Zero Cool

by Michael Crichton

  There could be no doubt. Roughness.

  A beard.

  He tugged at the hair, and it came away in his hands to reveal close-cropped blonde hair. He smeared the makeup with his fingers, wiping it away, and plucked off the false eyelashes.

  Jackman.

  The professor’s assistant.

  When had they made the switch?

  And where was Angela?

  With a high-pitched shriek, the falcon dived again. Ross looked up, saw it coming, dropped the gun, and jumped into the pool. It was not deep, but deep enough. He hoped to hell falcons would not go into water. He stayed under, holding his breath as long as he could, and then surfaced.

  The body of the professor was floating alongside him. And high above, the falcon still circled, gliding in slow smooth arcs, its shadow passing over the pool, the courtyard, the sloping roofs of the palace.

  Ross struggled out of the water. The cold air struck him; he shivered. The cuts on his arm stung. He picked up the gun and opened it, checking the magazine. Five shots left.

  So be it, he thought, and snapped it shut again. Five shots would be enough, if he were lucky. And if he were not lucky, it wouldn’t matter anyway.

  He thought again about Angela. She had been switched for Jackman—when? He cast his mind back over the last two hours and decided it must have been while he and the professor were in the hole with the rats.

  Once they came up, Angela never spoke. He hadn’t noticed it at the time, but now he remembered.

  So she must be somewhere near the fortress. And probably Karin Brenner was with her.

  Shivering, dripping water, he headed back toward the hole. He dodged from building to building, keeping in the shadows, always watching for the falcon. It was slow, cautious progress, but eventually he found himself overlooking the courtyard of the fort. It was large and brightly lit under the moon. He could never cross it without getting hit by the bird. He would have to go around.

  But how?

  He looked, eyes straining in the darkness. A path led around the walls to the right. The trees and bushes were fairly dense; he would have a chance if he went that way.

  He set out.

  He was tired and shivering constantly. Fatigue made him slow and sloppy. He moved painfully, stopping frequently to catch his breath.

  And always, high above, the falcon.

  At length, he had circled around the courtyard and was able to climb through a hole in the wall to reach the stoneworks inside. Off to his right was a tower; nearby, the remnants of barracks.

  “Angela!”

  He listened and heard nothing but the wind. And then, something else: a high-pitched whine, like a trapped animal.

  “Angela!”

  The sound was clearer, louder, encouraged by his voice. He realized suddenly that it was coming from the tower. Looking up, he saw that the tower was reached by a series of exposed steps, perhaps twenty in all. While he was climbing them, he would be easy prey for the falcon.

  And then he saw something else in the moonlight. A blonde woman, lying across the steps, near the top. For a horrified moment, he thought it was Angela, and then he saw it was not: Karin Brenner.

  Her hair blew lifelessly in the wind.

  Listening, he heard the sound from the tower again. Angela was still there, and still alive. He crawled around the perimeter of the fortress to a good vantage point near the steps. He removed his gun and waited. The falcon was circling near the fortress. He waited until it moved off, farther away. Then he scrambled up the steps, two at a time. The bird saw him, came back, and streaked down toward him. He leaped over the body of Karin and flung himself through the open door into the tower just as the falcon whooshed past him.

  He paused, looked back, and watched the bird circle around for a second try. It moved with a powerful grace, climbing, lifting, coming around.

  A sound inside the tower distracted him. He looked back and saw Angela lying on the stone, tied and gagged with tape. She was wearing her bra and panties.

  He pulled the tape away from her mouth and freed her hands.

  “My God,” she said, “what’s happened to you?” She touched the long tears in his shirt and the blood.

  “That damned bird,” he said, cutting her ankles free.

  “What bird?”

  “The falcon,” he said, and then stopped. She had a puzzled look on her face. “When did you—”

  “While you were down in the hole,” she said. “Karin and Jackman got me. He dressed up in my clothes. They were going to make you think he was me so that you’d tell him where the real stone was.”

