  “Hope for what, One? You’re almost completely immobile. The best you can look forward to is being hired as a hat rack.”

  “But you could change that, Austin.” The voice had become as soft as a snake rustling through grass. “My pharmaceutical company developed the virus, and, given some time and direction, they can work on an antidote to neutralize the effects of the toxin. I would reward you beyond your wildest dreams.”

  “Seeing your Triad wiped off the face of the earth is the only reward I want.”

  A flash of anger came to the staring holographic eyes.

  “I could squash you like an ant, Austin.”

  “You could, if you could lift a finger. So long, One. The toxin will keep you alive for a long time. Have a good life.”

  Austin’s finger was poised over the button that would have ended the transmission.

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “After dealing with you and your brothers,” Austin said, “I need a long, hot shower.”

  “You can’t leave me all alone like this.”

  The plea could have been genuine, but it made no difference to Austin. He felt only revulsion toward the freakish figure.

  “Then I’ll make a deal with you,” he said. “Tell me where you are and I’ll relay the information to the Chinese government. You can take your chances with them.”

  After a moment, the triplet reeled off an address in Hong Kong.

  “Thanks, One. Now I’ll give you some good advice. Forget any thoughts about bribing your way out of this. The government is appropriating all your assets. You have nothing to offer them.”

  “I will kill you, Austin. Somehow, I will find a way.”

  “Good-bye, Dragon Lady.”

  “Wait!”

  Austin pushed the button to halt the projection. The words came out of a formless cloud of dancing motes. It was a woman’s voice.

  “Come back!”

  Zavala, who was standing off to the side, muttered something in Spanish.

  Austin realized that he was soaked with sweat. Even separated at a distance of thousands of miles, he had never been so close to pure evil.

  “I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds,” he murmured.

  Zavala overheard him.

  “What was that, Kurt?”

  As if awakening from a dream, Austin said, “It’s a quote from the Bhagavad Gita. It popped into my mind just now. Did you jot down the address that thing gave me?”

  Zavala held up a sheet of paper.

  “What do you want to do with it?” he asked.

  “When we get back to the Concord, call Colonel Ming and give him the information. It’s his party from now on. Then fill in Paul and Gamay on what’s happened. Then go pour yourself a stiff shot of tequila, followed by another one, saving some cactus juice for me.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. What are you going to do in the meantime?”

  Austin rose from his chair and headed for the door.

  “Take that long, hot shower I talked about.”

  Unknown

  NUMA 8 - Medusa

  CHAPTER 49

  BONEFISH KEY, FIVE WEEKS LATER

  SONG LEE WAS SITTING ON THE SUNLIT PATIO IN FRONT OF the lodge going over some notes when she heard the drone of an outboard motor echoing through the mangroves. Recognizing the sound of Dooley’s boat, she looked up and smiled at his impending arrival.

  Dooley had been her main contact with the outside world since she had returned to the island to work on her medical text on ocean biomedicine. Returning to Bonefish Key had required determination. But the lab had been at the forefront of a science whose roots went back to the ancient culture of Nan Madol and the Micronesian islands, and it was the most compelling place for her to write.

  Lee could not yet muster the courage to visit the barrier beach. She had no desire to see the cove where she had killed a man or to revisit the burned-out hulk of the cabin cruiser that had nearly been her funeral pyre. She still kayaked but stayed closer to the island. She went to bed early and was up with the sun, tapping at her laptop computer in the lab’s research library for hours on end.

  The island was practically deserted. With the project at an end, Dr. Mayhew had returned to academia, and his team had scattered to the four winds. A small cadre stayed behind to tend to the specimen tanks, but the guards who had put in double duty as support staff had left. Dr. Lee enjoyed the camaraderie of a handful of technicians as they prepared their own meals.

  Dr. Kane had visited the lab once. He had breezed in with a camera crew to film the lodge and lab buildings before he swept out again as if carried on the wind.

  Although the governments of China and the United States were still nervous about telling the whole story of their secretive collaboration in stopping the near pandemic, the Herculean effort to stop the virus was big news around the world. Kane basked in his celebrity, flying from interview to interview, consulting with health experts and politicians around the globe. He was using his status as pandemic guru to pry money from Congress to support the type of ocean biomedicine research that had saved the world.

  Song Lee had been content to labor in anonymity, but the remoteness of the island had started to get to her and she had been thinking of finishing her book back in China. She often thought of the NUMA people who had swooped in to save her and the world. She missed the Trouts and Joe Zavala, but most of all she missed Kurt Austin. A few weeks after she had arrived on the island, he had called her on one of the lab’s radiophones. He was on Pohnpei, still helping with the recovery of Davy Jones’s Locker, and would be in Micronesia longer than anticipated.

  The drone of the marine motor grew louder, and seconds later Dooley’s double-hulled boat rounded the corner of a mangrove island and coasted up to the dock. There were two people in the boat: Dooley, who was at the wheel, and, beside him, a broad-shouldered man wearing a Hawaiian shirt. As they approached the dock, the broad-shouldered man removed the baseball ha
t from his head, revealing a thick mane of steel-gray hair. Song was already up and running down to the dock by the time Kurt Austin had started to wave his cap in the air. She and the boat got to the end of the dock at the same time.

  Dooley tossed her the bow line as the boat bumped up against a piling.

  “Brought you some company, Dr. Lee,” he said.

  Song barely heard him. Her eyes were fixed on Kurt, who had a wide grin on his bronzed face. The grin grew even wider when he climbed out of the boat and Song threw her arms around him. He returned her embrace with enthusiasm. She planted a kiss on his lips that was warm and long, and might have gone on forever if Dooley hadn’t cleared his throat.

  “Pardon me, folks, but I’ve got to get back to the mainland.” He extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Kurt. Call when you want to go back to Pine Island.”

  “Thanks for the ride, Dooley,” Austin said. He asked Dooley to toss him his small rucksack.

  As the boat disappeared into mangroves, Austin said, “I got back to Washington a few days ago and thought I would hop down here to say hello.”

  Lee hooked her arm in Austin’s and led the way toward the lodge.

  “I’m glad you did,” she said. “How are Joe and the Trouts?”

  “They’re fine. Zavala has found true love with a NUMA cartographer, and the Trouts just got back from New Bedford. The city’s whaling museum was dedicating a room for Caleb Nye’s diorama. It’s part of a special exhibition on the strange voyage of the Princess.”

  “And a very strange voyage it was,” Lee said. “I start off my book with their experience on Trouble Island.”

  “How is the book coming?”

  “I’ve finished the outline and I’m doing supplemental research. I think the findings will revolutionize our understanding of viral immunology, particularly inoculation. But we have just scratched the surface of wonder drugs that will come from the ocean. It’s ironic that the vaccine might never have been developed without the threat of the Triad’s epidemic.”