"All right!" Milos shouted. "It's coming! Get ready!"
All around him semiautomatic pistols and fully automatic assault weapons were slipping from holsters and pockets and held under jackets or behind backs as safeties were clicked off, rounds were chambered, and bolts were ratcheted back. He saw rifles and shotgun barrels rising into view among the bushes.
The choppy rhythm grew louder, clearer.
"Easy," Milos said, pulling his own .357 Magnum from its shoulder holster. "Easy…"
And then, just as it became visible, something strange happened. A bright beam of white light lanced downward from the copter. As it began to play back and forth across the sand, Milos was struck with a terrifying sense that things were about to go horribly wrong.
His shout of "No!" was lost in the deafening fusillade that erupted around him.
Milos saw the sparks of the bullets striking the helicopter's fuselage, watched it lurch, veer to the left and drop, then regain altitude and wobble away, trailing black smoke as it fled.
The guns had ceased fire almost as quickly as they had begun. No triumphant cheers rose from the stunned men.
They all could read English.
And then he heard the wail of sirens—many of them. He turned and saw chaotic red flashes lighting the night from the direction of the front gate.
Cops. Sounded like an army of them.
But how? How could they be here so soon? And in such numbers?
Milos Dragovic stood numb and frozen by his pool and asked himself over and over, Who is doing this to me?
TUESDAY
1
When Jack checked his voice mail in the morning he found three messages from Sal Vituolo, the gist of which could be summed up as, "Hey, Jack, call me. I gotta talk to ya, just gotta talk to ya."
So Jack called him from a pay phone.
"Jack! How'd you do it, man?" Jack couldn't see Sal but he sounded like he was dancing. "How'd you freakin' do it?"
"I gather it went off well?"
Jack had heard a few sketchy details on one of the all-news stations last night before turning in.
"Are you kiddin' me? He absolutely screwed himself, shootin' at a Coast Guard copter like that. But how'd you get it there?"
"Like I told you," Jack said. "I made a call."
"Yeah, but what'd you say?"
Jack had told the Coast Guard that a big shipment of this new drug that was making people go crazy was coming ashore at Dragovic's place in the Hamptons. He told them that was why Dragovic bought the place—so he could smuggle stuff ashore. The shipment was due shortly after dark—like between nine-thirty and ten.
But Jack didn't feel like going into all of that with Sal.
"I've got connections."
"You must, baby. I can't believe the heat that came down on that place."
According to reports on the news, state and Suffolk County heat had been duking it out with the feds over who had jurisdiction. Since they couldn't decide in time, they'd all shown up.
"I woulda got more tape but a lot of his muscle was haulin' ass outta there and some of them was comin' my way. So I did a little ass haulin' myself."
"But you got enough?"
"I got plenty. I hear the pilots are OK, but Dragovic's in deep shit for shootin' up their copter. Accordin' to the news they didn't find no heavy drugs in his place. Too bad, but at least some of his guys got tagged for possession. And of course he's up on all sortsa state, county, and federal weapons charges and even"—Sal snickered here—"disorderly conduct from the town of East Hampton!" His tone sobered. "But I bet the fucker's out on bail already."
"You can count on it. That's where the tapes come in. Did you send them off?"
"Made a shitload of copies last night, then went to the messenger service first thing this morning—did the locals, all the networks, CNN, Fox, even public access. If they got an antenna or a satellite, they got a tape."
"And you paid cash, right?"
"Course. Ay, I don't wanna be connected to this. No way."
"Good. Now just keep your eyes on the TV this morning."
"You kiddin'? I got the remote glued to my freakin' hand. I—wait a sec. Here's something! A special report. Turn on channel four, quick!"
I'm not exactly near a TV," Jack said.
"This is it! They're showing it! Yes! Yyy-essss!" Jack was sure now that Sal was indeed dancing around. It was a sight he preferred to imagine rather than witness. "He's fucked! He is so fucked! He may be out on bail but he won't be able to show his puss in this town—hell, in the whole freakin' world again without somebody laughin' at him!"
"Now do you believe in a fate worse than death?"
"Yes!" Sal shouted. "Oh, yes!"
"And is it enough?"
"Yeah, Jack." Sal's voice softened as it dropped about a hundred decibels. "I think it is. And I think it's gonna be easier for me with my sister now."
"Jeez, don't tell her anything," Jack said quickly.
"Ay, I ain't stupid. I know how stuff gets around and I don't wanna wake up dead some morning. But at least I think I can finally look Roseanne in the eye now and not feel like a useless wuss. She won't know, but I'll know, and that's what counts, if you know what I'm sayin'."
"Yeah, Sal, I do."
2
"Who?" Milos screamed.
He stood in the center of his office in the rear of the unfinished Belgravy and stared at the remnants of a thirty-two-inch Sony TV before him. A brass table lamp jutted from the smoking hole of what had once been its Trinitron screen.
"Who?"
Who had done this to him? Who hated him so to publicly humiliate him this way? He couldn't believe that this East Hampton Environmental Protection Committee had done it. Truth was, he couldn't bear the thought of having been hooked, netted, and filleted for all the world to see by some raised-pinkie, tea-sipping, silver-spoon-sucking pussy from old-money Long Island.