  “Clever,” Ross said, helping her up.

  “Where are they now?”

  “Dead. All of them. Jackman, the professor, and Karin, too—right outside.”

  Angela shivered and rubbed her wrists. “How?”

  “There’s a trained falcon out there.”

  “It must be the count,” she said. “He keeps a whole roost of them.”

  “Great,” Ross said. He should have known from the start.

  “Karin was guarding me,” Angela said in a low voice. “I heard a scream, but—”

  At that moment, the falcon swooped past the outside, giving a shrill cry. Angela froze.

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes,” Ross said. “That’s it. Terrifically keen eyesight. He seems to find us unerringly.” He looked at her. “We’ve got to get out of here, but you can’t leave like that. What about clothes?”

  “Jackman’s are over there.”

  Ross picked up a shirt and trousers. “They’ll fit if you roll up the cuffs and sleeves.”

  She began to dress quickly. He watched her and thought of the body floating in the pool. He went over and kissed her lightly on the back of the neck as she was buckling the trousers.

  “What was that for?” she said.

  “Old times’ sake,” he said.

  Outside, the falcon made another pass with a flapping rush of wings.

  “Where are we going now?” she said.

  “To the Court of Lions. To get the real stone.”

  She was stuffing the shirt into the pants. “Where’s the count?”

  “I don’t know,” Ross said. “But he can’t be far.”

  She finished dressing and turned to him.

  “How do I look?”

  “Great. Come on.”

  He took her to the door, and pointed down the steps. The falcon was above, circling lazily high in the sky.

  “We’ve got to get down. At the bottom, there’s a protected place, but you’re exposed on the steps. We’ll have to run for it. You go first; I’ll cover you. But move fast”

  “All right.”

  She paused for a moment, looking up at the bird. Then she ran, her shoes clattering on the steps. Ross watched the falcon tensely, glanced down at her, then up to the falcon again.

  The bird did not seem to notice. It circled lazily, apparently unaware of the people below.

  When she had reached the bottom and ducked back into the shadows, he called, “You all right?”

  “Yes. Come on.”

  Ross sprinted down.

  The bird attacked, careening down from the sky. Ross fired at it, missed, and the falcon veered away. He fell the last few steps, tumbling to the ground, and picked himself up. He dodged into the darkness.

  “I don’t get it,” he said. “That damned falcon didn’t pay any attention to you.”

  Angela frowned, and sniffed. “You know,” she said, “you smell funny.”

  “Sweat, I imagine. I’m scared, baby.”

  She shook her head. “Something else.”

  “It must be—”

  “The insect spray.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Of course! All four of us were sprayed—the professor, Karin, me, and you. Jackman wasn’t, but he wore your clothes, so he got attacked …”

  Quickly, he stripped off his shirt.

  “What are you doing?”


  “A little test.”

  He waited until the bird was overhead, then threw his shirt out into the courtyard. The cloth never reached the ground. The falcon was on it in a flash, gripping, tearing, shredding with its beak. It carried the shirt high into the sky and then, apparently bored, dropped it.

  “There it is,” Ross said.

  “It’s awful,” Angela said, shuddering.

  “Five hundred varieties of cologne,” Ross said grimly. “And this bird is keyed to one of them. Pretty.” He ran out to the courtyard and picked up the shirt.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I need it.”

  “Leave it there.”

  “No. I must have it.”

  “But why?”

  “You’ll see. Now let’s find those lions.”

  It took nearly an hour to find their way. Ross was convinced that the count and Joaquim were already in the Alhambra, or soon would be. He moved forward cautiously, cold, with his shirt rolled up under his arm. They reached the Court of Lions at three in the morning, just as the sky was beginning to lighten faintly, and a slight mist hung low to the ground.

  They were alone.

  “All right. Now we’ll see. You wait here.”

