The Ancient Breed

by David Brookover

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “While you’re deliberating your verdict, consider this: Don’t waste your special gifts.” She ended the call and immediately regretted her angry outburst. Her frustration may have permanently ruined her chances of a reunion with Nick.

  Nick was stunned at Lisa’s words. Don’t waste your special gifts. How could she have possibly known Gabriella’s exact words? Something was terribly wrong with this daunting woman. No ordinary woman could know what she did. He suddenly recalled Grandfather’s opinion that there was bad mojo inside Blossom’s motel room. Maybe Lisa Anders was the bad mojo. At this point, there was only one option open to him: Meet the mysterious Lisa Anders.

  14

  A

  fter receiving Nick’s message from Crow, Neo drove to the Charlotte County sheriff’s facility that was housed in a modern, three-story tan brick-and-stucco building. The sky was clear and the gulf breeze was brisk, rustling the palms, the neatly manicured shrubbery, and the pink-and-white-flowered oleanders bordering the sidewalk between the parking lot and front entrance.

  Once inside, a pleasant twenty-something receptionist greeted Neo. He showed her his FBI identification and requested to see Sheriff Berger. Moments later, a uniformed man with a slight paunch and a gray-flecked, brown brush cut motioned Neo into his office. Once his office door was closed, he introduced himself and offered Neo a seat opposite his sizeable, ranch oak desk.

  “What can I do for you, Special Agent Doss?” Ed Berger asked, leaning back in his plush office chair.

  “I’d like to know how your investigation of the two murders at the Warnke construction site is proceeding ,” Neo asked. “I understand that there are some unusual circumstances involved in the case.”

  Berger smiled. “Since when is the FB of I interested in a couple of local murders?”

  Neo bent forward and flattened his massive hands on Berger’s desk. “We have strong reason to believe that the sabotage of the site is related to a terrorist plot we’ve been tracking. That puts this investigation right smack in the middle of our jurisdiction, Sheriff, and of course we’d appreciate your cooperation.”

  Berger swallowed hard. “Certainly, certainly.”

  “What information do you have on the murder victims?”

  Berger straightened and slid a manila folder across the desk. Neo opened it and examined the victims’ photos and rap sheets.

  “Two local punks with a long history of crime,” the sheriff explained. “We arrest them, and the courts set them free. It’s a little game we and the judges play in Charlotte County.”

  Neo looked up. “It’s a game being played across the entire country,” he corrected Berger. “Have you checked their recent activities such as phone logs and personal contacts?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  “Good. Also, you might want to check the wires for reports of stolen C-4. I’m betting that they weren’t dumb enough to steal it around here.”

  Berger stood and glared at Neo. “Look, mister FBI man, I know how to run an investigation.”

  “Good. I’ll be calling you from time to time for updates.”

  “And why should I be at your beck and call?”

  Neo stood and towered above Ed Berger. “Because I asked you to, that’s why. And if that’s not a good enough reason for you, Sheriff, then you can call my boss, Rance Osborne, FBI Director. I’m sure he’ll make time in his busy schedule to speak with you about this case.”

  Berger backed off. “All right, call me anytime you want.”

  “That’s more like it.” He opened a folder and took out a computer photo printout. “And by the way, Sheriff Berger, I’d like you to circulate this picture to all the local authorities.”

  “Jay Walkingman? Wanted for kidnapping? Kidnapping who?”

  Neo glanced up for divine inspiration. “For the kidnapping of Blossom Smith. Remember?”

  “Yes, yes, I’ll circulate it.”

  “Thank you.” Neo turned and left the office. Stupid little man. Neo planned to

  run his own investigation of Jamille’s and Sirjo’s murders. He didn’t trust Ed Berger with the task of finding his own ass with both hands.

  Neo climbed into the Crown Victoria loaner and headed north on I-75 toward Tampa. Before he met Nick at the airport, he planned to distribute Walkingman’s pictures at the Tampa FBI office and order them to issue a Level One Bulletin on the guy as a suspected kidnapper and terrorist.

