There must be a security problem here, though, because the locks were good quality.
No, this wasn’t going to work. He’d have to get as far as possible dressed as he was. When he headed for the exit door at the far end of the room, though, he got a break, a door to a janitor’s closet. Even better, it wasn’t locked. He stepped in and turned on the light. There were six steel shelves of cleaning supplies, a number of mops and other equipment, and some buckets. There was also what he was hoping for, which was a steel locker. In fact, there were three steel lockers. Two were locked with hospital-issue combination locks, the third with an even simpler one, which had probably been bought off the hardware shelf at a drugstore.
Flynn did it first, and was rewarded with a woman’s slacks and sweater and a pair of platform shoes.
He did the second one, but it was empty.
The third had the worst lock, and it took time to work. As he was testing its drops, counting from click to click to determine the combination, he heard voices outside.
“She said he came this way.”
“Shit, he’s gotta be in the stairway.”
“Did you contact his doc yet?”
“How? You know who that would be? We got a John Doe here, and he’s a damn head case.”
There was a faint click as they went through the door to the stairwell Flynn would shortly need to use himself. They’d be back soon, he guessed, once they realized he hadn’t been seen in the lobby. Almost certainly, they would do what they should have done in the first place, and search this room.
He found himself looking at a gray sweat suit. On the floor, a pair of track shoes. Even better, the suit had a hood.
The occupant of the locker was soon the proud owner of a hospital gown, and Flynn was in the stairwell, the hood pulled over his head.
He’d gone down a flight when he heard the tramp of feet. More than two people this time, some of them in heavy shoes. They were bringing security with them. Not taking any chances with a brain case.
Moving quickly, he ducked into the nearest fire door. He found another break room and another janitor’s closet. He went in and got a bucket and mop, then went out onto what turned out to be an ICU floor.
“Hold it, this is a sterile floor,” a nurse said. She was wearing greens, a hair covering, and bulging white shoe covers. All the nurses in the station turned toward him.
“Sorry, I’m due on the cleanup right now.”
“Get out of here, then, or I’ll have to write you up.”
“Sorry, ma’am.” He went to the elevator bank and waited for what seemed like the better part of an hour before an elevator finally appeared that had room in it for a janitor with a mop and bucket. He remained hunched under the hood, careful not to reveal the bandage.
Finally, he walked out through the jammed lobby and into the chaos that still filled the street. Fire ladders were being brought down, and hose pulled out of the neurosurgery building. Its front was streaked black with sooty water. All the windows on the top floor were shattered, the interior behind them a blackened ruin. Yellow barrier tape blocked the lobby doors, but a man with a mop and bucket went unnoticed as he walked through, heading toward the entrance to the parking structure.
He had to find Mac and get out of here and do it fast, or there was no question in his mind that the hunters were going to pick up his scent again.
He went down into the dripping, water-soaked darkness of the structure. In light, he might see a shimmer as the aliens approached him. In darkness, he would see nothing.
He stepped out onto the highest floor. The only light came from a single emergency lantern, its battery-powered glow almost completely faded.
“Mac,” he said into the echoing silence, “you here?”
There was no reply.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FLYNN HAD worked his way down to the lowest level he could enter. The two levels below this were flooded from the fire. It was on this level, also, that their rental car was parked. The silence was broken only by the echoing sound of water dripping from below. It was much darker here, too dark now to see any sign of the aliens at all. The emergency lighting was failing fast.
He was more helpless here than he had been on the other levels. The sound of the aliens’ breathing was going to be drowned out by the dripping water. He could not expect to catch their distinctive odor over the stench of the fire, either. It was no place he wanted to be.
“Mac?”
Faintly from along the line of cars, he heard a clattering. He listened. The clattering had not been there a moment ago. Its source was about ten cars down on the right. He moved a little closer. Listened again. There could be no question. The sound was coming from the black Chrysler he had rented.
“Mac?”
No reply. He took a step closer. The rattling became louder. Was it Mac, somehow trapped in the car? And why make a noise like that?
“Okay, buddy, I’m here, I’m gonna get you out.” He went close to the car, cupped his hands, and peered in the passenger-side window.
Something hit the glass so hard that it cracked. He jumped back, to see two gleaming silver buttons clattering against the inside of the window, which was already cracked in four or five places, as if it had been hit by stones that weren’t quite powerful enough to break it. As he watched, all but frozen with surprise, they crashed into the window again and again, hitting it so hard that the car rocked.
The glass bulged. Pieces of it shot past his head.
He had exactly one choice. He ran as he had never run before, down to the far end of the floor and into the stairwell. He slammed the door, but it wouldn’t shut properly. He ran up to the next floor and the next, then out onto the street level of the structure.
He threw open the door into the brightness of the exit lanes. A figure stood by the pay barrier, darkly silhouetted against the light flooding in from outside.
“What kept you?”
“Mac, run!”
He dashed past him and heard him come following, his shoes slapping on the wet pavement.