  Ross ran forward, crouched in the moonlight, until he reached the base of the fountain. He clicked his light on. Water from the fountains sprayed all around him as he crawled beneath the slimy underside of the basin and began his search.

  It was surprisingly easy. He found it in a matter of seconds, a metal box wedged under the fountain, behind the rump of one lion. He opened it and found cotton; beneath that, another emerald pyramid.

  Only this time it was real.

  With the spray and gurgling water all around him, he flicked on his light to examine the stone. It was precisely cut and beautifully polished, and seemed to weigh more than a pound. It seemed to glow in the light of his torch.

  “Angela,” he said. “I’ve got it. This is it.”

  There was a short pause, and then a rasping, familiar mechanical voice said, “And we have her, Dr. Ross. Would you care to trade?”

  He peered forward into the darkness but could see nothing.

  “Who’s that? Joaquim?”

  The rasping voice gave a laugh.

  “Where’s the count?”

  “Right here, Doctor,” said a high voice.

  “Is Angela all right?”

  “Tell him, my dear,” said the count.

  “Yes,” Angela said. “I’m all right, Pete.”

  Ross was frightened, and cold, and tired. It took him a moment to gather his wits. He had an advantage, perhaps more than one.

  “All right,” he called into the darkness. “Now listen to me. I have the emerald. Do you understand? I have the real one, not the fake.”

  “We are well aware of that,” the count said.

  “If you want to get it in one piece, let the girl go. Otherwise, I’ll smash the emerald.”

  The count laughed. “You don’t seem to understand, Doctor. Not at all. Unless you hand over the emerald within one minute, we will kill this pretty young thing.”

  So it was like that. Ross sighed; Angela was right, he was innocent and naive. He thought furiously, his mind churning, examining possibilities, alternatives.

  Innocent, too innocent.

  Why not use that? Make it work for him?

  “Are you serious about a trade?” he asked. “A fair trade?”

  “Of course, Doctor. I am a man of honor.”

  “All right, then. Send Angela forward, toward me. I’ll wrap the emerald in my shirt so it won’t be damaged and toss it out to you.” He paused. “I have a gun,” he said, “so be careful.”

  “Oh, I am sure you are an excellent shot,” the count chuckled.

  There was a pause.

  “Is it a deal?” Ross said.

  “Yes. A deal.”

  “No tricks?”

  “No tricks.”

  “Then send the girl out.”

  There was a moment’s pause, and Angela stepped, frightened, out into the moonlit courtyard. In the shadows, he tried to see the count and Joaquim, but could not.

  “There she is, Doctor. Now the stone.”

  “All right.”

  He wrapped it swiftly in his shirt.

  “Here you are.” He tossed the bundle out. It landed softly.

  “How do we know it’s really the emerald?”

  “You’ll have to come out and check.”

  “Then you might shoot us,” the count said.

  “Yes. And you might shoot the girl.”

  The count gave another laugh. “You are learning fast, Doctor.”

  “I’m still young.”

  “So it seems. All right: I will check it.”

  “When you do,” Ross said, “make sure you stay in sight until Angela and I have left.”

  “As you wish.”

  Ross glanced over at Angela. She was standing rigidly, waiting. A moment later, the count emerged from the shadows, wearing his cape, moving forward toward the bundle.

  Ross caught his breath. Anything might happen. But it was certain to be swift.

  The count, chuckling to himself, bent over the bundle, lifted it up, and began to unwrap it.

  Then he froze.

  He smelled it, and knew what it meant.

  “You bastard,” the count said.

  “Run, Angela!” Ross shouted.

  And the falcon struck.

  The little man was knocked down easily by the bird, which clawed at his fallen body. The count shrieked horribly, and from the shadows, Joaquim began to fire. Ross saw the spurts of flame from the machine gun. Joaquim was shooting at the bird.

  Ross took aim and shot Joaquim twice. The machine gun went silent. He looked back at the count. The bird was dead, a trembling mass of feathers, twitching on the ground. The count, however, did not move. He lay on his back, arms flung over his face protectively.

