Demon Key

by David Brookover

  “Sorry, again. There was only one record, and you know about them.”

  “Hmm.” Jackson considered the problem from another angle. “Try checking immigrations from other countries,” he suggested.

  His friend groaned.

  “I know you’re up to your ass in alligators, but I really need this.”

  “Yeah, okay. But this better be really important.”

  “Lives depend on it.”

  “Yours?”

  “Yeah, and a lot of others, too.”

  “Good enough. I’ll call you.”

  “Thanks.” He hung up and dialed the second number.

  “Bayou Tours,” a familiar voice drawled.

  “Cole, it’s Jackson.”

  “Hey, man, where you been? I haven’t seen you around for a couple weeks,” Cole said in his usual cheerful voice.

  “Here and there.”

  “FBI stuff, huh?”

  “Something like that. Say, I was wondering if you’d do me a favor when you’re out by my place.”

  “Name it, man.”

  “Could you stop and see if Zeus is all right?”

  “He running out of dog food or something?”

  “He shouldn’t be.” He paused. “Just see if he’s . . . safe.”

  “You expecting trouble?”

  “Might be.”

  “Okay, consider it done. I’ll be out that way this afternoon. I’ll give you a shout on your cell.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “You owe me.”

  Jackson chuckled. “Yeah, I’m always in your debt, aren’t I?”

  “I’m still waiting for the paybacks, man.”

  “I’ll make it up to you — I promise.”

  “I’m not holding my breath.”

  Jackson laughed. “Smart man.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah.” Jackson searched for the right words. “Watch your back.”

  Chapter 66

  Jackson frowned at the engorged charcoal clouds looming overhead as he drove Dex’s patrol car to their P.F. Chang’s meeting. Teddi sat beside him, while Dex lay sprawled in the backseat.

  He veered off I-95 onto the Glades Road exit and turned east. The restaurant was located in a small shopping strip across from Florida Atlantic University’s scenic campus. Jackson parked a considerable distance from the restaurant.

  “Jesus, you expect us to hike from here?” Dex complained.

  “A little exercise will do you good.”

  “Says who? The ER doc told me to get plenty of bed rest.”

  Jackson grinned. “What does he know, anyway?”

  Dex grumbled but got out of the car.

  “You two keep the appointment, and I’ll hang around out here and nose around for trouble,” Jackson volunteered, concerned that Teddi might’ve booby-trapped the restaurant before shooting at Dex in the grotto.

  His heart suddenly beat a frenzied tattoo as he recognized the restaurant’s architecture from his Brazilian psychic nightmare. Jesus, this was the place where he had envisioned so many deaths! His breathing came in short huffs. If there was a booby trap, he’d have to locate it and disarm it quickly. His old anxiety jangled the nerves along his spine.

  Teddi interrupted his burgeoning anxiety. “Since when are you the top gun around here?”

  “You and Dex both have health issues, so . . . that leaves me.”

  “I’m the agent in charge, and I’m pulling rank,” she retorted. “I’ll nose around.”

  Jackson knew he wasn’t going to win this argument. “Suit yourself, but if you come to your senses, I’ll be inside.” His torment accelerated. How could he search for a possible bomb and participate in the meeting at the same time?

  “Now, children,” Dex chided them, “stop arguing so we can get on with the damn meeting. The sooner we grab lunch and talk monsters, the sooner I can get back to the motel and take some more of that heavenly pain medicine.”

  Jackson lent Dex a hand during their lengthy hike to the Chinese restaurant.

  “If you need some back-up, just holler,” Jackson submitted, and then they disappeared inside the restaurant.

  Teddi loitered near the entrance where she could scrutinize the incoming patrons. Deep down, she considered this a waste of time. A little bird in her mind chirped that everything here was perfectly safe. So what was Jackson so friggin’ worried about?

  Maybe she should kill that lying bird.

  Dr. Jillian “Jilly” Newton earned her doctorate in paleontology from Florida State University. The petite, forty-one-year-old brunette was younger than Dex expected, and a helluva lot prettier, too. Her presence inspired a burst of energy, and he smiled as he shook her hand.