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and fought to focus his rage-scattered thoughts. He could feel his heart hammering inside his chest. He felt as if he were floating in space.
Think! Who!
The Russians… it had to be the Brighton Beach Russians. They'd been allies of his early on but lately they'd become jealous of his success. Only they would have the nerve to do this to him.
But this wasn't their MO. They preferred more direct methods—a bullet or two in the face was their style. No, this had to be someone with more control and calculation, someone who knew his weak points and was not afraid to ram a blade into one and twist.
Who, damn it!
And why? Milos wanted to know that as badly as who. If he knew why, he could figure who, and then he'd know what… what in particular he had done to make some sick govno set out to ruin him.
And that was what he was: ruined, pure and simple. Who would deal with him again? Who would take him seriously? After that tape, how could anyone fear him?
A ragged scream ripped from his throat and echoed off his office walls.
The only solution was retribution. He had to find whoever it was and destroy them. He had to send a message to the world that no one fucked with Milos Dragovic and lived.
Even that would not restore his respect, but it would be a start.
But where to start? The only lead was a public phone in the East Eighties and a man on a videotape, a man in a car owned by a woman who lived on Sutton Place.
This man could be the key. He might not be the mastermind, and most likely was not, but he could be the helicopter pilot. He could have been scouting the house in the day to plan the best place to drop his garbage at night. Or involved in some other way. If he could speak to the man, Milos could make him tell.
Could be the man had no connection at all. If so, too bad. For him.
Milos was through with caution. Something had to be done, and now. The Sutton Square house had been empty all weekend but the holiday was over. Time to move. He stalked to his office door and kicked it open
.
"Ivo! Vuk! In here! Now!"
Milos watched the two men jump up and leave their paper coffee cups on the cocktail table where they'd been sitting. They hurried toward him across the dance floor—or what was supposed to have been a dance floor. He couldn't imagine opening Belgravy after what he'd just seen. None of the people, the beautiful people he'd planned it for, would show their faces. The place would wind up filled with smirking hoi polloi hoping to catch a glimpse of the buffoon they'd seen on TV.
I'd sooner torch the place, he thought.
"Yessir!" Vuk and Ivo said, almost in unison, and Milos swore Ivo had started to salute.
They looked nervous, and well they should. They had avoided arrest by tossing their guns and extra clips into the pool at the first sign of the police. And they weren't the only ones. The illuminated bottom of the oil-stained pool had looked like an underwater armory.
And since it was his pool, Milos had been charged with possession of all those unregistered weapons.
But his lawyers could get him out of that.
The problem was who and what and why.
"This man you have been looking for over on Sutton Square. Bring him to me."
"Yessir!"
"And if he gives you trouble, shoot him. Do not kill him. Shoot him in the knees, then bring him to me. I wish to talk to him. He knows something and he will tell me."
"Yessir!"
As they turned to go, Milos added: "Do not return without him. And if something happens to your car this time, the only way I want to see you two come back is in a hearse."
They swallowed and nodded, then hurried for the street.
3
Jack had known something was way wrong the instant he stepped into Nadia's office at the clinic. She'd looked like she'd been on a two-week bender, and now, after listening to her story, he could see why. She'd broken down three times during the telling.
"So the last time you saw him was when?"
"Dinner on Saturday. Sushi… at the Kuroikaze Kafe." She sobbed. "Doug loved the spider roll there."
"Hey, Doc, you're using the past tense," Jack said. "Shouldn't do that."
She blew her nose and nodded. "You're right. I just…" She seemed to ran out of words.
"Let's move to Sunday. You didn't see or talk to him all day—"
"I tried but his phone was busy."
"But you were there Sunday night and saw no signs of a struggle."
"No. At least I don't think so. It was dark, you know, with the power out and all. No, wait. I saw the computer and it was fine."
'That means the breakin took place after you left."
And what does that tell me? Jack wondered.
Absolutely nothing.
He could see a second-story man getting caught in the act during a breakin and losing it and killing the owner. It happened. But he'd never heard of anyone taking the body with him. A corpse wasn't exactly something you could slip into your pocket and stroll away with.
"Do you think it could be"—the word seemed to stick in her throat—"GEM?"
The question jolted him. "A big corporation? Taking someone out? Come on, Doc. They use lawyers for hit men. And why should they want to?"
"Well, I told you about Doug hacking their computer—"
"Yeah, but could they know about that? And even if they had caught on, how would they know what he'd found, if anything? I mean, it's not as if he was blackmailing them…" Jack caught and held her gaze. "Was he?"
She gave her head a vehement shake. "Never. Not Doug. He was thinking of picking up some GEM stock on the chance that what he'd learned meant it was going up, but I know blackmail would never ever cross his mind."
"You're sure?"
"Without a doubt."
Nadia could have been kidding herself, like the mother of the school's biggest pothead saying, Not my kid. But Jack didn't think so.
"So I doubt it's GEM."
"Don't be so sure," Nadia said. "Milos Dragovic is somehow connected to GEM, and GEM is connected with"—she took a deep breath—"Berzerk."
