“There were only a hundred or so misfits at the Alamo.”
“I know my American history, Paul. The Alamo defenders were massacred. And don't tell me about the Scots at Culloden. They were massacred, too.”
Trout grinned. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“That's something I can understand. But I'm still not clear what measures you have in mind.”
“I'll try to get aboard the sub and look for a radio. If that doesn't work, I'll figure out something else.”
“I believe you will,” MacLean said, examining Trout as if he were an interesting lab specimen. “You're a very resourceful man for a deep-ocean geologist.”
“I try to be,” Trout said, and turned the ignition key.
He drove the vehicle along the edge of the inlet until he came to the abandoned church and cemetery. He parked behind the ruined building and told the others to sit tight. Gamay insisted on going with him this time. They followed a gravel road that led to where the inlet narrowed to a rounded point.
Floodlights lit the perimeter around the barracks. The Trouts went to within a hundred feet or so of the barracks and studied the layout. The building was situated near the edge of the cliff with an observation platform cantilevered out over the inlet from the main structure. An enclosed ladder led down from the underside of the platform. “Let's check out that ladder,” he said.
“I don't think we'll have to worry. It sounds like a Klingon stag party is in progress,” Gamay said.
Like the men in the compound, the sub guards must have learned that their duty was about to come to an end because a similar drunken celebration was under way in the guardhouse. Apparently, they hadn't learned the fate of their comrades in the lab. compound area. Gamay and Trout moved in until they were under the platform. The ladder dropped off the edge of the bluff. They climbed down the face of the cliff onto a narrow metal catwalk that was built a few feet above water level and followed a line of ankle-high lights into the yawning entrance of the sub pen.
The giant submarine that had kidnapped them loomed ahead. A few deck lights had been left on, so they were able to find the gangway and walk along the deck to the entry hatch. Trout lifted the hatch cover and poked his head inside. Low-level lights illuminated the sub's interior.
They descended a ladder and began to make their way through the sub as silently as shadows. Trout, who was in the lead, paused to peer around every corner, but he encountered no one. The control room was in semidarkness, lit by lights glowing on the various instrument
panels. The radio shack was a small space off the control room. While Gamay kept watch, Trout sat in front of the communications console, picked up the radiophone, dialed the main number for NUMA and held his breath, not sure what would happen.
“National Underwater and ... Agency,” said a friendly female voice.
The faint transmission was broken up, probably by the walls and ceiling of the sub pen.
“Rudi Gunn, please. Tell him this is Paul Trout calling.”
“One ... ment.”
The moment seemed like a day. In his mind's eye, he pictured the lobby of the NUMA building with its centerpiece globe. Then the voice of NUMA's assistant director came on the phone. He could picture the slightly built Gunn sitting in his big office, probably applying his genius to a complex logistical problem.
“Trout? Where in God's name ... you? We've been looking ... over Creation. Are you okay?”
“Fine, Rudi. Gamay's here, too. Got to talk fast. The Alvin was hijacked. We're on an island I think it's in Scottish or Scandinavian waters. There are seven other scientists also being held prisoner. We've been working on some nutty experiment. We've escaped, but it might not last long.”
“Having trouble hear ... you, but understand. Can you stay on ... radio?”
“We've got to get back to the others.”
“Leave the radio phone on. We'll try to track you down through ... signal.”
Trout's reply was cut short by a whispered warning from Gamay. Someone was whistling a mindless tune. He carefully replaced the mike in its cradle and shut off the radiophone. Then he and Gamay dropped to their hands and knees and tried with limited success to
cram their bodies under the console. The whistle came nearer. The whistler paused to peer through the glass pane in the door and apparently saw nothing amiss because the whistling grew fainter.
The Trouts pried themselves out of their hiding place. Paul called Gunn again and told him they were leaving the radio on. He checked the passageway, saw it was empty and they started back the way they came. They moved with even greater caution, keeping their ears cocked for a telltale whistle. They emerged from the deck hatchway, trotted along the catwalk and climbed the ladder that would take them back to the access road.