  “Now what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ diggin’ up old fossils like me.”

  She flashed him a sardonic smile. “We’re not in a pickup bar, Sheriff. Save your lines for someone who’s in the market.”

  “What market’s that?” Dex asked, taken aback by her ill-mannered candor.

  “The meat market,” she replied stiffly, and sat. “And you may address me as Dr. Newton.”

  John Redfeather and Jackson exchanged eye rolls, shook hands, and sat opposite each other at the table. Dex sat down on his chair heavily, his spirit deflated. His spurt of energy was spent.

  Jackson paid little attention to the dinosaur chatter; instead, he walked the interior and searched for exposed wiring or other suspicious objects. The kitchen was his next stop. His gaze grazed the television above the bar, and he nearly yelled out. Teddi McCoy’s face filled the entire screen!

  He rushed to the bar. “Can you turn up the volume?” he asked the bartender.

  The redheaded college coed nodded and hit a button on the remote.

  “. . . and if you see this woman, call the police or the FBI immediately. Don’t try to apprehend her yourself, because she’s believed to be armed and dangerous. Again, FBI Agent Lance Robinson was murdered at Holy Cross Hospital last evening, and Special Agent Teddi McCoy is a prime suspect.” A crime-line phone number scrolled across the screen. “On the weather scene, Jerry’s got more bad news about a tropical depression brewing in the Caribbean. We’ll be right back for his complete update.”

  “I saw her,” a voice behind Jackson exclaimed.

  Jackson whirled on the voice. It belonged to a college student busboy.

  “You saw this woman? When?”

  “Who are you, buddy?”

  Jackson flashed his FBI ID.

  “Big-time creds,” the young man said. “When I took the trash out back to the Dumpster last night, that lady was, like, standing on her tiptoes and stuffing something into the restaurant’s vent opening.”

  “Did you see what it was?”

  “Nah, it was too dark. But I remember that she saw me watching her, but she, like, just kept doing what she was doing, man.”

  “Why didn’t you stop her or ask her to leave?”

  “‘Cause she, like, had a gun tucked in her belt, and since I wasn’t in the mood to get shot at, I didn’t bug her.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us about her last night?” the bartender demanded.

  “Hell, I forgot all about it, Terri. That was about the time that that old guy choked on some Chinese noodles and, like, nearly died.”

  The bartender nodded. “Yeah, I remember. Close call.”

  The busboy studied Jackson. “So what’s the big deal? She didn’t hurt anybody here.”

  Jackson ignored the question and checked his watch. Eleven thirty-five. If Teddi did arm a timed explosive, her instructions would’ve been to set the detonation timer ten or twelve minutes later than Dex’s scheduled appointment to be certain the targets were inside the restaurant when the bomb exploded. “Get everyone out of here NOW!” he screamed at the bartender.

  Dex’s head jerked around and caught the panic pinching Jackson’s face. The sheriff didn’t waste any time; he threw his chair back, leaned over the table, and pract
ically dragged Jilly Newton outside. John was perplexed by his friend’s actions until he heard a woman’s voice on the PA requesting that everyone exit the restaurant immediately in an orderly fashion. He ran after Dex and Jilly.

  Jilly Newton unsuccessfully tried to twist out of Dex’s grip, but his hand was locked on her forearm like a vise. Outside, he pulled the struggling professor toward his car.

  Dex glanced over his shoulder and searched for Jackson, but he wasn’t in sight. Now where in tarnation had the damn fool got to?

  Before they reached the car, a tremendous explosion rocked the parking lot and hurled them to the pavement.

  Chapter 67

  Jackson pushed through panicked kitchen staff and sprinted out the back door. He froze when he saw Teddi inspecting the vent!

  “Get away from there!” he shouted, and dashed toward her.

  She planted her hands on her hips. “I just disabled the timer and detonator,” she announced defiantly.

  “Get away!”

  Her forehead wrinkled in bewilderment. “What’s the matter with you, Jackson? I told you I disabled . . .”

