by Jon Land
For a moment the only break in the hotel room’s silence was the rattle of the air-conditioning system. Then Natalya spoke tautly.
“Did you ever think this life wasn’t right for you? Did you ever question your choice?”
“Once,” Blaine replied without hesitation. “It was when I was going out with T.C. She took me into her world and for a time the simplicity of it enchanted me. She was just getting ready to graduate Brown and we went to a party there. That was ’82, ’83 maybe. To make a long story short, I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my life than I was around her friends. Age was part of it, but mostly I realized the real world was as foreign to me as mine would have been to them. I just didn’t belong. I belonged out here. I had come to see the people I dealt with in the field as normal. At least to me. I didn’t fit anywhere else, and I saw that.”
“But it was the woman who broke the relationship off.”
McCracken looked stung. “Is my file that complete?”
“It was in your eyes. And your tone. All this is still about guilt, isn’t it? You think it’s your fault she died, and you’ll do anything to avenge her.”
“That’s the way it started,” Blaine conceded. “But I don’t really give a shit about Raskowski anymore. It all comes back to the world I’ve chosen to exist in. If Raskowski is successful with his death-ray plot, then the door will be opened to more like him. The best way I can avenge T.C. is to stop that from happening.”
“It seems we have both stopped fooling ourselves recently,” Natalya said and proceeded to tell the story of her father. “It was only recently,” she said at the end, “that I realized there will be no freedom for him. I wanted to believe them for so long that I wouldn’t let myself see the truth.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Blaine soothed her. “These men are experts at turning us against ourselves. They find areas of weakness and exploit them. It’s what they do, what they are. The trick is to avoid becoming the very same thing.”
“You should have been a philosopher,” she told him, almost smiling. “Or a poet.”
“Yeah, people have been calling me a lot of names lately. Thing is I’m the same as I always was. It’s their perception of me that’s changed.”
She came closer to him, knelt on the floor, and held his knees. “I like you just fine the way you are.”
“Hmmmmmmmm … should take Wareagle quite a while to get to Washington and reach Sundowner. Think of any ways we can pass the time?”
“Plenty,” she said, closer still.
“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Captain Midnight couldn’t believe the results of his own tests.
The pinkish stones held a potential as a power source on a level approaching Atragon. It was impossible unless—
He would run more tests, cover every angle in triplicate before he contacted Sundowner. The enormity of this discovery humbled him, so he had to be sure. He could not risk error.
Captain Midnight stole a sip from his canteen and went back to work.
Ryan Sundowner arrived in his office at virtually the same time every morning. Since he was early Tuesday, he was not surprised to find his secretary had not yet arrived. Sundowner unlocked his office door and felt a slight chill as he stepped into its dismal coldness.
He saw the huge figure standing by the window an instant before he flicked on the light switch.
“Who the hell are—” Sundowner stopped when the man’s true size became clear, along with his … appearance. The man was dressed in blue jeans, work shirt, and leather vest. His hair was tied up in a ponytail and his flesh was leathery and dark. An Indian …
“It was important that I come in unannounced,” the stranger told him calmly.
Sundowner stayed near the door, wondering whether he could get out before the giant reached him. “This building’s got the best security of any in the government.”
“The eyes of your guards see only what they are permitted to, Mr. Sundowner,” Johnny Wareagle told him. “They are easily deceived by one who walks with the spirits. But don’t blame them. No harm has been done. I am simply a messenger.”
“Oh?” from Sundowner, moving further from the door, more intrigued now than frightened.
“You have a phone call to make.”
“We’ve got problems, Sundance,” Blaine said by way of greeting.
“So I gathered from your large friend here.”
“Just tell me if the replacement for Ulysses has been launched.”
“No, but how did you—”
“Tell me if I’ve got this reasonably straight. The President gets word from the Soviet General Secretary that a mad, renegade general’s death ray is deployed on board Ulysses. Of course this means the satellite has to be deactivated but not until a replacement can be launched just in case the whole scenario has been a setup for a Soviet sneak attack. Am I close?”
“On the money and I’ve got a feeling you’re not finished yet.”
“Not even close. You guys blew it, Sundance. The death ray’s on board the replacement.”
“My God … Blaine, it’s my fault, I suggested using the replacement.”
“Forget it, Sundance. If you hadn’t, someone else would have—the Fanner Boy probably. You’re only guilty of doing what was expected of you. Predicting responses seems to be Raskowski’s specialty. His first satellite went bonkers after knocking out Hope Valley, and he needed a replacement. We played right into his hands.”
Sundowner steadied himself. “No,” he insisted. “I checked out the replacement satellite myself. No way anything on the scale of a beam weapon was on board.”
“Raskowksi would have expected such precautions. He’d have planned for them.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m telling you that satellite is …”
“What, Sundance? I get nervous when people don’t finish their sentences.”
The scientist still wasn’t talking.
“Sundance?”