They returned to the church and were making their way through the graveyard when the night blazed with light. Beyond the blinding glare, several forms could be seen rising from behind the gravestones like restless spirits. Then rough hands grabbed Trout and Gamay and guards hustled them into the church. A tough-looking guard stood in front of the altar, a grin on his face that didn't match the machine pistol held at waist level, its muzzle pointing toward Trout's belly button.
“Hello, mate,” the man said, with a quick glance at Gamay. “This is the end of the road for you and your friends.”
THE OWL had been perched in a withered tree near the edge of the sea, its keen hearing attuned to the scampering of a mouse darting among clumps of grass. The bird was about to swoop down upon the hapless creature when its round yellow eyes caught a movement on the beach. Something large and shiny had broken from a wave and climbed out onto the wet sand. The owl spread its wings and silently flew inland. The mouse scurried into the grass, unmindful of its reprieve.
A second figure with black skin emerged from the surf like a
primitive creature crawling out of the primordial ooze. Austin and Zavala pushed their face masks up, unzipped their watertight packs and pulled out the SIG-Sauer 9-millimeter pistols the ill-fated SEAL team had left on board the research vessel. Seeing that they were alone, they took off their air tanks and stepped out of their dry suits.
They had slipped over the side of the Spooler as the patrol boat approached, first opening the pet cocks to send the fishing boat to the bottom. They had watched from inside the wheelhouse as the AUV checked out the sunken boat. When the AUV had left, they'd started swimming for land. Currents had thrown them off course, but Austin was reasonably sure they had landed close to where they were supposed to be.
A glance at his watch told Austin they had six hours until daylight. He signaled to Zavala. After a five-minute walk in the sand, their feet crunched hard gravel. Austin took a minicomputer from his pack and examined the image the satellite photo had taken of the island.
“If we stay on this road, we'll come to the compound. It's about two miles through what looks like a pass.”
Without another word, they started walking along the darkened road.
THE MAN pointing the gun at Trout had a face like a lizard, all teeth and no lips.
“We've been waiting for you,” the man said in an Australian accent.
“How'd you know where we were?” Trout said.
The man laughed. “Guess you didn't know we've got surveillance cameras scattered around the island. If the boys hadn't been so drunk, we might have seen you earlier.”
“Sorry to interrupt your party.”
“Your friends didn't feel like talking,” he said. “Where'd you get Strega's car?”
“The colonel wasn't using it, so we thought we'd take it out for a drive.”
The man swung his rifle around and thrust the butt into Trout's midsection. Trout felt as if his heart had stopped. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, and dropped to his knees. When the waves of nausea had subsided, he staggered painfully to his feet. The man grabbed the front of Trout's jumpsuit and pulled him close. He reeked of whiskey.
“I don'
t like wiseass answers,” he said. He pushed Trout away and leveled his gun at Gamay. “Where did you get the car?” “Strega's dead,” Trout said, still gasping for breath. “Dead!” The eyes narrowed. “How'd he get dead?” Trout knew that even if he told the truth, the man wouldn't believe him. “It's better if I show you.” . The guard hesitated.
“What are you up to?” he said, raising his weapon. “Nothing. We're in no position to hurt you.” The comment went to the man's ego, as Trout hoped it would. “Right about that, mate.”
He and the other guards marched Trout and Gamay around to the back of the church where the Mercedes was parked. Sandy, MacLean and the other scientists were huddled near the vehicle under the watchful eyes of two more armed men. A long-bed pickup truck was parked next to the Mercedes. The prisoners including Gamay were ordered into the back of the truck. Some of the guards went with the truck while two others got into the backseat of the Mercedes. The Aussie told Trout to drive the car. Then he slid in next to Trout and ordered him back to the compound. “This better be good,” he said.
