In his line of work, a man made enemies.
If Dr. Catalyst had discovered that he’d interfered with his plans in some way, he would have certainly acted.
Sitting up, he slid to the edge of the cot and tried to think. Every day he sat silent in the cell, straining to concentrate on his environment, desperate to determine where he was. There were no windows he could see out of, or sounds nearby to give any sense of a possible location. Dr. Catalyst was wealthy beyond belief, and could have any number of hideouts prepared for just such a situation.
Dr. Newton stared up at the webcam positioned outside the bars, just out of reach. He was being monitored, which made an escape attempt more difficult. Besides, the cell was impossible to break out of. The bars were in solid metal frames and bolted to the floor. His pockets were empty. There was nothing useful inside the enclosure. No way to get out.
It was safe to assume he’d been reported missing by now. Not showing up for school would have raised an alarm. Eventually his house would be searched and they would find the signs of a struggle he barely remembered.
He lay back down on the cot. There was nothing else to do.
Except wait for someone to find him.
“I DON’T THINK WE NEED TO INVOLVE RILEY AND Raeburn,” Calvin said.
They were in Calvin’s tree house, which had become their unofficial hangout. About twenty feet off the ground, it was accessible by climbing up the tree and entering through a hinged opening in the floor. About the only thing Emmet didn’t like about it was leaving Apollo on the ground. They hadn’t yet figured out a way to safely get Apollo up there with them.
“Why not?” Emmet asked. “They’re smart. And Raeburn knows a lot about bats. And by now I bet she’s learned everything there is to know about hornets.”
Emmet sat gingerly on one of the beanbags. He’d spent three days in the hospital, until doctors were sure he was going to be okay. Except he was going to need more rabies shots for about a zillion days or so, it seemed.
“You still look pretty beat-up,” Calvin said.
“I am pretty beat-up,” Emmet said. “I got attacked by bat-a-hornets!”
“Blood Jackets,” Calvin replied.
“Don’t change the subject. You want Dr. Catalyst stopped, don’t you?”
Calvin hesitated a moment. “Yes.”
“But?”
“I’ve known you for what? A few months now? You’re not like other people. This guy is really dangerous. I get that you wanted to save your dad and Apollo and all, but you’ll go charging after him. I have enough to do just trying to keep you from getting injured … or worse. I can’t keep my eye on everyone.”
Emmet knew this was partly true and partly false. Calvin was cool in a crisis — charging at a Pterogator or breaking into an abandoned amusement park. But the real reason he was protesting is that being around Riley made him nervous.
“Being around Riley makes you nervous,” said Emmet.
“No, it doesn’t!” Calvin protested.
“Yes, it does. And you’re not responsible for everyone’s safety. But, regardless, we need all hands on deck. We don’t need Riley and Raeburn to go anywhere dangerous, but we could use all the brains we can get. Besides, I think Riley and Raeburn can take care of themselves.” Emmet shuddered, remembering a few weeks ago when they were attacked by the Muraecudas in the ocean, and how Raeburn used her snorkel like a weapon to get the giant beast to release its grip on Stuke. She was pretty fearless.
Calvin sighed. By now he must have learned it was useless to argue with Emmet.
“Do you ever wonder … ?” Calvin said.
“Yes. I wonder all the time. Can you be more specific?” Emmet asked.
“How Dr. Catalyst is always a step ahead of us? When he took your dad from the swamp, he had to know where your dad was going. I mean, what are the chances he’d just show up where your dad was? And at the beach with Stuke, he sets those things loose right where we were. And even when he took Apollo … I suppose he could have been waiting in the canal, but how did he know for sure you were even going to be home? It’s like he always knows where we’re going to be.”
Emmet considered this a moment.
“Do you think he’s having us followed?”
“Maybe,” Calvin said. “But that would take a lot of planning and manpower. He’d need more than just himself.”
“He has Dr. Newton. If Dr. Newton isn’t really Dr. Catalyst, maybe he’s an accomplice. And that’s how he keeps track of us at school.”
