by David Meyer
“So, you didn’t keep the money,” Hooper said slowly. “You gave it to someone else.”
“We had an opportunity to change the world for the better. So, we took it.” He adopted a modest tone. “It was the right thing to do.”
“It must be nice to spend other people’s money while patting yourself on the back.”
Samuels’ lip curled. “I’d watch my tone if I were you, Mr. Hooper.”
“I’m really scared.” Hooper grinned. “Let me get to the point, Barney. I want money.”
Samuels blinked. “What?”
“I want one million dollars in cash.” Hooper grabbed Samuels’ bowtie and straightened it. “Otherwise, I’ll go to the press.”
“You think that scares me? I’m proud of what we did.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t have done it in secret. I’ll be in touch.”
Spinning on his heels, Hooper returned to his vehicle. As he drove away, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Samuels stood on the lawn, trembling slightly. The man held a smartphone in his hand.
Hooper drove a little farther before pulling to the side of the road. He pressed a few buttons on his phone, accessing the listening device he’d planted on Samuels’ bowtie.
He listened to the live feed for a few seconds. But all he heard was dull chatter between Samuels and socialite guests. So, he exited the live feed mode and turned to the recorded content.
“George.” Samuels’ voice, breathless and edgy, drifted out of the phone’s speaker. “Is that you?”
“Barney?” The voice was hard and firm. “What’s wrong?”
Hooper checked the information recorded on his phone. He wasn’t surprised to see the number belonged to George Kaiser, Secretary of Transportation.
“We have a problem,” Samuels replied. “Can we meet?”
“What kind of problem?”
“A Secret Service agent just accosted me at home.” Samuels paused. “He knows what we did.”
Chapter 38
My heart raced as I sprinted across the clearing, hot on the kid’s tracks. A steep hill, covered with soft soil, lay before me.
I raced up it, my feet slipping and sliding on loose dirt. The loud hissing noise continued in violent bursts, causing my entire body to cringe over and over again.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw the creature gallop through the gully. It rammed into a patch of dense thicket. Thrashing sounds filled the air as it cut through the dying vegetation.
It burst into the clearing. Its paws slipped on loose dirt and it slid in a half circle, kicking up tons of dirt in the process. I caught a glimpse of its rear.
And of its second head.
Did Simona’s people do this to you?
I squinted. But its teeth gnashed so rapidly, I couldn’t see anything more than a fuzzy blur.
Catching traction, the creature slid to a halt. Then it raced toward me, this time with its second head leading the way.
I sprinted to the top of the hill. The boy was about twenty feet in front of me. Beverly was on his heels and Graham trailed her, moving incredibly fast on his artificial leg. Picking up speed, I followed them over the hill and down the backside.
“Come on,” the kid shouted. “You’ve got to go faster.”
His speed and stamina, especially considering his emaciated appearance, amazed me. Digging deep, I quickened my pace.
Halfway down the hill, Graham lost his balance. He fell, shouting as his right side struck the ground. He tried to get back up, but his momentum was too strong. Abruptly, he began to careen down the hillside.
Hustling forward, I helped Beverly lift Graham to a standing position. His shirt was torn. Bloody scrape marks covered his stomach and right side.
“Over here,” the kid hissed quietly.
I propped Graham up on my shoulder. A wave of exhaustion swept over me. In the last couple of hours, I’d survived a helicopter crash. I’d fought the currents and raced sharks to shore. I’d climbed up boulders, hid from the Polynesian man, and dodged chemtrails. Now, I was being chased across hilly terrain by a two-headed killing machine.
My legs grew weary as I dragged Graham toward a tall rock outcropping. I felt logy, tired. I knew I couldn’t last much longer.
The kid stopped outside a small fissure. Hurriedly, he waved at us. “Pass him here,” he said.
I hauled Graham to the fissure. Multiple hands reached out. They grabbed Graham’s armpits and dragged him into the dark space. The kid hurried after him.
