Dark Light

by Randy Wayne White

  He gave Elvis to her, took her hand, and started toward the busy gate. One of the hunters unloading a sled saw them first. A shout went up. Then the reporters and photographers realized what was happening. They poured through the gate in a wave.

  “Sierra,” Matt Delaney yelled. “Are you okay?”

  Kay waved madly. “Don’t say a word until we get back to the newsroom,” she shouted. “This is a Curtain exclusive.”

  “The hell it is,” a man in a sports coat and a very bad tie surged out of the pack. “When the Guild boss and his wife go missing, it’s everybody’s story.”

  “That’s what you think,” Kay shot back. She seized his coattails as he went past. “The wife in this case is a Curtain reporter. Get out of my way.”

  Somehow Kay’s oversized tote connected with the other journalist’s midsection. He grunted, staggered, and fell back a couple of steps. Kay rushed forward.

  “Over here, Sierra,” she yelled. “It’s me, Kay.”

  Phil separated himself from the crowd. He bounded over a stack of supplies and equipment, camera aimed. “Do me a favor, Sierra. Undo another couple of buttons.”

  “Look,” Sierra said. Her smile was a little misty. “Even Mr. Runtley is here. That is so sweet.”

  A moment later they were surrounded by the reporters. Leaving Sierra to fend for herself, Fontana pushed through the mob, delivering only a few clipped comments en route. Eventually he fought his way to where Ray stood, lounging against the side of a sled.

  Ray folded his arms and grinned. “Should have known you’d pull off another chapter to add to the Fontana legend. You two okay?”

  “We’re fine. I’ll be right back.”

  He walked to where the small army of hunters stood watching him and talking among themselves. They quieted when he approached.

  “Thanks for coming out today, gentlemen,” he said, shaking each hand in turn. “My wife and I appreciate it. Sorry to put you to the trouble.”

  The men grinned.

  “Fontana’s First Rule, sir,” one of them said. “Never leave a man behind for ghost bait.”

  He stood and talked with them for a few minutes, and then he went back to Ray.

  “What made you and everyone else think we’d disappeared into the jungle?” he asked.

  “Your frequency didn’t show up on the locaters. Figured the only other place you could be was in the rain forest.” Ray paused. “I assume you know about the fire?”

  “Yes. Anything left?”

  “Not much. But the antiquities in the gallery are fine. Nothing can damage quartz and dreamstone. I’ve got a few men on guard at the scene to make sure nothing gets stolen until the relics can be recovered. The ashes are still too hot to search. The cops said someone used one hell of an accelerant.”

  “How did you know we went underground?”

  “The authorities assume they’ll be looking for two bodies in the ashes. But I figured that if you’d had any warning at all, you would have used your hole-in-the-wall. I asked for volunteers.” He angled his head toward the group of hunters. “Every damn Guild man showed up. You’re a popular guy. The ones you don’t see here are either on assignment and didn’t get the word or keeping watch over what’s left of the mansion. What the hell happened?”

  “Almost got abducted by aliens.”

  Ray nodded. “Knew it would be a good story.”

  Chapter 28

  SIERRA PAUSED IN THE ACT OF POURING COFFEE INTO three mugs. “There’s nothing left at all of your beautiful house? How dreadful.”

  They were in her apartment. Fontana and Ray were at the small table, poring over notes and files. Fontana had his phone out, about to make a call.

  “The antiquities collection was the only thing that would have been hard to replace,” Fontana said absently. “It’s all fine.” He entered a number into his phone and waited for the other party to answer. “As for the house, it can be rebuilt.”

  “But you can’t duplicate that gorgeous old woodwork or those incredible mosaics,” she insisted. “They were museum quality. Craftsmanship like that just doesn’t exist anymore.”

  “Maybe not, but fireproof building materials sure do. I intend to use them when I rebuild.”

  Ray winked at Sierra. “Fontana’s not what you call the sentimental type.”

  Probably because he was so goal-oriented, she thought. The only thing that mattered to Fontana was the future.