“He wouldn’t need to launch a death beam at all, Blaine,” Sundowner said almost too softly to hear. “All he really needs is to get a reflector up there, something non-carbon based like sodium or aluminum. Put it into orbit and fire his death beam from a generator on ground level. The beam would strike the reflector, which could be angled by computer to bounce the beam back to any area in the country. Just pick a target.”
“Could the general have gotten such a reflector on board?”
“A dozen different ways and I would have missed all of them because I wasn’t looking.”
Blaine glanced at Natalya. “And what about the generator gun, could it be placed anywhere in the world?”
“Most definitely not. It would have to be the continental United States or possibly one of the islands, Cuba for instance.”
“Wait a minute, if this is so simple, why’d the general bother with a satellite in the first place?”
“It would be more effective and easier to control, and a ground-based ray would be a hell of a lot easier to lock onto and shoot out than a satellite twenty thousand miles above the earth.”
“Back to my original question, Sundance: has it launched?”
“It’s on the pad. Six hours to liftoff.”
“Then it should achieve orbit …”
“Thirty-six hours after that. But it doesn’t matter, Blaine, because I’m going to stop the launch. I’m going straight to the President as soon as I’m finished here and lay it all out for him. He’ll understand. He has to.”
“That’s the hope, Sundance. Now put Johnny back on.”
Blaine could hear the receiver changing hands.
“Hello, Blainey,” said Wareagle.
“You’re a man of many miracles, Indian. I thought I’d asked the impossible of you this time.”
“A state of mind,” Wareagle told him, “easily overcome.”
“Of that I’m sure. Up to another journey?”
“Life is but a collection of random
journeys.”
“I’m headed for the Biminis, Indian, specifically an island with no name. We still may need the Atragon to get this over with. This nameless island is supposed to be guarded by a sea monster.”
“A new challenge for us, Blainey.”
“See you there, Indian.”
Sundowner was about to phone the White House when the call came from Captain Midnight. He signaled Wareagle to follow him.
A descent of six floors by elevator brought them to the cavernous bottom floor of the Toy Factory and the personal lab of Captain Midnight.
“You’re sure?” Sundowner demanded, moving straight for the pinkish crystals placed atop the lab table.
Captain Midnight nodded. “It’s Atragon, all right.”
Sundowner ran his fingers over one of the crystals. He glanced over at Johnny Wareagle whose stolid expression showed no sign of surprise. “Not the same consistency as the ones we got from Earnst,” said Sundowner. “Smoother, less ridges. More gemlike.”
“Some people in Colorado were probably hoping for gemstones when they sent these to the National Assayer’s Office. They sent them down here when they couldn’t identify them.”
“But you have.”
Another nod, even surer. “It’s less refined and developed but every bit as potent as Earnst’s Atragon. The lighter color seems indicative of a smaller storage capacity, but the difference so far as we’re concerned is negligible. If we still need this kind of power, the wild-goose chase is over.”
Sundowner headed for the door. “I’ll let you know in an hour.”
Ordinarily, Ryan Sundowner was a patient driver. But while driving to the White House, he couldn’t help charging through yellow lights with horn honking. He imagined himself explaining to a traffic cop that if he didn’t deliver certain information to the President fast, the entire country would be facing destruction. Probably the best excuse the cop would ever hear.
Traffic was moderate from Bethesda to the outskirts of Washington, but once in the city the snarl of vehicles seemed to stretch forever. Sundowner fought back the gnawing in his stomach, chanced a few darts through red lights, and was certain the sound of an approaching motorcycle belonged to a traffic cop about to nail him.
He had actually relaxed a bit when the sideview mirror revealed a leather-clad civilian rider with darkened visor who had pulled his bike up right alongside the car as if sifting through traffic.
The machine pistol bullets shattered the window and most of Sundowner’s brain with it. His last reflex was to jam down on the accelerator, which sent his car crashing forward, starting a chain of collisions the motorcyclist quickly left behind.
And in the backseat of a limousine far back in traffic George Kappel dialed an overseas phone number.
“Sundowner has been eliminated,” the Farmer Boy reported.
Johnny Wareagle stared intensely at the phone, willing it to ring. Sundowner’s call was now more than an hour overdue. Several explanations were possible, but Johnny considered only one.
Sundowner was dead. The scientist’s aura had felt pale, depleted, and now Wareagle understood why. The spirits had been trying to warn him men, but he had disregarded them and now the price for that would have to be paid.
The deadly satellite would be launched.
Part Four
The Dragon Fish
The Biminis: Wednesday, nine A.M.
Chapter 27
THE BIMINIS LIE FIFTY miles off the coast of southern Florida. They are composed of two major islands sandwiching many small cays little more than a quick sprint apart. The chain offers fewer pleasures than many of its sister islands in the Caribbean. But for big-game fishing it is one of the most sought after locales in the world.
The Biminis are isolated, nearly two hundred empty miles west of the major Bahaman islands. The Biminis’ only airport lies in South Bimini, which provides easy access to all manner of boats and fishing equipment, rented or sold by people totally dependent on tourism for their survival.
McCracken and Natalya had watched the sun come up Wednesday morning on board the plane that had taken them to Miami. There they boarded a small commuter flight which landed in South Bimini just after eight A.M.