"Damn!" Jack said, slapping the table. "I knew it! That sample I gave you matched up, I take it."
She nodded reluctantly. "It's my project at GEM, the very molecule I'm supposed to be stabilizing. It's called 'Loki' there."
"Loki… makes you loco. And stabilizing it makes sense. The guy who sold it to me told me about how it all changes to something useless after a certain time."
Nadia rose from her seat and wandered out from behind the deck, rubbing her hands in a washing motion. She looked agitated, too agitated to sit.
"Every twenty-nine days, twelve hours, forty-four minutes, and two-point-eight seconds."
Jack blinked. "How—?"
She seemed to be on automatic pilot as she moved to the coffee setup and grabbed the mug with nadj across its front.
"And it's not just the molecule itself that changes. Every representation of the structure of the active molecule, whether it's a drawing, a model, a computer file, even human memory of it, changes along with it."
She stopped pouring her coffee and turned to stare at him, pot in hand, as if waiting.
"Go on," he said.
"Aren't you listening?"
"To every word."
"Then why aren't you telling me I'm crazy?"
"Because I believe you."
"How can you believe me? What I'm telling you is impossible—or should be."
"Yeah. And the same could be said for the beastie your buddy Monnet gets his Loki from."
"'Beastie?' You mean it comes from an animal?"
"Sort of."
"Sort of what?" Nadia was saying, and sounding a little annoyed as she went back to pouring her coffee. Good. Better than crying. "It 'sort of comes from an animal, or it comes from a 'sort-of animal?"
"A sort-of animal that doesn't follow any of the rules, just like this Loki stuff."
Things were beginning to make sense now… sort of. Jack told her how he'd followed Monnet out to the freak show, and what the boss there had later said about a research scientist who'd found some "fascinating things" in the dying rakosh's blood.
"Doc, I'm willing to bet that one of those 'fascinating things' turned out to be Loki or Berzerk or whatever it's called."
She turned, holding her mug with both hands. "But what kind of animal—?"
"I wouldn't call it an animal—animal might make you think of a rabbit or a deer. I'd call it a creature or a thing. The only one of its kind left. And it's not like anything else that's ever walked this earth." He could have added that he had it on good authority that a rakosh wasn't completely of this earth, but he didn't want to get into that here. "Let's just say anything is possible where this thing is concerned."
"Even altering memories?"
Jack shrugged. "Nothing connected with that creature would surprise me."
Nadia looked at Jack, then at her mug. "Why did I pour this? I was too jumpy for coffee before and I'm way too wound up now." She half turned toward the door, then rotated back. "Do you want it?"
He'd already had a couple of cups, but it was always a shame to waste good coffee.
"How'd you make it?"
"Just black."
"Add a couple of sugars and I'll take it off your hands."
Nadia emptied two packets into the mug, then handed it to him. He noticed her hand was trembling. Looked like the last thing she needed now was caffeine.
"The good news is it's dying," he said.
"Dying?" Her hands flew to her face. "Oh, God! That's why he wants me to stabilize the molecule! He's going to lose his source!"
"And soon, I think."
"Dragovic's behind it all. He's forcing Dr. Monnet to do this. I know it, I know it, I know it."
"I don't," Jack said. He sipped his coffee: good and strong, the way he liked it. "And besides, Mr. Dragovic has other matters to occupy his mind at the moment."
Nadia brightened. "Yes! I heard about that." She narrowed h
er eyes as she looked at Jack. "You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with his troubles, would you?"
"His troubles are with the law and his image," Jack said and drank some more coffee.
"Anyway," Nadia said. "We've got to stop him, stop the drug."
"What do you mean 'we'?"
"All right, you. I wouldn't know—" She stopped as Jack began shaking his head. "What's wrong?"
"I don't do drugs… other than caffeine"—he hefted the NADJ mug—"and ethanol, that is."
"Well, good… great…"
"But what I mean is I don't sell them and I don't stop other people from selling them."
"But Dragovic's forcing—"
"You don't know if Dragovic's forcing anything, Doc."
"All right then, forget force. The thing is, Dragovic has somehow involved himself in GEM and GEM is somehow behind this Berzerk poison."
"Which people are buying and ingesting of their own free will."
Nadia turned and stared at Jack, disbelief scrawled across her face. "Don't tell me you approve."
"I think drugs are stupid as all hell, and I think people who drug themselves up are dumb asses, but people have a right to control their own bloodstreams. If they want to pollute them, that's their business. I'm not a public nanny."
"You mean if you saw someone selling Berzerk to a twelve-year-old, you wouldn't do anything?"
"Never been there, but I might break his arms."
Jack thought of Vicky. And maybe his legs. And his face.
Nadia smiled. "So you would make it your business."
"We were talking adults before. Now we're talking kids. I'm not into crusades, but certain things I will not abide in my sight."
She cocked her head and stared at him. "Abide… that's a strange word from you."
"How so?"
"It's something I'd expect to hear from a southerner, and you're very much a northeasterner."
Good ear, Jack thought. "A man who taught me some things used to use that word."
She looked as if she wanted to pursue that but changed her mind. Good.