  Teddi didn’t have a chance to finish her statement. Jackson’s arm ensnared her waist and snatched her off the ground on the dead run. They made an immediate U-turn toward several blue Dumpsters fifty feet away. Teddi shouted and Jackson panted as they ran to the closest Dumpster. Despite her protestations, he heaved her over the lip and into the cavernous space below. Jackson flew over the top edge and slammed the lid down over them.

  Seconds later, a tremendous blast shuddered the ground like an earthquake, and the shock waves launched the Dumpster into the air. The awkward projectile crash-landed thirty feet away on its side with a resonating metallic thud and skidded another twenty feet before it slammed to a stop against a UPS delivery truck. Teddi and Jackson tumbled inside like hopper lotto balls, but racked up bruises instead of winning numbers.

  The lid clattered open, and the dazed pair rolled out, groaning from the wild ride.

  “But I disabled the bomb,” Teddi insisted, gently massaging assorted aches.

  “One bomb,” Jackson countered, standing precariously. His balance was momentarily out of whack. He realized that Voodoo Man would most likely have back-ups — just in case Teddi failed her mission.

  “There were more?” she moaned absently. “I only recalled one.”

  “Recalled?”

  “Yeah. When I wandered behind the restaurant a little while ago, a shred of memory hit me like a ton of bricks. I saw myself back there last night shoving something into that vent. When I checked it out, I saw a bomb and disarmed it — or thought I did.” Teddi glanced at the devastated pile of rubble that had been P.F. Chang’s and began crying.

  Jackson crouched beside her and enveloped her quivering form in his arms.

  “I’m responsible for that, aren’t I?” she cried.

  “No, Teddi, you weren’t yourself when you planted those bombs. Our mysterious Voodoo Man’s responsible,” he said soothingly, as he stared at the smoking rubble. Voodoo Man was also no doubt behind the warrant for Teddi’s arrest for the murder of FBI Agent Lance Robinson. The bastard knew there was more than one way to skin a cat. Since his previous schemes hadn’t eliminated Teddi, he’d obviously decided to let the cops do his dirty work. By the time the lawyers, judge, and jury finally sorted the facts from the red herrings in Teddi’s case, Voodoo Man would’ve completed his ritual and been what? Untouchable? Invulnerable? Jackson shivered.

  “I want to arrest that fucker more than ever now,” Teddi sobbed.

  “We will,” he vowed, but first he needed to get her away from there before the cops arrived and busted her.

  “What I’d really like to do . . .” She paused to dry her eyes and blow her nose.

  Jackson helped her to her feet. “Yes?” he asked softly.

  “I’d really like to . . . to feed the bastard to the sea monster and fuck the arrest!”

  “Get off me, you big oaf!” Jilly Newton groaned with an airless voice. During the explosion, Dex had landed atop her and was crushing her lungs.

  Dex rolled off and, with considerable effort, managed to sit. After Jilly caught her breath, she noticed that there were blood blotches staining the back of his shirt. Her furious frown dissolved to forgiving concern.

  “Sheriff, you’re bleeding,” she exclaimed, and scooted beside him. “Let me see.”

  “I took a few brick chips is all,” he said, making light of his injury. The truth was, they stung like a son-of-a-bitch, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Miss Snooty.

  “Now just hush and let me take a peek,” she instructed, and yanked up his untucked shirttail. She’d seen worse, but his back was peppered with deep, raw wounds. “We need to get you to a doctor.”

  Dex grimaced. He didn’t much like doctors, and now Fossil Woman was suggesting that he see one for the third time this month. Just who did she think she was, anyway? His bleepin’ mother, rest her soul?

  John Redfeather joined them. “Hey, Dex, you okay?”

  Before Dex could reply, his cell phone rang. His wounds complained and stiffly prevented him from reaching around for it.

  “Could you get that, John? I’m in a bit of a bind here,” Dex requested sheepishly.

  John glanced at Dex’s bleeding back and swallowed back breakfast. “Sure, Dex.” He slipped the cell phone out of the leather belt clip. “Yeah.”

  “Dex?”

  John recognized Jackson’s voice. “Hi, Jackson. It’s John.”

  “Where’s Dex?”

