by Tim Sullivan
He was at Sabrina's house in three and a half minutes, leaping out of the ZX without bothering to open the door. every light in the house was on. Sabrina's car was in the carport.
Jack didn't bother to knock. If the door was locked, he would break it down. But there was no need for force; the knob turned easily in his big hand.
Jack had only been in Sabrina's house once before. She had moved in just two weeks ago. It was a single-story dwelling with a tiled roof, typical of the subtropical suburbs of South Florida. He was pretty sure he knew the layout. This was the living room he was standing in. The kitchen adjoined it, and there was a dining room on the other side of the wall, opening into the living room. Ring-around-a-rosy. If the intruder had a gun, Jack could dive into the kitchen. And then he would have his choice of which door to go for. It was better than no chance at all. If the guy had no gun—well, Jack might feel sorry for him later, might even send him a fruit basket in the hospital.
Spreading his feet wide apart, Jack lowered his shoulders while keeping his head up. He almost took a three-point stance, but then he remembered that this was no game.
Silent as a cat, he sprang into the kitchen.
Nobody there.
Jack pressed himself against the kitchen cabinets, trying to make as small a target as possible. The air conditioner was on, but he was sweating badly in spite of it.
Moving so low to the floor that his chest almost brushed the rug, Jack went into the dining room. It too was empty.
The china cabinet was open, as if someone had been looking inside it and forgotten to close it when he heard the front door open.
Maybe the intruder was gone, scared off.
And then again, maybe not. Jack would just have to find out the hard way.
There were three rooms left: the master bedroom, the guest room, and the den. The den was closest. Swiftly and silently, Jack entered it.
The den was a mess. Drawers hung out of the desk, papers were scatterd all over the floor, and the swivel chair was overturned. Somebody was looking for something—and he wanted it very badly.
Jack edged along the wall, out into the hallway. He glanced into the guest room, the only room without a light on. It was untouched, as far as he could see in the long shard of light thrown by a dining room lamp.
His heart pounding, Jack inched toward Sabrina's bedroom. If the intruder was still in the house, he had to be in here. There just wasn't anyplace else to look.
Jack wanted to be invisible, to still his breathing and his heartbeat so that the intruder would never see him, hear him, or even smell him. He could still turn away, go back out into the warm Florida night, and get in his car. He could go back to the hotel and call the police.
He could do a lot of things, but he wasn't built that way.
Jack jumped into the room.
A man stood there in Sabrina's ransacked bedroom. He stood about six feet and was thirty-five to forty years old. He wore a leather jacket. His hair was thin, and he was broad shouldered. His face had a nasty expression, as if the guy was pleased he'd been caught.
"Hello, sailor," the intruder said.
Jack was just about to tear him apart when he felt something cold touch his head behind the right ear. He knew what it was, even though he couldn't see it.
"Smile," said a voice from behind him.
Jack grimaced.
"Now, you're probably wondering what we're doing here," the man in the leather jacket said.
"I know what you're doing here, scumbag," Jack said through gritted teeth.
"Do you? What are we doing here, then?"
"You're robbing my fiancee's apartment."
"Use your head, jocko," the man snapped. "Do you see any missing stereos, silverware, jewelry? Anything like that?"
It was true. "Then, why are you tearing the place apart?"
"Looking for clues, big boy. Just like in a mystery."
"Clues?" Jack said, his spirits sinking. "Clues to what?"
"To where your girlfriend has been taken by the Visitors."
Chapter 7
Jack mulled over what he'd been told. "How do I know you're being straight with me?" he asked. "I mean, with this guy holding a gun to my head."
"Put it down, Chris. Just to show the man we can be reasonable."
The icy metal was gone, and Jack heard the click of the pistol's safety. Knowing that he'd never have another chance like this, he swung around, lowering his body at the same time. He threw a cross-body block on the gunman, sending him smashing into a table. A lamp, makeup, and a box of Kleenex scattered, and Sabrina's big oval mirror shattered into a thousand pieces.
The guy was big, and he went down hard. He still had some fight in him, but three quick punches put him on the floor for the rest of the fight.
Jack turned his attention to the man in the leather jacket.
"Wait a minute, friend," the man was saying, his wise-ass expression gone now. He waved one hand expressively while he talked. "We're trying to help you. Let's not be hasty."
Jack didn't listen to him, and he didn't watch the gesturing hand. He saw the other hand go inside the jacket, and that was all he needed.
He was on the guy in an instant. The first right hook probably would have done the job, but Jack gave him four more as he started to sag toward the floor.
The guy landed on the overturned mattress, bounced once, and was still.
Breathing heavily from his exertions, Jack took their guns. He went into the kitchen and removed the ice-making tray from the refrigerator. He went back into the bedroom and dropped ice cubes on them until they began to stir.
"All ready to visit the city jail?" he asked as the gunman rubbed his jaw. He turned and poked the other one with his shoe. "How about you, joker?"
"They won't hold us in jail," Leather Jacket said, sitting up on the floor.