“Why don't you simply leave us?” Trout said. “The experiment has been completed.”
“Nice try. We leave, and the next day some bloke comes along and finds you waving your undershirts on the beach. Things have a way of catching up with you in my business. Now drive and keep your mouth shut.”
Trout did as he was told. When they arrived at the compound, the Aussie ordered Trout to stop. He yanked the keys from the ignition and got out to look around. The other guards jumped down from the truck and stared into the darkness with their weapons at ready.
The Aussie inspected the wreckage of the gate and the overturned gatehouse. There was an eerie quiet about the place. No night bird cries or insects humming. There was no sign of the carnage Trout had witnessed. He thought back to the rat-eating feast Strega had orchestrated and decided he didn't want to know what happened to the bodies.
The Aussie got back into the Mercedes. “What the hell is going on here?” he said.
“Did you know what we were working on in the labs?”
“Yeah. Germ warfare. Something to do with the stuff the sub was bringing in off the bottom of the sea. They never let us into the compound. Said we might catch something.”
Trout laughed.
“What's so funny?” There was a dangerous tone to the Aussie's voice.
“They were lying,” Trout said. “We were doing enzyme research.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You ever heard of the Philosopher's Stone?”
The gun barrel jabbed Trout in the ribs. “This is my philosophy.”
Trout winced, but stayed calm. “It was a secret formula supposed to change other material into gold.”
“No such thing.”
“You think the people who hired you would go through all this trouble if there were no such thing?”
Pause. “Okay, mate, show us this gold.”
“I'll take you to the storehouse where they keep it. Maybe you'll rethink my suggestion about leaving us. ”
The Aussie smiled. “I'll do that,” he said.
Trout knew that he and his fellow scientists would be doomed, even if he were able to produce all the gold in Fort Knox. No other reason would have persuaded him to return to the Zoo. He drove up and parked in front of the wide-open front door.
“Here we are,” he said.
They got out of the Mercedes and the Aussie took the ignition key and ordered his men out of the truck, leaving one behind, who was instructed to shoot anyone who got out of order. Then he told Trout to lead the way.
“Jeezus, what's that stink?” the guard said.
“That's the smell of gold,” the Aussie said with a laugh.
Trout headed for the door as if he were in a trance. He knew he was taking a calculated risk, but he reasoned that the creatures who'd once been imprisoned in the building would return to the place that had been their home. He knew he had guessed right when he stepped into the fetid darkness, heard the sickening sound of bones being crunched and saw pairs of red eyes burning in the darkness. He ran his hand along the wall and flicked the light on.
The creatures were back in their cages with the doors open. They had been busy feasting on the remnants of Colonel Strega and his minions. As the light came on, they retreated to the back of their cages. There was a yell of revulsion and surprise from the Aussie guard.
The Aussie grabbed Trout and pushed him against the wall. “You and your friends are going to die for this.”
Trout grabbed the barrel of the gun and tried to twist it out of the
Aussie's hands, but his adversary had the advantage of being on the trigger end. He let off a shot that went wild, taking a chip out of the wall a few inches from Trout's neck. As they wrestled for the gun, the creatures came to the front of their cages. The sight of guard uniforms triggered a ferocious attack. The creatures leaped into the room in a howling mass of teeth and claws.
The guard got off a few rounds before being mowed down by the snarling onslaught. Two creatures jumped on the Aussie's back, pushing him to the floor. Another creature lunged toward Trout, but stopped halfway and stared. In that brief instant, Trout could swear that he saw a glimpse of humanity in the thing's face. When he saw Trout wasn't wearing a uniform, he pounced instead on the Aussie.
Trout bolted for the door and bowled over the man who'd been guarding the prisoners. One of the creatures who'd followed Trout out the door saw the fallen guard and made short work of him.