  He spoke into the phone.

  “Davis? Fontana.” There was a short pause. “You heard about that already?” Fontana shot an unreadable look at Sierra and then got to his feet and walked to the sliding glass doors that opened onto the balcony. “Sure, I know the jungle is not your ordinary honeymoon venue, but things have gotten a little complicated. That’s why I’m calling.”

  He talked briefly and then ended the call.

  “Oakes finally turned up something interesting on Patterson,” he said.

  “About time,” Ray said.

  “Who is Davis Oakes?” Sierra asked.

  “He’s a PI in Cadence,” Fontana explained. “He went the old-fashioned route and followed the money. He said it took a lot of digging, but it turns out Patterson has set up several accounts at a number of small banks and investment firms scattered throughout the city-states using phony names and IDs.”

  Ray whistled softly. “Patterson is using the accounts to launder the cash he’s pulling in from his ghost juice business.”

  Fontana picked up one of the mugs. “Looks like it, yes.”

  “You no longer have a choice,” Ray said. “You’re going to have to force him off the Council.”

  Fontana shook his head. “He’ll disappear, and we’ll never find that alien lab.”

  Ray stilled. “What the hell are you talking about?” He glanced uneasily at Sierra and then turned back to Fontana. “Don’t tell me you’re actually buying into the Curtain’s theory that someone discovered an entire alien lab in the jungle.”

  “Maybe not a lab,” Fontana conceded, “but that gadget the Riders used to destroy my security system and generate that ultraviolet ray is definitely alien technology.”

  “How do you know that? Maybe some hunter is working ultraviolet light naturally, the same way you and I work dark and green light.”

  “I don’t think so. It was dissonance energy, but it was being generated at a very powerful level, a technologically enhanced level.”

  “He’s right,” Sierra said quickly. “They used small gadgets to create the energy beams. I saw one of them. It was about the size of a flashlight.”

  Ray rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ve always assumed that diss energy, hell, any alien psi for that matter, could only be manipulated by people with a lot of para-rez talent. There’s never been any technology that could turn it on and off. Even that artifact that they’re using to heal the badly fried hunters at the Glenfield Institute has to be activated and focused by people with special psi abilities.”

  “It’s possible that these ultragenerators require talent, too,” Fontana conceded. “Either way, it produces very powerful rays that worked aboveground. The stuff knocked out my entire security system. Just think how useful that could be to someone who wanted to rob a bank or a house or immobilize an entire police station.”

  Ray exhaled slowly. “Okay, when it comes to the aliens, anything is possible, I guess.”

  “The generators came from somewhere,” Fontana said. “I think the most likely explanation is that they were found in the jungle. Got a hunch that the discovery is part of what Patterson and Jenner were trying to cover up.”

  “Which reminds me, I’ve got some news of my own,” Ray said. “While you two were frolicking on your ecotour honeymoon trip, I located a couple of hunters who worked with Jake Tanner just before he suddenly retired.”

  Sierra was using a knife to scoop peanut butter out of the jar. She looked up quickly. “What did you find out?”

  “The men I talked to recalled t
hat Tanner’s last job was a major corporate research-and-exploration expedition into the jungle. The project lasted a couple of weeks and then was halted abruptly. The official story is that the company concluded the venture was just one more dead-end exploration effort with no prospect of showing a profit.”

  “R-and-E projects are called off all the time,” Fontana said. “It’s like prospecting for amber. Sometimes you get lucky. Sometimes you get nothing.”

  “Sure,” Ray said. “But in this case the name of the company that funded the project that employed Tanner just happens to be Underworld Exploration.”

  Fontana raised his brows. “Even if Corley’s company did turn up something valuable in the jungle, it’s not a crime. That’s what most rain forest exploration is all about, making money for investors. UEX is entitled to profit on anything it takes out of the jungle.”

  Sierra narrowed her eyes. “Unless it uses that discovery for illegal purposes such as forming a business partnership with the Riders in order to sell ghost juice on city streets.”