“I don’t think so,” Calvin said. “If the Newt is Dr. Catalyst, then he just took himself out of the equation. If he was keeping an eye on us, why would he pretend to be kidnapped?”
“He knew we were closing in. And so he faked another crime, like he faked his death in the Everglades. Which, I would like to point out, no one believed me about, and I turned out to be right. Again.”
“Yeah, we know. But I still don’t think he’s following us,” Calvin said. He stood up and started pacing.
“Why?”
“Because when we showed up in the swamp to rescue your dad, and at Undersea Land to save Apollo, he was surprised. We set off alarms, and he came running. But he didn’t know we were coming. If he did, he would have just taken off or moved them to another location. We surprised him then, but he knew where we were those other times. Either he has someone on the inside, or …” Calvin let the words trail off.
“Bugs!” They both said at the same time.
“He’s got listening or tracking devices planted, probably on our parents’ cars, and at the NPS headquarters. Maybe even in our houses!” Emmet said.
Calvin nodded grimly.
“Could he have done that? Bugged the park headquarters?” Emmet asked.
“It’s a federal facility, and it has security and all that, but it’s not like the CIA or the Pentagon. If you were determined enough, you could probably wire it for sound, at least. There isn’t anything top secret going on there, so they don’t have any reason to suspect that stuff. From what we’ve seen, he has the resources,” Calvin said.
“So,” Emmet said, smiling, momentarily forgetting about his painfully swollen face and his impending rabies shots. “This is how we’re going to catch him!”
When their parents arrived at Calvin’s house, they told them their theory.
THE NUMBER OF LOCATIONS DR. CATALYST COULD SAFELY operate from were rapidly dwindling. Now he took refuge in a long-abandoned motel along US Highway 1, south of Florida City. It was not ideal — he needed laboratory facilities — but it was on a deserted stretch of road, had power, and offered temporary shelter.
While pondering his next move, Dr. Catalyst poured over the calculations and simulation results for his next project. Part of his genius was his ability to turn his mind loose on several problems at once. So far, his calculations looked to be accurate.
On his tablet, he scrolled through his various Internet feeds. The idiot Newton was still sleeping on his cot. The man had nearly ruined everything. It had only been by luck that Dr. Catalyst stopped him before …
What was this? Dr. Catalyst expanded a window on his tablet. His feed to the NPS headquarters showed Dr. Geaux and Dr. Doyle examining the body of the Pterogator they had found in the park months ago. The discovery that had set all of these events in motion. What could they be looking for at this late date? He pulled up the audio.
“What are you looking for?” Dr. Geaux asked.
“It’s … I’ll know it when I find it,” Dr. Doyle said as he removed a small tissue sample from the body. “As an abstract theory, it’s understandable how he could recombine the DNA of alligators and birds — they’re evolutionary relatives. Sharks, eels, and fish are also similar genetically, evolving from the same family. But bats and hornets? That’s gene splicing and recombination at a level far beyond anything we’ve ever seen.”
Dr. Catalyst laughed out loud as he watched. Of course it was. He was a genius, after all.
>
“Then I started thinking,” Dr. Doyle said as he removed another sample from the corpse and placed it in a petri dish. “Once he created his first hybrid Pterogators, he cloned them to accelerate their numbers. Originally they all descended from a single ‘copy.’ But somehow, somewhere in the process, the Pterogators mutated and are now reproducing. There have been some new studies that suggest that all DNA carries the genetic coding for both male and female of a species. Way back when only bacteria existed on the planet, some biologists theorize that single-celled bacteria was absorbed by other bacteria. Eventually, evolution created males and females. But there is some evidence to suggest the base pairs for both sexes exist in certain chromosomes.”
“I have no idea what you just said,” Dr. Geaux joked.
Dr. Doyle laughed.
“My guess is a mutation in the gene sequence occurred somewhere. No species is ever static. People think evolution takes thousands, if not millions, of years, and it certainly can. But you can also see dramatic differences in some species in just a few generations. DNA is so complex. One little thing — the corruption of a single enzyme on a single chromosome — can set off a chain reaction. Then your clone is no longer a carbon copy of the original. Then it passes on those traits to the next clone, and if there’s another corruption, it starts another cascade of changes within the genetic code.”