"Want to bet?" But in spite of the advantage he had gained, Jack knew this was no ordinary burglary. He waited for them to explain themselves before going to the phone. After all, he had the guns now. There was no need to hurry. "Tell me why they won't hold you."
"We're CIA. My name is Ham tyler. This is my partner, Chris."
"Ham Tyler. Where have I heard that name before? And what was that bit about Visitors taking Sabrina?"
"You heard it right," Ham Tyler said, delicately fingering a bruise on his cheek.
"The Visitors are gone, Tyler."
"Not all of them."
"Come on. They were driven off the planet by the Red Dust. They come back and they die."
"Listen, my hard-hitting friend. Has it ever occurred to you that a technology eight hundred years ahead of our own might be able to come up with an antidote?"
Jack said nothing. He had thought of it, and there had been a lot of talk about that possibility in the weeks following the Visitors' departure. Now there was little speculation on the subject. It was almost as if there had never been an invasion at all. The complacency that had so quickly set in was a little bit frightening, now that he thought about it.
"I can see that you have considered it." Tyler got slowly and shakily to his feet. "I'm here to tell you that those lizards have done more than just consider it. They've done it."
"Ham Tyler." Now Jack remembered where he'd seen this guy. "You were with Donovan and Julie Parrish, weren't you? I saw you on television."
"Yeah, not a good thing for a CIA man to be seen on the six o'clock news. Makes covert operations a little more difficult. Thanks for changing my face a little."
Ham helped Chris up. "Who do you work for, man?" Chris asked, his three hundred pounds nearly putting Ham back on the floor.
"Don't you recognize him?" Ham said. "He's a flanker for the Dolphins—Jack Stern."
"No kidding?"
"No kidding," Jack said.
"Well, since you're a football fan, Ham, maybe I won't turn you in."
"Thanks. We'll mention it to your girl friend when we find her."
"You have some ide
a where she might be?" Jack asked.
"Maybe."
Jack didn't have to think it over. He had no other lead as to Sabrina's whereabouts. "I'm going with you."
"Huh?" Chris still looked a little groggy. "No, man. Me and Ham work better on our own."
"I said I'm going with you." Jack hefted the .45 automatic in one hand and the Walther in the other. "You aren't in any position to argue at the moment."
"Man's got a point," Ham said, picking up a shard of glass with which to examine the damage Jack had done to his face.
"That doesn't cut any ice with me," Chris said.
"Take it easy," Ham told him, dropping the glass sliver on the floor. "Mr. Stern might come in handy."
Chris appraised Jack with one raised eyebrow. "You think so?"
"I think so," Ham said.
It was easy to see who the boss was.
"Don't worry about this mess," Ham said. "We'll clean it up alter we get back."
The three of them started toward the front door. As they passed the china closet, Jack asked, "Why did you look in there?"
"Why not?" Ham said. "It seemed as good a place as any to start."
They went out under the stars, ready to begin their search.
Chapter 8
Blue light spun around and around Billy, and he felt a terrible throbbing, as if his head were swelling to twice its normal size. Was he having a nightmare?
Crackling, sizzling noises filled the air around him. And there was a smell that reminded him of thunderstorms. And those yellow eyes were watching him ... watching him ... watching him....
And it hurt. God, how it hurt. Why were they doing this to him? He'd never harmed them.
He'd never harmed anyone but himself. And still the terrible blue light spun around him endlessly. How long had it been, now? Where was he?
At the bottom of a swamp.
They were watching him through their cold, reptilian eyes. The 'gators. The ripple on the water's surface was above him now, not next to his canoe.
He was in the 'gators' world now.
How could he breathe here? How could they keep him alive underwater? And why?
They said 'gators liked to let their meat rot before they ate it. Maybe that's what they were doing to him—waiting for him to rot before they ate him.
No! He was still alive. As long as he was alive, they couldn't have him. He would fight the 'gators. He wouldn't let himself down as he had done before, back among those reptiles at the university.
He had felt their cold stare. They came from a different world than his—a world of privilege, a world full of people who always got their way. Reptiles. Billy felt as though they would eat him up, always so polite, always knowing just what to say and when to say it, always acting so understanding toward the Indian boy, the affirmative-action, token Seminole in the classroom, like a goldfish in a bowl.
He had never been so alone in the Everglades, even while drifting miles from the reservation among the herons and the cranes. Never so alone....
"I am your friend," a strange, grating voice said from somewhere beyond the flickering blue beam that danced around him here in his fish tank.
"Did you hear me? I said I am your friend."
"I heard you."
"Do you believe I am your friend?"
"No."
A searing pain shot through Billy, beginning at his toes and traveling all the way to his head. He thought his skull would explode. His body shook as if ten thousand volts were passing through him.
"Once you clearly understand that I am your friend, then the pain will stop," the voice said.
"No," Billy moaned.
"Those who have hurt you in the past are responsible for the pain you suffer now," the voice went on. "These are not your people. You owe them nothing. Look how much they hurt you, Billy."
A jolt of pain shook him; it was much worse than anything he had ever felt in his entire life. They were trying to kill him, but who were they? Was it the 'gators? Or was it something else?