Trout yelled at Gamay to drive the truck. He slid behind the steering wheel of the Mercedes and reached for the ignition key. Gone. He remembered that the Aussie had taken it with him. Gamay called out that the truck key was missing as well. Trout jumped out of the car, grabbed Gamay and told everyone to run for their lives.
From the sudden quietness from the Zoo, Trout guessed that the creatures were enjoying having the guards over for dinner. He didn't want to be around at dessert time.
AUSTIN AND Zavala were about a mile from the compound when they heard feet pounding along the road in the darkness ahead. They scuttled off the gravel road and threw themselves belly-down in the tall grass.
As the footfalls approached, they were intermingled with the low murmur of voices and a wheezing that suggested that some of the people coming toward them were not in the best of physical condition. Then he heard a familiar voice pleading. “Please move it along, folks. We'll have plenty of time to rest later.”
Trout stopped short as two figures materialized from the darkness.
“You're a long way from Lost City,” Austin said.
“Kurt and Joe?” Trout said with relief. “Damn. This is like old home week.”
Gamay threw her arms around her NUMA colleagues.
“These are my friends, Mac and Sandy,” Trout said. “I'll introduce the others later. Do you have a boat?”
Austin said, “I'm afraid we burned our bridges behind us. We saw a patrol boat out on the water earlier. Do you know where they keep it tied up?”
“I know where it might be.” Trout cocked his ear and he frowned. “We've got to get out of here.”
Austin had heard the noise, like the distant howling of the wind. “What's that?” He listened again. “Sounds like a pack of wolves chasing a deer.” .
“I wish it were,” Trout said. “Are you armed?”
“We've got handguns.”
The howling was getting louder. Trout glanced back along the road again.
“Shoot anything that moves, especially if it's got red eyes,” he said without further explanation. Austin and Zavala recalled the red-eyed furies from the video and didn't need any persuasion.
Trout took Gamay by the arm and called out to the others to get moving again. Austin and Zavala took up the rear.
The group walked in silence for fifteen minutes, urged on by the growing volume of the howling, until they could see the lights in the windows of the patrol boat barracks.
Their pursuers were so close now that individual howls could be heard.
The noise must have penetrated the barracks walls because a couple of guards burst out of the building into the night as the fugitives were making their way around the blockhouse on their way to the dock.
The guards saw the faces reflected in the light coming from the door and yelled at the group to halt or be killed. One guard called into the building, and seconds later two more men emerged. One was half-dressed and the other, a big bearded man, must have been asleep because he was in his underwear. He grinned and said, “Looks like we caught ourselves a bonus from Strega.”
His comrades roared with laughter, but their mirth was cut short, quickly turning to fear, as they heard the howling. The terrifying noise seemed to be coming from every direction. They huddled together, their guns facing outward, staring at the eyes that glowed like coals in the darkness.
The guard with the black beard sprayed the darkness with bullets. Cries of pain indicated that some bullets had hit a target. The gunfire triggered an onslaught. The creatures attacked from every direction, going after anyone wearing a uniform. The scientists and NUMA people took advantage of the bloody confusion and slipped away, with Trout showing the way to the dock where the patrol boat was tied up.
Austin got into the boat and started the engine. He climbed back onto the dock to help the others. MacLean was herding his fellow scientists into the boat. Then, as he was about to get in, shots rang out and he crumpled to the dock.
The shots had come from the bearded guard, who was running toward the boat. His slovenly lack of a uniform had protected him from being singled out by the creatures. Austin got off a quick shot that missed. The guard hadn't expected anyone to shoot back, but he quickly recovered, dropped to one knee and leveled his weapon.
A gunshot exploded in Austin's ear. Gamay had fired over his shoulder. She was an expert marksman, but in her haste her aim was off. The bullet caught the bearded man in the left shoulder. He screamed in rage and pain, but managed to swing his weapon around. Although he was deaf and dizzy from the shot near his ear, Austin stepped in front of his friends to shield them, raising his gun at the same time.