  And he did not move.

  Alongside him, shining in the moonlight, was the emerald.

  24. The Faithful Servant

  ROSS WAITED SEVERAL MOMENTS, then said, “Angela, you all right?”

  In a whisper, from behind him: “Yes.”

  “Good. Stay there. I’m going to get the emerald.”

  He crawled out from beneath the fountain and grinned. “Not bad for a guy who never fired a gun before, eh?”

  He started for the emerald, lying near the body of the count He reached for it, picked it up.

  Then the gun opened up.

  He acted instinctively, falling to the ground, then rolling back toward the fountain. All around him, tufts of dirt were kicked up into the air. From the fountain, he ran, zigzagging toward the shadows where he thought Angela would be.

  He hesitated, panting, in the darkness.

  “Pete? Is that you?”

  He moved toward the voice. “Yes.”

  “Who’s shooting?”

  “It must be Joaquim.”

  “I thought he was dead.”

  “So did I.” A thought occurred to him. “Those shots, just now. Were they from a machine gun?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Perhaps it’s jammed.”

  “Or he’s wounded. They are hard to fire with one hand.”

  There was a pause.

  “Now what?” he said.

  “Now, I kill you,” rasped a voice from across the courtyard.

  “Good luck,” Ross said, flinging the answer back.

  “Shhh,” Angela said. “He wants you to talk so he can locate the voices.”

  Ross cursed his own stupidity. An innocent to the last, he thought.

  He looked out at the court, at the bodies of the falcon and the count.

  “You have the stone?”

  “Yes. What time is it?”

  “Almost four.”

  “When’s sunrise?”

  “Here on the mountain, around five.”

  “Well, when it’
s light, the police will come. Perhaps they’ve already been attracted by the gunshots.”

  “No. Joaquim will not wait. He will try to kill us before that. He is desperate.”

  “So am I,” Ross said, gripping the emerald tightly in his hand.

  “How many bullets are left?”

  He opened his clip and felt the shells in the darkness. “Two.”

  “That’s bad,” she said.

  They waited for a moment in silence.

  Across the court, Joaquim gave a low, harsh laugh. It floated across the stillness toward them, the laugh of a monster.

  “He’s terribly strong,” she said.

  “What are you trying to do, encourage me?”

  “Let’s leave,” she said.

  Ross thought. “No,” he said.

  “But we must. With only two bullets …”

  “I’m leaving here,” he said, “alone.”

  “No. You can’t.”

  “If you come, you’ll get killed.”

  “I will go wherever you go.”

  “No,” he said. “I know where I can get another weapon, but I can only make it alone. All right?”

  “Another weapon? A gun?”

  “Yes. Now sit tight.”

  Another unearthly laugh drifted over toward them, and then a thick cough.

  “He’s not in good shape. He may be dying already,” Ross said.

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “I know,” he said, “but it’s our only chance.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Now listen. Stay here, quietly, and wait. I’ll be back in a few minutes. But promise me you’ll stay.”

  “I promise.”

  “Whatever happens, don’t make a sound.”

  She sighed. “All right.”

  Ross stood up, holding the emerald in the hand which was bandaged by the doctor. In his other hand he held the gun. He took a deep breath and called loudly, “Joaquim!”

  A harsh laugh came back.

  “Listen to me. The game is up. I’ve got the emerald, and I’m leaving. The police will be here within five minutes. If you try to follow me, I’ll kill you. Understand?”

  Four shots whistled around him.

  He began to run.

  Apparently, Joaquim followed the sound of his footsteps. Succeeding shots were very close; once, a chip of plaster struck Ross in the face, stinging and cutting. He did not break stride but ran for the doorway and out. There he paused, getting his bearings, and ran south, through gardens. The sky was beginning to lighten now, and the gardens were no longer so comfortably dark.