  He scowled. Something monumental must be going down if Rance Osborne unchained Nick from his Orion Sector desk and let him loose on the world.

  Nick closed his eyes as his commercial flight to Tampa, Florida, lifted off the runway, and he attempted to deduce Walkingman’s next move. The plane arrived at 2:48 p.m., and he searched for Neo outside the baggage claim area.

  Nick’s plan was to assist his Tampa agents today as they inspected each of the political visitation venues, and tomorrow he would squeeze in a meeting with the indomitable Lisa Anders and personally examine the strange bones and the damaged construction site.

  However, sometime in the very near future, he would have to deal with a more critical state of affairs. He neglected to inform Rance that he was traveling to Florida to supervise the investigation himself. When Rance discovered that his Orion Sector director had disobeyed his uncompromising orders, there would be hell to pay.

  Grandfather suddenly materialized in Crow’s motel room. “Good morning Running Bear.”

  “Grandfather, I wish you’d stop doing that to me. You’re going to give me a heart attack one day,” Crow complained as he tried to calm his drumming heartbeat.

  “I didn’t want anyone to see me enter.”

  “For heaven’s sake, why not?”

  “There may be spies here.”

  Crow laughed. “You’ve been watching way too many James Bond movies. I’m just a computer manager. I don’t jump from speeding trains or scale high buildings.”

  “I see. Well then, have you been working on locating great-granddaughter?”

  “Absolutely. Our chief suspect is none other than Jay Walkingman.”

  Grandfather shook his head sadly. “I feared as much. Do you and Neo have any leads to his whereabouts?”

  Crow’s face was suddenly grim. “Not yet.”

  “Maybe I can help. I may not know where the bastard is, but I can track evil,” Grandfather offered.

  Crow was clearly frustrated by the old man’s inexplicable comment. “Am I missing something here? What evil are you talking about?”

  “There was a great evil inside the gold chest, and now, at this very moment, another, greater evil is tracking the chest and the people who possess it.”

  “Meaning exactly . . . what?”

  “Don’t you read the newspapers or watch the television news?” he asked accusingly.

  “Not too often,” Crow admitted.

  “Two men were murdered last night at the same construction place that Professor Anders mentioned yesterday. News cameras zoomed in on huge, three-toed footprints in the mud leading from the construction place to a larger hole nearby. All the local and national news reporters are speculating that something dug its way out of the ground and murdered the two men,” he explained. “Actually, pulled them apart.”

  Crow was amazed. “You’re sh . . . kidding me, right?”

  “No, I am not shitting you, Running Bear.”

  “Sorry,” Crow said respectfully. “That’s the spot that the local county coroner was talking about at his press yesterday – I might add, at the most amateur press conference I’ve ever seen. He claimed that quite a few ancient, badly deformed human bones had been discovered on the site of Senator Hollingworth’s future perfect city.”

  Grandfather nodded.

  “And now you’re telling me that a bigfoot-type monster rose from the swamp last night and butchered two men?”

  “Must I repeat everything, Running Bear!” Grandfather complained.

&
nbsp; “No, I’ve got it. So I think you’re saying that you can track this Bigfoot guy to Blossom, because it’s going after the gold chest and the kidnappers.”

  The old man nodded his head sadly. “I’ll never know how you constructed such a brilliant computer from such an ordinary brain!”

  “Now wait a . . .”

  “No, grandson, you wait a minute!” he shouted. “Are you going to help me track this demon and rescue your niece, or are you going to stay here and play the white man’s game of twenty questions?”

  Crow switched off his laptop feed to Geronimo and wrapped his arm around Grandfather’s shoulder. “I’m with you. Let’s go.”

  The two vanished from the motel room just as someone rapped quietly on Crow’s door. After several attempts at rousing Crow, Lisa Anders returned to her motel room, rummaged through her purse, and found Neo Doss’s card. Nick wasn’t at his office or his home, so Neo was her last chance. It was imperative that she speak with Nick as soon as possible. He needed to be at the construction site tomorrow morning when Sheriff Berger, Russ McKutchen, and his crew uncovered the fountain of youth.