Beverly threw herself at the hole and wriggled through the fissure. As she scrambled into the blackness, the air hissed behind me. Whirling around, I stared at the hillside.
“Cy,” Beverly whispered. “Come on.”
A strong breeze swept over me as I slid into the fissure. A strange oily scent filled the air. The hot temperature warmed a few degrees. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry.
I crawled forward, my hands and knees banging against rock. The fissure widened and grew taller, eventually opening up to a small cave. I crawled into it. Reaching up, I felt the ceiling. It was about four feet off the ground.
The hissing grew louder. Twisting my neck, I noticed a giant shape on the other end of the fissure. An air of electricity surrounded it.
The creature pawed at the fissure. Then it lowered its head to the thin space. Its eyes, bright red, seemed to reach into the depths of my soul.
Swallowing hard, I held perfectly still. A few seconds passed.
Then the buzzing sounded again. It joined with the hissing, creating a discordant noise.
Rock crunched. Dirt and dust shot into the fissure, getting in my eyes and lungs.
My heart skipped a beat.
It’s breaking the rock. It’s coming in here.
Chapter 39
I reached for my pistol, but a tug on my arm gave me pause.
“It won’t work,” the kid whispered.
“How do you know?”
“Because we already tried.” The new voice was older, strained.
Peering deeper into the cave, I saw a man. He was in his mid-forties and skinny as a flagpole. A pair of green shorts and sport sandals constituted his clothing. Deep scratch marks, welts, and bruises covered his dark skin. Like the kid, he spoke with a Polynesian accent.
“And failed,” a woman piped up in a southern drawl. “Bullets don’t hurt the Grueler.”
The woman knelt next to the man. She was skinny and sported a pair of runner’s legs. Her skin, the color of milk chocolate, featured multiple abrasions and scrapes. Her attire consisted of leggings and a blouse, both heavily stained with mud.
Who were they? And why were they on Pagan?
The fissure vibrated. The sound of crunching rock forced my mind to focus. “Then what do we do?” I asked.
“Simple.” The woman spun around. “We hide.”
Her clothes rustled as she crawled to the cave’s far left corner. A crevice, smaller and tighter than the fissure, awaited her. Dipping her head, she entered it.
Grabbing Graham by the armpits, the man worked his way toward the crevice. The kid, clambering on all fours, hurried after them.
I arched an eyebrow at Beverly.
She shrugged. Then she hurried to the left corner.
Rising to a crouching position, I moved backward until I touched the rock wall. The creature’s dull, reddish eyes seemed to stare right through me.
I flinched as rock crunched at an even louder volume. The buzzing intensified. The walls began to tremble.
You killed Stevens. You deserve to die.
Drawing my pistol, I took careful aim at the red eyes. A hand tugged my arm. Glancing down, I saw the kid.
He patted my gun hand, pushing it toward my waist. Slowly, I holstered the gun and followed him to the crevice.
The crunching grew louder and more ferocious. It sounded like the creature was mere seconds away from breaking into the cave.
With a wave of his hand, the kid ducked into
the thin space. I took one last look at the cave. Then I slid between the rocks and entered the crevice.
Almost immediately, I found myself on a downward slope. I crawled ahead, doing my best to ignore the tightening space.
The air tasted musty. I smelled old paint and dust. Sweat gushed from my pores in droves.
The crunching ceased. The air swished. Rustling noises sounded out. They quickly grew faint. Then they vanished.
Did it leave?
The crevice tightened and I banged my shoulders a couple of times against rock. Then it began to twist in a downward spiral. Staying low, I continued forward, occasionally banging my knees against the ground.
The crevice shifted a few more times. I climbed over rocks, around them, and under them.
As I rounded a corner, I saw a bright beam of light. It swept from side to side, revealing a large area.
I crawled into the space. Tentatively, I stood up and looked around. I stood in a large tube, maybe eight feet in diameter. The walls were made of concrete, which crumbled in multiple places. For a brief moment, I forgot about Simona Wolcott and Eco-Trek, Milt Stevens, and the creature. I even forgot about the reliquary.