  “And therein lies the problem,” Fontana said. “We’ve got zip in the way of proof that UEX is working with the Riders or anyone in the Guild, for that matter.”

  “Huh.”

  Frustrated, she finished the peanut butter and banana sandwich and gave it to Elvis. He carried it up to the windowsill and settled down to eat with his usual enthusiasm.

  Fontana contemplated him for a moment, and then he turned to Sierra.

  “I think it’s time we took a look at Elvis’s dressing room.”

  Ray gave them both a baffled look. “What’s with the miniature room?”

  “We’re not sure,” Sierra said. “It will probably turn out to be nothing, but something Jake Tanner told me when he gave it to Elvis keeps going through my head.”

  They gathered around the coffee table and looked down into the dressing room.

  Sensing a new game, Elvis muttered excitedly and scampered down from the windowsill, the unfinished sandwich clutched in one paw. He hopped up onto the coffee table.

  “The detail is amazing,” Ray said, bending down to touch one tiny lightbulb.

  “Yes,” Sierra said. “I hate to start tearing it apart when I don’t even know what we’re searching for.”

  Fontana looked at her. “Tell me again exactly what Jake said when he gave it to you.”

  “ ‘If Elvis ever wants to find me, all he has to do is look in the mirror,’” she recited carefully.

  “I think,” Fontana said, “we should start with the dressing table mirror.”

  Sierra hesitated, and then she reached down and tugged gently on the mirror. Elvis watched with great interest, but he did not seem alarmed.

  The mirror did not budge.

  “Looks like it’s glued on,” Ray observed. “Might be something behind it. You could try prying it off.”

  “No,” Sierra said, very sure now. “If Jake wanted to conceal something in the dressing room, he would have done it in a way that did not require destroying the miniature in order to retrieve whatever was hidden. He was an artist. He wouldn’t have wanted his work ruined.”

  She opened the drawer in the dressing table. The tiny comb was still inside, but that was all.

  “It must be the mirror,” Fontana said. “Let me see that thing.”

  He picked up the dressing room and examined the underside very carefully. Elvis watched, suddenly very intent.

  “It’s okay, King,” Fontana said. “I’m not going to hurt your dressing room.”

  Satisfied that there were no hidden springs, locks, or levers, he set it back down on the coffee table. Gingerly he tugged and pressed each of the miniature lightbulbs that surrounded the mirror.

  When he pushed the third one on the right, the mirror swung aside, revealing a thin little opening in the wall behind it. A piece of neatly folded paper was inside.

  “Damn,” Ray said softly.

  Sierra leaned forward, thrilled. “Oh, my gosh, it’s a message of some kind.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” Fontana warned. He removed the paper. “By all accounts, Tanner was a total burnout case, and he was into ghost juice. Everyone knows that juicers don’t think or act logically.”

  He unfolded the sheet of paper and spread it out on the table. Disappointment flashed through Sierra when she saw that all that was written on the page were some numbers.

  “Probably his lucky lottery ticket numbers,” she said.

  “Guess again,” Ray said. He looked at Fontana. “Well, what do you know? Looks like Tanner wasn’t as far gone into dreamland as everyone thought.”

  “What do the numbers mean?” Sierra asked.

  Cold satisfaction iced Fontana’s eyes.

  “They’re coordinates pinpointing a position in the rain forest,” he said. He met Ray’s eyes. “I think it’s time we went looking for Jake Tanner.”

  “Never leave a man behind for ghost bait,” Ray said.

  Excitement flashed through Sierra. “I’m coming with you.”

  Both men regarded her with faces that could have been carved from solid quartz.

  “No,” Fontana said.

  Ray shook his head. “No.”

  Outrage burned through her. “This is my story, damn it, the one I’ve been chasing for months. I have a right to go with you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Fontana said in his emotionless, utterly inflexible Guild boss voice. “Ray and I will be moving fast in the jungle. We don’t know what we’re going to find. We don’t have time to babysit a civilian.”

  “Don’t you dare call me a civilian,” she shot back. “I’m an investigative journalist. What’s more, if it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t even have those coordinates.”