“What the hell?”
“They’re out of the jars, they’re busting out of the car, and I don’t know their range.”
“Aw, man!”
They ran down the middle of the street, finally stopping only when they reached the lobby of a building that hadn’t been affected by the fire or the patient rescues.
Flynn was so winded when he stopped that he had to bend full at the waist and gag for air. Mac came up from behind. He was silent, breathing hard, too winded to speak.
“Keep going.”
They dropped back to a steady trot, stopping again only when they reached a bus shelter. They waited for ten minutes, sitting hunched in the shelter.
“Were they doing that when you had them?”
“They were flying around in those jars so fast, you couldn’t see them. I was lucky to get them to the car. I got the guns, though. Barely.” He produced the Bull from the back of his waist.
Flynn took it. “This won’t help now.”
“How far can they go?”
He shook his head. “No idea.”
He punched in the secure exchange, listened to the recorded warning, then keyed in Diana’s number.
“Mac, where’s Flynn?”
“This is Flynn. I’m sitting at a bus stop in Houston with Mac. We need transportation, it’s as urgent as hell, and I don’t want to stay on this line or any line.” He told her the street. “Now, listen up. There’s somewhere I need to go. I want you to smooth the way for me at Deer Island.”
“Who do I call? What do I say?”
“Call the director. Tell him I need carte blanche on the island for at least a couple of days.”
“What’s going on?”
“It has to do with those blocked calls. It’s important, maybe critical.”
“Please tell me more, Flynn.”
“Not on this line.”
“Flynn, please.”
“When I get to a pay phone, I’ll fill you in. Also, I’ll need to talk to Geri. Right now, just do what I need you to do. And I have no ID. It was lost in the fire.”
“What fire?”
“You watch CNN?”
“That hospital? That was you?”
“We’ve got plenty to talk about, believe me.”
“I’ll get everything set up.”
“Fast as you can.”
She was true to her word. It was not ten minutes before a Houston Police Department squad car rolled up and collected them. The officer had obviously been told not to talk, because he remained completely silent during their drive to Ellington Field. It was a training facility and also the headquarters of the 147th Reconnaissance Wing, which flew Predator drones in the Middle East via satellite uplinks.
The guard station was manned by serious security. Understandable, given that a war was being fought in this quiet, sunny place.
The cop stopped and rolled down his window. One of the security personnel came forward and leaned in. She was well trained and on her game; Flynn could tell by the way she used her eyes.
“Identification, please.”
Flynn turned toward her. “I’m Flynn Carroll.”
She stared at him. Hard. “Okay. I got it. Let me clear you ahead.”
A moment later, a guard vehicle pulled up in front of them. They followed it across the base.
“Mac, planning ahead. How much cash do you have on you right now?”
“Couple thousand bucks, probably.”
Mac still ran a cash economy, which would shortly prove useful. Flynn watched the low buildings of the base. There was little activity. Once, a couple of airmen walked into the Noncommissioned Officers’ Club. Shortly, a civilian sedan fell in behind the police car.
“Phone,” he said to Mac, holding out his hand. He called Diana. “We’re on our way to the flight line, and what I believe to be an offended general just pulled in behind us.”
“That’d be General Stevens.”
“Okay.”
“He’s pissed off as hell. He wants to yell, I guess. I can make him disappear.”
“No, it’s fine. Just so you know. If he goes off rez, I’ll call you back.”
They reached the Air National Guard building, a structure in need of a bit of paint. Once again, there was little activity, which was all to the good. Flynn got out of the car and told the cop to go back to Houston. The general stopped also, got out of his car, and came hurrying over.
“Excuse me, I understand you two people think you’re taking my plane. I’m afraid it has a prior commitment.”
“Good afternoon, General,” Flynn said.
“I have no intention of letting unidentified civil service bureaucrats take this aircraft. If I have to, I’ll call the Secretary of the Air Force.”
“Bring your driver.”
“My driver? What the hell are you talking about?”
“General, you’ve got two things to do right now: The first is to come in here with me and find us both uniforms. The second is to put on our clothes and fly to Langley AFB.”
“Langley! What the hell for?”
“Because you’re receiving an order from somebody who is empowered to do that.”
“You? You’re a—I don’t know what you are. I need some identification.”
“No, you don’t.” He glanced toward the driver. “You. Find us uniforms. Do it now.”
“You can’t impersonate air force officers!”
“General, you have no idea what credentials we carry. But you listen to me now, and you listen good, because if I have to say this again, it’s going to be to a soldier with no stars on his collar. Do you understand this?”
“This is extremely irregular.”
“What you are dealing with right now, sir, is the single most urgent national security matter that you have ever encountered in your career, or will ever encounter. Do you understand this?”
“I have no idea who you are or what you’re supposed to be doing.”
Again, he said to Mac, “Phone.” Then, to the general, “If I have to make this call, your career is over.”