  “He’s sitting right here, but he’s got some nasty-looking wounds on his back.”

  “Listen, John, we don’t have time to chat. Get Dex into his car now and drive around back. Teddi and I will meet you. Step on it!”

  John slipped the cell into his pocket. “It was Jackson. He says we gotta move now, folks.”

  Jilly and John lifted Dex to his feet.

  “What’s the damn hurry?” Dex complained.

  “Jackson didn’t say, but he was adamant about the fast part.”

  “Sounds just like Jackson.” Dex frowned, but his eyes smiled. “Always in a friggin’ rush. I guess we’d better git a move on.”

  “I’m going with you,” Jilly stated firmly.

  “But . . .” Dex started to object.

  “No but’s, Sheriff. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I don’t see much action locked away inside the campus labs.”

  “But you don’t how dangerous this could be,” Dex told her.

  John arched his brows. “Hey, just how dangerous is it, Dex? I didn’t sign on for stuff like exploding restaurants.” He folded Dex and eased him into the patrol car.

  Sirens sang in the distance.

  “I’ll fill you in after we pick up Jackson and Teddi.”

  “That’s a cop-out, Dex.”

  Dex grinned. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  They all gathered in Teddi’s motel room. She and Jilly attended to Dex’s wounds with the first aid kit John found in the patrol car trunk. Jackson phoned Charlie Simmons from the balcony where Dex’s yelps couldn’t be heard, but Charlie was in a White House meeting with President Hanover. Jackson asked his secretary to have Charlie return his call as soon as possible. It was an emergency.

  Afterward, Teddi and Jilly ordered the men up to Jackson’s room so they could freshen up. An hour later, the two women entered Jackson’s room. Teddi appeared revitalized.

  “So, what happens next?” John asked apprehensively.

  “We see if Dr. Newton can shed some light on that monster of ours,” Dex replied.

  “Please, Sheriff, call me Jilly,” she said kindly.

  “And make mine Dex,” he responded, befuddled by her affable tone.

  “I will.” Jilly retrieved John’s photos from her scuffed black leather briefcase. “I studied these cave drawings and did some research on the creature, and I came to an undeniable conclusion. The animal depicted on the cave wall i
s a mosasaur.”

  “A what?” Jackson queried.

  “A prehistoric lepidosaur that lived during the Cretaceous Period and dominated the oceans during Upper Cretaceous Period.”

  Dex regarded Jilly quizzically and held out his hands. “Whoa, hold on a minute there! I didn’t understand a blamed word you said.”

  “Sorry. I sometimes forget to break information into layman’s terms.” She hesitated. “Try this on for size, folks. The mosasaur was the unchallenged ruler of the oceans back then. You might say it was . . . the Tyrannosaurus rex of the seas.”

  Chapter 68

  The school of tarpon, swimming forty miles south of Pascagoula, Mississippi, surfaced frequently. Their huge silver scales dully reflected the pinkish-gray dawn light, as they noisily frolicked and gulped air into their swim bladders. They, too, skirted their usual feeding grounds contaminated by the red tide. The tarpons were forced to venture out into deeper and more dangerous waters.

  They were mostly adults, since the majority of their young had perished from starvation and the toxic red tide. These adult survivors desperately sought a cache of untainted small fish and crabs, but the water was still too deep. Their destination was the cleaner and more well-stocked Louisiana coastline.

  None of the physically weakened tarpons spotted the massive hammerhead shark cruising just below the surface fifty yards behind them. The predator was also famished and had been stalking them for an hour, gradually moving closer to attack range. It didn’t want to scatter them by closing too soon.

  The freakish-looking shark was named for its extraordinary mallet-shaped head; an eye was centered at each end. They were swift, active predators that maneuvered easily, making them efficient hunters. This rogue hunter was nineteen feet long and the unchallenged neighborhood bully in this part of the Gulf for many years.

  When the tarpons surfaced again, the shark closed to within fifteen yards. The perfect attack distance. It was time.

  The hammerhead surged forward while its targets rolled and splashed on the surface. But, in its haste to feed, it didn’t sense a larger, fiercer predator lurking in the depths below the tarpons.