“I blew up a whole island last time I was in the Caribbean,” Blaine told her when their small jet at last taxied to a halt.
“You know what they say about playing with matches.”
“Yeah, you get burned. And right now we better get out. The Dragon Fish is probably just waiting for his breakfast.”
“Shall we feed him?”
“Least we can do.”
A small cab took them from the airport to South Bimini Harbor where they planned to rent a boat and plenty of scuba equipment. Of course what they needed most of all was a concrete destination.
“Need a detailed map of the area,” Blaine told the rental shop’s proprietor.
“No problem,” the man returned, reaching into a drawer next to the cash register. He came out with one and spread it atop the counter. “I can recommend some of the best fishing areas.”
Blaine studied the map closely. “What I’m looking for seems to be missing.” And with his eyes fixed on the clerk, “Your map’s one island short.”
The man pretended not to grasp his meaning. “Just tell me exactly what kind of sport you’re out for and—”
“What kind of sport? Say a bit of exploring. My wife and I have this Star Trek fetish. We like going where no man has gone before … and lived to tell about it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
The man lowered his voice. “Fortune hunters, eh?”
“In a manner of speaking, I suppose.”
“Well, I won’t help you get killed,” the man told them, shaking his head. “And there’s my equipment to consider. I doubt you carry enough cash to put up the deposit for the stuff’s full worth and that’s what it’ll take ‘fore I send you to what you’re looking for.”
“You’ve seen the island then.”
The man hesitated. “Never close up. Few of us locals have. When I was a boy my friends and me took a sailboat out and felt brave.” The man’s black face lost its sheen. “Storm came up out of nowhere. They were lost. I got rescued.”
“See any sea monsters?”
The man’s eyes bulged. “You know what’s good for you, mister, you’ll turn around and head for home. I seen plenty like you pass through these parts chasing after legends and mysteries. What I say is some things is better left alone.” He started to fold the map back into sections.
Blaine restrained him with a grasp on his forearm. “Just point me in the right direction. I’ll get the equipment somewhere else.”
The man shook his head, half to say no and half to show his disbelief. “You wanna die that much, mister, I got a shotgun right here under the counter. Put you out of your misery real fast.”
“I’d rather let the Dragon Fish do it. That would make my vacation.”
The man regarded him strangely. “You’re different from the others. I don’t know how, but you’re different.” He tried to hold his stare into Blaine’s black eyes but looked quickly away. “You just might be a match for the Dragon Fish, but don’t expect me to help you find him. Know someone who can, though. Name of Captain Bob. You’ll find him in Alice Town, at the End of the World bar.”
“The name’s symbolic, I assume.”
“You go looking for that island, mister, and it might be more than a symbol.”
Blaine and Natalya took the hourly seaplane from South Bimini over to Alice Town and walked the brief stretch from the airfield to the End of the World bar in the center of town. They did not hesitate before entering but perhaps should have: the End of the World, even at this early morning hour, was two-thirds full with patrons, all of them locals. Many regarded the strangers with hostility as they made their way across the floor in the bartender’s direction.
“We�
�re looking for Captain Bob,” Blaine told him.
“What’d you want him for?”
“Got a job for him.”
“Captain Bob’s kind of retired.”
“Like to charter his boat.”
“It’s drydocked.”
“Just like its owner,” came a voice from the rear of the bar. Blaine turned and saw a flabby black man with a graying Afro pouring a water glass full of bourbon. “Wet docked would be a better way of putting it in my case, though.” His golfball-sized eyes, the whites creased with brownish-red streaks, turned toward the bartender. “Let the kids come over here. Maybe they’ll buy me a drink.”
McCracken slid a twenty-dollar bill across the bar. “Give me another bottle of whatever he’s drinking.”
“Cost you two of those.”
“Steep,” Blaine returned and reached into his pocket.
“You’re paying for the atmosphere.”
McCracken grasped the bottle by the neck and moved toward the old man’s booth, with Natalya right behind. Too much booze had made Captain Bob’s age indistinguishable.
“If you wanna join me, you’ll have to get your own glasses,” he greeted.
“No thanks,” said Blaine, sliding into a chair.
“What about the lady?”
“Too early in the day for me,” Natalya told him.
“Yeah,” said Captain Bob in what seemed to be the local accent, “me too. Too early in the day but too late in life to worry about it much. Suppose I know why you’re here.”
“Somebody tell you to expect us?” Blaine wondered.
“Didn’t have to. People like you come around regular enough. They heard of me somehow and, like you, they buy me a bottle. Then, like you’re going to, they leave disappointed.”
“We haven’t asked you anything yet,” said Natalya.
“Don’t have to. Questions is always the same. Usually they pulls out a map and offers me a fee to point out what they’re looking for. If I likes ’em, I just says no. If I doesn’t, I sends ’em in the wrong direction. Either way they makes out ahead ’cause they stays alive. ’Course that’s not the way they sees it. They comes here to get rich, they figures, and I’m keeping ’em from it.”