I walked to a wall. Symbols, painted white, occupied a small section. The paint was old and some of it had already peeled off the concrete.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“It’s an old tunnel,” the man replied. “And unless I’m mistaken, we’re the first people to enter it since the Second World War.”
Chapter 40
The Japanese military built a tunnel under Pagan?
I tried to recall everything I’d read about Pagan. The Imperial Japanese Navy had constructed an airfield on the island in 1935. A garrison was added two years later. The garrison remained small until June 1944, when over two thousand Imperial Japanese Army soldiers arrived to bolster it. The Allies had proceeded to cut off and isolate the garrison. Hundreds of soldiers had died in the process.
I studied the painted symbols. I’d seen Japanese script on numerous occasions and the symbols before me, which were written in columns, looked similar. Unfortunately, I couldn’t read them.
Looking up, I tried to gauge our general location. We were north of the volcano, a long ways from Pagan Bay as well as from the original Japanese airstrip. Why had the Japanese military built a tunnel so far from the island’s most important areas? What purpose could it possibly serve?
The more I thought about it, the more it bothered me. Even if it had been built in a different location, the concrete tube seemed like a waste of resources for such a small garrison.
Regardless, I was grateful to have it. Exhaustion crept through my body. My legs began to ache. My eyelids grew heavy.
Stifling a yawn, I leaned against the curving wall. The concrete felt cool and gritty against my shoulders.
“Well, that was fun.” Beverly hiked to the wall. Propping herself against it, she checked the scrapes and wounds on her legs.
The kid studied Beverly. “I saw the crash. Are you injured? We’ve got a first-aid kit.”
“I’ll live.” She aimed a flashlight beam at the kid. “What’s your name?”
“Akolo,” he said. “Akolo Tenorio.”
Slowly, I lowered myself until my haunches were just above my heels. Glancing to my right, I saw the man help Graham onto a sleeping bag. The woman stood nearby, waiting to cover him with a blanket.
I nodded at them. “Are those your parents?”
“That’s my dad. His name is Benigno. The woman is Carrie Cooper. She’s, well, I guess you could say she’s helping us.”
“Helping you do what?”
“Right now?” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Survive, I guess.”
Chapter 41
“We don’t have a lot of food.” Benigno studied my visage. “But what’s ours is yours.”
“Thanks.” My stomach growled. “But no thanks.”
“I’d give my right arm for a steak,” Beverly said.
He laughed. “How about cold beans?”
She grinned. “That was my second choice.”
He strode to a pile of items lumped on the far side of the tube. Rooting around, he selected a can. Then he spun toward Beverly. “Here you go.”
She reached out her hands. The can banged against her flashlight, but she still managed to keep it from hitting the ground. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a can opener.”
He shook his head.
Beverly sat on the concrete floor. Using her knife, she carved a hole in the thin metal. Then she tipped the can and spilled some beans into her mouth.
She wiped her lips and offered the can to me. After a moment of hesitation, I took it from her. Seconds later, beans and sauce swirled down my throat. They tasted good, finer than the finest cuisine.
As I passed the can back to her, I glanced at Benigno. “Thanks.”
He nodded.
We ate in silence. Then Beverly set the can aside and Benigno handed her a bottle of water. She drank from it and passed it to me.
Greedily, I imbibed the liquid. It was warm and tasted like plastic. But it felt like heaven on my chapped lips and scratchy throat.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for a little company.” Benigno’s expression turned hard as stone. “But who are you people?”
“I’m Cy Reed. She’s Beverly Ginger.” I nodded at Graham. “That’s Dutch Graham.”
“Why are you here?”
“That’s a complicated question.”
He crossed his arms.
Benigno had saved our lives. He’d shared his supplies with us. The least I could do was tell him the truth. “Simona’s people stole something from us. We want it back.”
“What did they take?”
“A stone box,” Beverly said.