  15

  T

  obias Simpkins slammed the hard copy of the AP Internet newswire onto his desk, hit the intercom button, and demanded that Grant Donovan hightail it to his office at once. Grant burst into Simpkin’s office seconds later.

  “What’s eating you?” Grant asked breathlessly.

  “Have you heard how our little Florida operation went last night?”

  “As a matter a fact, I haven’t,” Grant replied. “Have you?”

  “Take a gander at this.” Tobias stuffed the AP news story into his awaiting hand. It detailed the brutal slayings of two construction site saboteurs and sensationalized the discovery of monstrous footprints at the crime scene. Speculation concerning the creatures’ identity ran wild.

  Grant scanned it and crumpled the paper. “Son of a bitch!”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  “We’ve got to move fast now. Hollingworth’s perfect mud hole is the talk of the country and a haven for nosy reporters,” Grant lamented.

  “That’s the understatement of the year,” Tobias shot back. “But we’ve got bigger problems.”

  Grant cocked his head. “The Guardian?”

  Tobias nodded solemnly.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. First, we’ve got to get the elixir out of there before the feds call up the National Guard,” he replied. “I think our combined magic should protect us from the Zyloux, anyway.”

  “You think!” Tobias nearly shouted. “Our lives are on the line here.”

  “Okay, relax. If push comes to shove, we’ll stash the elixir at Sloan’s place, and let the Zyloux take him out. By the time the demon tracks us down after we’ve had a few drinks of the real elixir, our powers will be strong enough again to destroy it.”

  Tobias carefully considered and reconsidered every point, and after several tense minutes, he delivered his verdict.

  “I think it’s very workable,” Tobias said. “But, I don’t like sabotaging Sloan in that manner.”

  “I know, but weak links in a chain are always expendable. Look, Tobias: We’ve longed to be young again – to reexperience the vim and vigor of our lost twenties - but our chemical imitation of Tobhor’s elixir won’t regress us further than fifty years of age. We’ve had the same aches and pains for thousands of years, and I, for one, am sick and tired of living with them.” He laughed bitterly. “You have to hand it to Tobhor. He did one helluva job hiding his elixir from us all that time, and after all our sophisticated efforts to locate his place, a bunch of ignorant humans luck out and stumble on it. I say we reclaim what is rightfully ours, the risk be damned!”

  “You’re right, Grant. Let’s do it while we’ve still got the chance.”

  Grant slapped his shoulder. “Good man.”

  “When do we move?”

  “Tonight. I’ve made all the arrangements. You and I’ll accompany the crew I’ve assembled and supervise their movements.”

  “What crew?”

  “It’s made up of other purebloods from our neck of the woods.”

  “Impossible! Why would they help destroyers?” Tobias blurted out.

  “I promised to share our elixir with them in exchange for their assistance.”

  “But what about us? That elixir won’t last forever! What are we supposed to do when it’s gone, goddammit? ”

  “They’re just part of my plan,” Grant replied calmly.

  “I think I missed that part of your plan,” Tobias retorted angrily.

  “The expendable part.”

  “You’re a ruthless son-of-a-bitch,” Tobias snapped.

  Grant grinned. “I take that as a compliment.”

  “You can take it for whatever you want as long as we get the elixir.”

  Grant sighed. “You didn’t expect me to hire humans for a job this big, did you?”

  “I suppose not, but I’m still not totally convinced that we can trust the purebloods, either.”

  “Then trust me.”

  “Okay, tonight it is,” Tobias conceded. “But I have one other rather pressing question – what are we going to do if the Guardian shows up?”

  Grant smiled smugly.

  “I know,” Tobias called after him, “you got it covered.”

  Simpkins’s intercom buzzed, and he pressed the button.

  “What is it?” he asked gruffly.

  His secretary answered. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but you instructed me to notify you immediately when your package from Florida arrived. It’s on my desk, sir.”

  He smiled for the first time since reading the disastrous newswire. “I’ll be out in a minute.” He released the button. “It’s Walkingman’s elixir.”