  Elvis muttered unhappily, responding to her anger and frustration. He dashed across the coffee table, scampered up onto her shoulder, and murmured into her ear.

  “I know we owe this break to you,” Fontana said quietly. “The Guild won’t forget that.”

  “Oh, great, now you’re going to try to fob me off with that ridiculous line about how the Guild always repays a favor. Well, forget it. I don’t want any favors from the Guild. I did this for all the men the Guild left behind as ghost bait on the streets of this city.”

  A crystalline silence gripped the room. No one moved. No one spoke. Even Elvis went very still.

  After a moment, Fontana went to stand in front of her. He gripped her shoulders with both hands.

  “I understand,” he said. “I’m trying to make it clear that the Guild appreciates your work. But taking you with us is out of the question. You’ve only spent one night in the jungle. You’ve had no training or experience. We’d have to nursemaid you every step of the way. That would not only slow us down, it could jeopardize the mission. If Jake and the others are still alive, it might mean the difference between life and death for them.”

  Reality slammed through her. He was right. She had no business going into the jungle. Still, it was infuriating to be shut out like this when she could feel the story coming together.

  “Okay,” she said wearily. “Go find out what happened to Jake and the others.”

  “There’s just one more thing,” Fontana said.

  “Don’t press your luck.”

  “I want you covered by a security detail while Ray and I are gone.”

  “Is that a polite term for bodyguard?”

  “Yes.” He glanced at Ray. “But given the circumstances, I don’t want to take the risk of arranging one through the Guild. It will start rumors that may give whoever is behind this a heads-up.”

  “You need some men from outside the Guild,” Ray said. “Private agency, maybe?”

  Fontana crossed to the window and stood looking down at the street below.

  “I think I know where we can get some reliable men,” he said.

  Chapter 29

  SIERRA GRIPPED THE ARMS OF HER DESK CHAIR AND gazed, stricken, at the copy of the Curtain Kay had just placed in
front of her.

  “Good grief,” she said. “Did I really look that bad yesterday when you found us?”

  “Hey, don’t blame me for the picture.” Kay angled one hip onto the corner of Sierra’s desk. “Phil’s the photographer. I’m just the ace reporter who got the exclusive honeymoon interview with the Guild boss’s wife.”

  The cover photo showed her along with Elvis and Fontana emerging from the jungle. Fontana looked like he always did: cool, confident, and utterly in control of the situation. Elvis was as cute as always. But as for herself . . .

  “I will never live this down,” she declared. “I want everyone to know that I’m holding Phil personally responsible for destroying what was left of my reputation. He can talk to my mother when she calls. And she will call, I can guarantee it.”

  “What’s wrong with the shot?” Phil demanded. He wandered over to her desk, half of a doughnut in one fist. Elvis hovered nearby in his balloon basket, nibbling on the other half of the doughnut. “It’s a masterpiece.”

  “Some masterpiece,” Sierra said. “I look like a low-rent hooker who just spent the night entertaining clients in a dark alley.”

  “It’s the hair,” Kay said, commiserating. “The way it’s all tangled up does have a certain after-the-fall quality.”

  “Nah,” Matt said. “I think it’s the way Fontana’s shirt is hanging off one of her shoulders, and you can tell she’s not wearing a bra.”

  “I look cheap,” Sierra said flatly.

  “No, really,” Kay said quickly. “A woman dressed in a man’s shirt looks sexy.”

  “Right,” Phil said.

  “Cheap,” Sierra repeated.

  “Well, sure, that, too,” Phil agreed. “But take it from a man: cheap and sexy go together like chocolate sauce and ice cream.”

  “Thanks for that insight into the masculine mind,” Sierra muttered.

  Ivor Runtley loomed in the doorway of the newsroom. “What’s going on in here? I want everyone back to work. Today’s edition is almost sold out. I’ve got advertisers begging me for more space. Kay, I need another exclusive report on the jungle honeymoon. Matt, give me something else on the fire that destroyed Fontana’s house.”