He did a double-take. “A what?”
“We’re salvage experts,” I explained. “We specialize in extreme salvage jobs, the ones where artifacts are in imminent danger. Last week, a woman hired us to dig up an old reliquary. To make a long story short, Eco-Trek killed a bunch of people and made off with it.”
He frowned. “Why would they care about some old box?”
“Good question,” Beverly said.
I heard soft voices. Rotating my neck, I saw Akolo. He sat with Carrie, helping her watch over Graham.
“We answered your question,” I said. “Now, it’s our turn. What are you doing here?”
“We’re looking for people,” he replied after a moment.
“Who?”
“It’s a long story.”
Beverly crossed her arms.
“Fine.” He sat on the ground. “I was born here. Spent a good chunk of my life on this rock. Then the government kicked us out. They called Pagan a death trap waiting to happen on account of the volcanoes. So, a bunch of us moved to Saipan.”
“Go on,” she said.
“We tried to adjust to city life. I got a factory job. We rented a tiny apartment. My wife and I gave birth to Akolo. It wasn’t an easy life, but we made it work. That is, until the environmentalists decided to gunk it up.” He sighed. “They hounded the politicians, told them the factories were damaging Saipan’s reputation as a … what do you call it … eco-tourist destination. Maybe they were right. I don’t know. Either way, I lost my job. Rizzalyn—she’s my wife—lost hers too. The same thing happened to my friends and family. Things got bad. Real bad.”
“So, you decided to come back here?”
He nodded. “Pagan ain’t much. But it used to have clean air, fresh water, and arable land. We figured we could restore the old coconut plantations. Maybe raise some cotton and sweet potatoes, too. A bunch of us joined forces. We called ourselves Pagan Nation.”
Beverly nodded. “You’re a pressure group.”
“With zero influence.” He grunted in displeasure. “For years, the local authorities denied our petitions. So, I’m sure you can imagine how we felt when the federal government handed Pagan over to E
co-Trek. It was like a slap to the face. We hounded everyone we could find, but no one cared. Finally, we came up with a last-ditch plan. We’d come here on our own accord. We’d refuse to leave until we’d gotten a chance to meet Simona Wolcott. I thought if I could just talk to her, she’d see things my way. Maybe let us live on the island, too.” Benigno shook his head. “God, I was an idiot.”
“What happened?”
“We came by boat. Even from a distance, we could see the dead trees, the brown grass. The others wanted to turn around. But me? No, I was too bull-headed.” He winced. “All of a sudden, our boat exploded. We were pitched into the water. I grabbed Akolo and swam for shore. And then …”
“Yes?” Beverly’s voice was soft, gentle.
“Sharks appeared. They started biting people, eating them. Only eight of us made it to land. But before we could catch our breath, Simona’s guards were on us. They chased us, captured nearly everyone.” He exhaled. “Everyone except Akolo and me, o’ course.”
I glanced at the pile of supplies. “You brought those with you?”
He nodded. “We scrounged them up from shallow waters later that night. We’ve been living off them for over a week now.”
“What about your wife?” Beverly asked.
“Rizzalyn? They got her too.” He jerked his thumb in the general direction of the station. “We watched them take her and the others inside that building. Marched them in there like prisoners.”
His story had the ring of truth to it. Still, at least one aspect didn’t make sense. Why had Eco-Trek bothered to imprison the surviving islanders? Why hadn’t they tried to kill them like they’d tried to kill us?
Carrie stood up to stretch her legs.
I caught her eye. “How is he?” I asked, with a nod at Graham.
“He’s fine. Just needs some rest.”
Beverly gave her a curious look. “How do you fit into this?”
“I used to work for Eco-Trek,” Carrie said after a long moment.
“Did you know Simona Wolcott?” Graham asked.
She nodded.
“What was she like?”
“A real control freak. Nothing happens at Eco-Trek without her approval.” She sighed. “Anyway I saw the attack on the Pagan Nation. When Pascal’s men—”