“What a fool,” Dr. Catalyst said out loud to the empty room. Although part of him wondered if the moron Doyle might have accidentally stumbled onto something. Hammer was his very first successful living hybrid. Nails had simply been a clone. And then he had cloned dozens more from there. The Pterogators should not have been able to reproduce. But they were. Something had happened. Even a scientist as inferior as Doyle the Dunce could luck into an explanation. Possibly.
“Are you thinking the amino acids?” Dr. Geaux asked.
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Dr. Doyle answered. “That’s where the building blocks of life begin. Just to gestate the eggs for these Pterogators you’d need numerous highly specialized chemicals and specific amino-acid transporters. If we can identify the unique components he used, we can look for where a person might have acquired the ingredients. It’s not like you can pick up cloning supplies at a drugstore.”
“And we can trace him that way, maybe find out who this loon is,” Dr. Geaux said.
“Exactly. But we don’t have the equipment we need here. I talked to a pathologist at the state crime lab in Miami. When we transfer the corpse there, we might be able to determine —”
“I already put the authorization through,” Dr. Geaux said. “That is really good thinking, Ben. I knew asking you to come here was a good idea.”
They stopped a moment to smile at each other. “I’m glad you did,” Dr. Doyle said.
“Oh, good grief,” Dr. Catalyst muttered as he watched the image on his screen.
Dr. Doyle took a body bag and unzipped it next to the dead Pterogator. Dr. Geaux helped him fit the creature inside and close it up.
“Let’s get it in my truck,” Dr. Doyle said. “The pathologist is going to meet me there. I’ve got to pick up Emmet, and then —”
“Why don’t you go on? I’ll get the boys and take them to my house. The sooner we can get this guy behind bars, the better. This might be the break we need.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” he asked.
“Not at all. Emmet is an absolute joy,” she said.
Dr. Catalyst wanted to throw up. If by “joy,” she meant an annoying, precocious little snot, then yes, Emmet Doyle was a joy. He watched as they hefted the creature off the table and left the room.
He stood up, rapidly pacing back and forth. Ever since the beginning, he’d wanted to recover the Pterogator corpse. It would give him valuable insight on his research, and perhaps allow him to discover why the creature had died. And what was happening to the Pterogators in the swamp.
If he moved quickly, he could intercept that fool Doyle and reclaim his property.
But there was something he would need to retrieve from one of his storage units first.
“DO YOU THINK HE BOUGHT IT?” EMMET ASKED.
“There’s no reason to think he wouldn’t,” Dr. Geaux said. “He has no idea we discovered his surveillance. We had the FBI sweep the parking lots and outside the buildings. They didn’t find anything aside from the camera in the lab and two audio feeds in the main office.”
“He’s just … Wouldn’t he think it would be uncovered eventually? He’s always thinking ahead,” Emmet said.
Emmet considered himself the world’s foremost Dr. Catalyst expert. From the time he and Calvin had rescued his father, Emmet understood Dr. Catalyst had an elaborate plan in place. Twice now they had stopped him, and yet he kept going, creating more creatures, endangering more people.
“It’s possible. We’re dealing with someone who is smart, crazy, and determined, and that’s always a bad combination,” she said.
They were driving in one of the task force SUVs along US 1 toward Miami. A few miles ahead, a member of the task force drove Dr. Doyle’s truck. After Dr. Geaux and his dad had carried the Pterogator outside the lab, they switched up. An agent dressed in identical clothing to what his dad was wearing drove off in the truck, with a body bag stuffed full of rocks and newspapers in the back. The truck had four undercover cars trailing it, two in front, and a helicopter watching from high in the air. The state lab in Miami was also filled with agents and cops, ready for whatever might happen.
The SUV their group drove was a super-tricked-out law-enforcement vehicle. From their rear seats, Emmet and Calvin could watch the video feed from the helicopter on monitors that flipped down from the ceiling.