"You think of them as your own people," the voice said, "while they put you through this. You fool. I want to help you."
"No. You are hurting me, not them."
"Not me, Billy. Them."
A monstrous surge of pain coursed through Billy. He would have fallen to the floor, but something held him up. Something he couldn't see.
His father, Paul, held him by one hand. His mother held him by the other. He looked up at them, and they smiled, white teeth showing in their brown faces.
Ahead of them, Johnny walked, calling for them to catch up with him. Billy would be just like him when he got bigger, he hoped.
His dad let go of his hand. His father was wearing a uniform. He had to go back. To Vietnam.
To die.
And his mother cried. She cried every day and every night for a long time. And then she got sick. They said it was cancer.
And she went away too. To a hospital. She got weaker and weaker, and then she died, just like Paul.
And John and Billy were alone.
Alone.
"You will not be alone anymore," the voice said. "For I am your friend."
Maybe it was true. He was alone now. He no longer had Johnny. He had been taken away from Johnny—and from Marie.
Another cycle of terrible pain shook him to his very soul. But still he hung on to the train of thought that the pain was intended to wipe out. Marie.
She loved him, and he had been taken from her—and from John.
And the one who said he was his friend was the one who had taken him from his loved ones and brought him here to torment him.
"Liar!" Billy screamed. "You're not my friend! You're my enemy!"
Cycle after cycle of increasing pain followed. Billy knew they were going to kill him, but he didn't care. He would not allow them to take his mind.
The waves of pain were so intense now that he could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing but the agony that stiffened and vibrated his body.
And then the cycles began to decline somewhat. At first he thought he was dying, but the pain shrank down to nothing but exhaustion, and the blue beam spun around him slower and slower until there was no light at all.
Billy fell backward. He hit his head, but it didn't hurt. He was still in the aqueous, transparent chamber, but it had become dark and silent.
He heard footsteps somewhere; they were coming toward him. He tried to open his eyes, but he could only manage it for a second or two.
There were lizard men all around him. They were all dressed in red uniforms except for one, who was all in white.
"This one is strong," the lizard in white said, flicking his forked tongue. "He may be just the one we've been searching for. Take him to the laboratory."
Billy felt claws on his limbs; they picked him up and carried him out of the fish tank. The 'gators still had him, but they had not yet broken him.
He wondered groggily what they would do with him next. Could they have something even worse in store for him? He was spared thinking about the possibilities as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Chapter 9
"We don't want an air boat," Ham said. "Too noisy and too conspicuous. We want something quiet, like a canoe. Good enough for the Seminoles, good enough for us."
"What if we have to get out fast?" Chris asked.
"Then we scatter and hide in the swamp. They'd be able to track an air boat easily, but three men on foot will be a lot more difficult."
"Look," Jack said as he poured himself a cup of coffee, "how do we know they've taken Sabrina into the Everglades?"
"We don't. Not for sure. But we do know a woman was picked up by a chopper on Friday at Lantana airport. The tower report says they headed due west out into the 'glades.".
Jack nodded. It was by far the most substantial lead they had had up to now. He could have knocked himself out from now till doomsday and never come up with anything else. He'd always wondered if what they said about the CIA wa
s true. Apparently it was. It was going to be interesting working with these two guys. Despite what had happened last night, Jack was beginning to gain some respect for them.
"Stern, you're absolutely certain you want to go along on this mission?" Ham Tyler said.
"Of course I do. I'm going to marry Sabrina. Do you think I'm just going to let a bunch of lizards have her without putting up a fight?"
"Whoa, Lone Ranger." Ham put up his hand. "It's one thing to be gung ho on the football field. But these lizards aren't playing a game. They shoot to kill. And if they don't kill you, what they do with you after they catch you could be worse than dying."
A fate worse than death, huh?" Jack said. "You think Sabrina is going to be raped by a lizard?"
Stranger things have happened," Ham said. "Let's hope they just want her scientific knowledge."
Jack was surprised to hear something that sounded like concern coming out of the mouth of the usually cynical Ham. He had known a lot of tough guys, both on the playing field and in the service; they often weren't so bad once they got used to you. Ham struck him as a man who had started out with a desire to help his country, who had somehow become so involved in the intricacies of his career that he had almost lost sight of human values. His career frequently involved killing people, after all, and that would make the best of men, and women, a little grim.
"Okay, let's get some rest. Wake-up call at six," Chris said.
"Can't we get started now?" Jack asked.
"Don't be a wise guy," Chris said, mimicking Curly of the Three Stooges so perfectly that Jack couldn't help laughing. Ham laughed too, and so did Chris. They laughed at the way they were laughing, and then they laughed at that. Jack laughed so hard his eyes watered, and it felt good. He lay down on the hotel bed, realizing that he hadn't cracked a smile for days before this.
"All right," Ham said, following Chris's bulk through the door, "we'll see you in the morning, Stern. Don't get lost."
"Right."
A moment later they were gone. Jack lay on the bed, restive, eager to go after the lizards who had taken Sabrina. He knew he should get some sleep, and he turned out the lights and shut his eyes.