They went eye to eye. The general was pure determination. Then they really connected, and Flynn watched a familiar surprised confusion come into his face. An instant passed, and he took a step back and cleared his throat.
“Very well,” he said. He cleared his throat again.
The driver reappeared, and he and the three of them changed in an office. The general was pretty well swallowed in Mac’s clothes, but the driver, who was a tall kid, did all right with Flynn’s sweat suit.
“Have a pleasant flight, gentlemen.”
“Thank you,” the driver said. The general glared at him.
After they went out onto the apron, Flynn told Mac that they were taking the general’s car. “We’re going to Hobby.”
Mac didn’t ask any questions, which was good. He was becoming more efficient at this.
The general’s Buick stood where it had been left in front of the building. It was unlocked, but they had no keys to start it.
Mac used to be better at wiring cars than he was. “How long for you to wire it?” he asked.
“They’re more complicated than they used to be, and it’s not something I do a lot of anymore.”
“You did good with my dad’s Mercedes. Why don’t you give it a shot?”
“You’re smarter, you do it.”
“Don’t undersell yourself, you’ll be faster.”
Mac went under the dash and had the engine turning over in four minutes. To anybody watching from above, they would have appeared to linger in the parked car a little longer than normal, but hopefully not long enough to arouse suspicion.
On the way to the airport, Mac asked, “May I know what we’re doing?”
“Changing the world.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
AS THEY drove off the base, Mac was unusually quiet.
“You trying to come up with a question that makes sense?”
“I guess I am. What I’m thinking is you might’ve gotten those two guys killed just now.”
“I agree.”
“You sent them in harm’s way without so much as a prayer book.”
“I’m not sending them into any more danger than I’m going to take on myself. Less, probably.”
They drove on for a while. It was six fifteen, and Houston’s notorious traffic was just that—notorious.
“How much have you lost on this so far, Mac? What with your house and all?”
“Four million.”
“So, maybe a million.”
“No, it really is four. The paintings were originals.”
“They’re forgeries.”
“That is not true.”
“Manet was right-handed. Your forger painted with his left. Who were you planning to sell them to, billionaire morons? I didn’t know there were any.”
“Gifts for drogos.”
“So, a grand for the paintings. Tell you what I’ll do. I know how hard you have to work for your money.”
“Which you do not.”
“I do not. So I’ll rebuild your place for you. As long as you don’t cheat me, I’ll pay the bills.”
“My accountant—”
“He outta jail?”
“Four more months.”
“Any contractors on the outside, but not on the lam?”
“I’ll need to check.”
“We’ll use my accountant. My contractors.”
“I get that.”
Flynn watched the passing cars and kept his eye on the low, thick clouds, looking into their faint glow for any sign of a shadow. Mac sat with his knee up against the dashboard. His long face was usually ready to crinkle into an affable smile, but that easiness was gone now. He, too, stared into the empty night.
“I miss my dogs.”
“Those weren’t dogs.”
“Yeah, I guess not. Alien animals.”
&nbs
p; “Those were people who’d been genetically mixed with dogs.”
“Oh. That must be why I liked them so much. I like people.”
“Then you like Snow Mountain, too.”
“Only see him once in a while. He liked Mozart. He liked the Stones. I used to hire bands and quartets from over at Sul Ross University to come play for him.”
“What did they think of him?”
“The kids? Nothing. They never saw him. But he was there.”
“Who did they see?”
“I’m more of a narcocorrido type of guy, so, nobody, basically.”
He tried to imagine the scene, a string quartet or a rock band set up in Mac’s house pasture, playing to the night, with a tiger way back in the dark somewhere, listening blissfully.
“I guess they thought they were playing for a rich, cantankerous eccentric, then?”
“I guess they did. I never really thought about it. There’s a lot of eccentricity out in our neck of the woods, as you know.”
“All too well.”
“I think it’s the Marfa Lights. They make us crazy.” He paused for a moment. “I want to go home, Flynn. I’m not cut out for this.”
“I wish it was safe for you, buddy. I wish to God it was. You stick close for a little while longer, I’ll make it safe. I promise you that.”
“When I went back there and saw my house burning up, I really, seriously thought about killin’ your sorry ass, Flynn. But I love you, goddamnit. You’re a good friend and always have been. So here’s what I think: Let’s kill ourselves a damn alien and do it soon.”
“I have a plan.”
“You always do. Only remember that only some of ’em work. Just never forget the freight train.”
When they were kids, Flynn had devised a plan to slow down a freight so they could hop it more easily. The result of their attempt had been a fifty-three-car derailment.
“I believe Eddie set that one up.”
“Your idea, Flynn. Your idea.”
Flynn had been way overconfident, thinking the engineer would notice the switch signal and stop. He didn’t notice a thing, and rolled the whole consist out onto the siding at forty miles an hour. Nobody was hurt, fortunately, but seven thousand chickens had escaped into the night.
Alien Hunter: Underworld Page 19