“Why would he care about getting back his Pterogator corpse enough to carjack my fake dad?” Emmet asked.
“We don’t know that he will,” Dr. Doyle answered. “But my guess has always been that we have his first viable Pterogator or one of his very early clones. I think, as a scientist, he’s burning to get it back, and to know what happened to it. And if he thinks there’s even the remotest possibility we could trace him through the amino-acid compounds he used, he’d try to prevent us from testing the corpse.”
As head of the task force, Dr. Geaux was letting the professionals tail Dr. Doyle’s truck. When Emmet heard about the plan, he insisted that he and Calvin be allowed to be there when Dr. Catalyst was arrested. Dr. Geaux, of course, refused. In the ensuing argument, Emmet had played every sympathy card he possessed, including pouting with his swollen face, until Dr. Geaux finally agreed. They would trail several miles behind the agent driving his dad’s pickup, but once Dr. Catalyst was arrested, Emmet could have his moment. So he and Calvin sat in the back, glued to the monitors, while Dr. Doyle rode shotgun.
The screen showed his dad’s truck driving along a stretch of road that was surrounded by swamp on both sides. Even the ground in Florida is water, Emmet thought. Or watery. Or a sponge. Whatever, he didn’t like it. Ground should be solid.
A lot of police lingo came over the monitor as the officers and agents communicated with one another. The upshot of all the “Copy thats,” and “10-4s,” and “No suspect sighteds” was that so far no one had spotted anything suspicious.
Emmet couldn’t stand the tension. Every time a voice came over the radio, he leaned forward in the seat, staring at the monitor.
“Dude, you need to relax,” Calvin said.
“I’ll relax when he’s enrolled at Convict College,” Emmet said.
“Where?” Calvin asked.
Emmet shrugged. “Jail. I watched a prison documentary on TV the other night.”
Calvin sighed.
The radio crackled with static, then a voice spoke up that Emmet recognized. It was Stuke’s dad. He was a Florida City cop and had joined the task force after Stuke was attacked by the Muraecudas. He was probably the one person who wanted Dr. Catalyst caught as much as Emmet did.
“Unit one, I’ve
got eyes on a gray, late-model Pontiac sedan. It’s been following the truck for the past six miles, over.”
“Copy that, unit two. Can you ID a driver?”
“Negative, unit one, tinted windows,” Stuke’s dad answered. “Bring up unit three to my position, I’m pulling off at the next exit, then I’ll move to the back of the line. Keep rotating. Everyone stay calm. If it is him, we don’t want to spook him. Chopper one, do you have him?”
“Copy that, unit two,” the pilot answered.
The camera from the helicopter pulled back, and they could now see the tiny image of the pickup driving down the road. About a quarter of a mile behind it was the gray sedan. Emmet couldn’t tell which of the other vehicles was being driven by the undercover cops.
He sat up even straighter in the seat now, as did Calvin. There was tense, unbearable silence on the radio for several seconds.
“Unit one, this is unit three. Sedan is accelerating. It’s closing on the truck.”
Emmet clinched his fists.
“Unit one, this is chopper one. It’s two car lengths back. Unit three, move to intercept.” Emmet marveled at how calm they remained on the radio.
“Negative, unit three, negative. They could be passing. Hold …”
“All units! All units! This is unit three, gray sedan just rammed the truck. All units converge! All units conver — Whoa!”
Emmet watched everything unfold like it was in slow motion. The gray sedan shot forward and rammed the rear end of the pickup. The driver of the pickup fought for control, swerving slightly to the right. At that point, the gray sedan pulled out and sped forward alongside the truck, turning in an attempt to push the pickup off the road. But the truck hit the brakes just enough so that the sedan traveled too far forward and was now being pushed along by the pickup.
The gray car turned sideways, its tires digging into the pavement, and it suddenly flipped several times, riding up along the guardrail at the side of the road and then tumbling over it into the swamp.
Out for Blood Page 3