  Grant frowned. “You sure?”

  Tobias quickly detailed how Walkingman’s accomplice changed into one of the ancient breed.

  “That pretty much validates the liquid’s authenticity. What are you going to do with it?”

  “Ship it to our terrorist friends in Europe with special instructions,” he replied.

  Grant nodded. “After years of planning, things are happening quickly now.”

  “It’s about time.”

  “Yeah.”

  Tobias and Grant walked to the door.

  “Next year, the world will be a much different place.”

  “Our place,” Grant added as Tobias opened the door.

  The runway wasn’t visible in the squall until the 727s wheels were about to skim the rain-slick concrete. Nick watched as the rain splashed off the plane’s fuselage and the connecting walkway to the terminal. A real gully washer as his adoptive father used to say.

  Neo met him outside the baggage claim area by the curb, and they drove through the silvery deluge. The rain blew in sheets across the winding, converging airport exit boulevards, and jagged lightning bolts shredded the gray skies overhead.

  “Anything new on Blossom?” Nick asked.

  Neo shook his head and reported what he and Crow had done so far to locate Jay Walkingman.

  “I was thinking a lot about the kidnapping on the plane,” Nick said. “I’d bet the farm that Walkingman is holed up around Tampa if he’s the terrorist we’re searching for. Have you had any luck identifying the kidnappers’ vehicle?”

  “As a matter of fact, we just came up with a stolen SUV from Naples that matches the description that old man gave us at the Pirate Cove Motel. I’ve put out an APB on it statewide.”

  “Good work. What puzzles me is that there haven’t been any ransom demands,” Nick said.

  “I know. It’s another strange case for us, man,” Neo agreed glumly. “So what are you doing down here in the field?”

  Nick briefly outlined his intensions, leaving out a possible rendezvous with Lisa Anders. “So, which government official would be the most likely terrorist target?” Nick asked.

  “Hmm, I’d guess it would b
e the vice president. More worldwide press coverage.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s my top guess at this point, too, but the Senators are the ones who are the most vulnerable.”

  “No lie. Busch Gardens makes a whopper of a stake out.”

  Neo steered the Crown Victoria to the flooded curb in front of a posh, downtown restaurant. Nick peered through the rain-speckled windshield.

  He frowned. “Why are you stopping here?”

  “You have an early dinner reservation,” Neo replied, smiling broadly.

  Nick eyed him suspiciously. “What are you up to now?”

  Neo raised both arms. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger! I’m just following orders.”

  “Rance Osborne’s?” Nick asked uneasily.

  “Hell no, man.”

  “Then whose?”

  “Lisa Anders’s.”

  16

  A

  maintenance man, with a spine arched like a tree in a hurricane, pushed his heavy tool cart through the shadowy aisles of Tampa VA Medical Center’s enormous basement. He wore a blue-and-white-striped shirt, dark navy pants, and a Devil Rays’ baseball cap perched low over his forehead; he trudged behind the cart as if he had all day to accomplish his task.

  He didn’t.

  It took the man twenty-five minutes to locate his target area, twelve to pinpoint the exact ductwork from the heating and air conditioning schematic, and another ten to insert and activate the four high-compression, radio-controlled mechanisms.

  He continually scanned the vast area to ensure there were no witnesses, but the place was deserted. He knew it would be. There was a maintenance department meeting that afternoon, as there was every Wednesday at 3:00 p.m. It was standard operating procedure. The bogus maintenance man had monitored the hospital’s routines for six months.

  The maintenance man checked his watch. It was nearly four, and the maintenance meeting would adjourn soon. It was time to make tracks for the exit and report his success to the boss.

  A deep-throated growl behind him straightened the maintenance man’s arched back. He removed a hammer from the tool cart and slowly pivoted, but there was nothing there. He exhaled a welcome sigh of relief and quickened his pace toward the steel staircase. Taking the elevator was too risky. Too many employees spurned the basement steps for the elevator. Again, he had checked and double-checked the employees’ habits.