He wasn’t worried about the time, although he knew he should have been. No, he was concerned that he had cheated on Gabriella. Even though she was currently exiled in another dimension and he had strong feelings for Lisa, he knew that last night’s lovemaking was wrong. Dishonest. Not fair to either Lisa or Gabriella. Leading Lisa on when his future was with Gabriella would be a damn, insensitive thing to do.
He stalled. “Geronimo’s Orion Sector’s supercomputer. Crow’s baby,” Nick replied. “It’s more powerful than the FBI’s mainframe and definitely has a whole lot more attitude.”
“Knowing Crow, I’ll bet it does,” she said tentatively, sensing that something was troubling Nick.
Nick managed another dismal grin. “I’ve got to get dressed.”
He slid off the bed, grabbed his clothes, and went into the bathroom. Lisa didn’t try to stop him.
He quickly showered, skipped the shave, and dressed. When he emerged, he felt worse than he looked. Saying goodbye to Lisa was his most difficult challenge to date. He just couldn’t find the right words . . . find the heart to do it.
Nick found Lisa curled up on the living room sofa. She was fully clothed and had traces of tears on both cheeks.
He exhaled slowly. “I’ve got to be up-front with you, Lisa. I’m in love with another woman, and although she’s not available at this time, I owe it to her to be faithful.”
“But . . .”
“Please, don’t ask me to explain any further. I just . . . can’t at the moment.”
She lowered her gaze.
He paused at the door. “Believe me when I say I wish things could have been different. You’re a special woman, and I admit, I have strong feelings for you. Otherwise, last night would’ve never happened.”
She shook the shimmering strands of red-gold hair from her shoulders.
“You know, Nick, what bothers me the most about seeing you leave like this is that we could have been so much more. We could have been great together.” Her bottom lip trembled as she managed a tenuous smile. “See ya ‘round, Nick, and good luck.”
After he left, tears pooled Lisa’s eyes, and it was difficult to ascertain whether she was pleased or hurt by his departure.
As Nick descended in the elevator, his sat phone rang. It was Neo.
“Hey, Romeo, hope I didn’t interrupt any heavy-duty breathin’,” he quipped.
“Afraid not. What’s up?”
“You sound deflated. Did you have performance problems?”
“Personal issues are off limits,” he snapped.
“Hey, bro, she throw your sorry ass out?” he laughed.
“I’m not your bro, and no comment,” he replied flatly. “Now what’s up?”
“That bad, huh?” Neo’s laughter died in his throat. “Okay, okay. Blossom Smith needs to see you right away. She’s still in the hospital here in Tampa.”
Nick wasn’t interested in speaking with the fairer sex anytime soon. “About what?”
“She won’t say—only that it’s a matter of life and death. She insists on speaking only with you.”
“That’s just great,” he said, emphasizing his indifference.
“Hey man, you okay? This is your friend Neo you’re talking to, remember?”
Nick disconnected the call and glanced at his watch. He had two hours to anguish over dumping one terrific woman before landing in Tampa and confronting a grimmer reality of magicians, monsters, and terrorists.
26
J
ay Walkingman checked the detonator resting in his palm. It was 6:30 Friday morning. The terrorist pressed the Test button to make sure that the new batteries inside were properly charged. He was leaving nothing to chance on this mission. This was his golden opportunity to become a someone in this damn world. The red LCD light winked twice. He was satisfied that the device functioned properly and stowed it in one of the motorcycle’s saddlebags.
The only mission factor Jay was forced to accept on faith was the completion of Lonny’s task the day before the poor bastard was transformed into that murderous little brute. It was the only possible snag, but one that wasn’t really essential for success.
Juan’s assignment had been a total failure, but it, too, wasn’t critical to the mission. However, without Lonny and Juan to assist him today, the odds for triumph were significantly diminished; but that lone concern wasn’t going to prevent Jay from playing his role in today’s worldwide terrorist assault.
The motorcycle roared to life with a single kick, and Jay sped through the light fog toward Arthur’s Bon Appetit Gourmet Catering’s modern but modest facility on the outskirts of Tampa. His eyes smoldered with a zealous rage, as he squinted against the onrushing air and contemplated the terrorist cell’s first strike against injustice and government tyranny.
It was going to be a killer day.
Nick had worked through Thursday night collaborating with the Secret Service and the smattering of assigned NSA agents on their overall security plan, so there wouldn’t be any overlap or oversight of their weekend duties. Mike Cartwright phoned Nick and informed him that the Tampa PD’s detectives investigating Juan Ramirez’s murder uncovered a possible connection with Jay Walkingman during his days at Nebraska University. He also advised Nick that the police department couldn’t afford to assign many officers to weekend security duty because of the flood of weather-related emergencies; then, he added no pun intended.
Nick didn’t laugh.
Orion Sector’s director managed a few catnaps on a lumpy futon between pots of coffee at the downtown FBI office, but the dark crescents etched beneath his eyes grew more pronounced as the night wore on. Neo dispelled the other agents’ concerns about Nick’s ability to function without adequate rest by sternly pointing out to them that Nick could run on fumes and still get the job done better than anyone else in the Bureau. No one even contemplated contesting the daunting, ex-NFL player’s claim.
Nick glanced at his watch. It read 6:40.
“I need a ride to see Blossom Smith,” he said, yawning.
Neo looked up, his physical condition similar to Nick’s. “I’ll have Johnston drive you over there,” he answered.
Nick and Agent Johnston, a stocky black agent whose muscled physique resembled a rough-and-tumble bar bouncer, arrived at the private hospital in Brandon, an eastern Tampa suburb. After checking in with the armed agents at the front lobby counter, Nick and Johnston rode the elevator to the third floor where they showed their IDs to another group of FBI sentries.
“You wait out here,” Nick informed Johnston. “I don’t want to be interrupted for any reason short of a nuclear holocaust.”
Johnston folded his thick arms and positioned himself in front of Blossom’s door like the Rock of Gibraltar. “I read you loud and clear, sir.”
Nick entered the room and Blossom sat up alertly. She stared at him through puffy, owlish eyes.
“Where have you been?” she asked feverishly. “Today’s Friday, isn’t it?”
“Whoa, Blossom, one question at a time. I’m sorry I’m late, but I have a lot on my plate this weekend,” Nick apologized and sat in a wicker chair beside her bed. “And yes, today is Friday.”
“I was afraid of that,” she moaned.
“Why?”
“Because it’s too late for you to do anything to stop Jay,” she snapped, tears blurring her febrile eyes beneath. “It makes me sick when I think of what’ll happen if that little shit isn’t stopped.”
“Wait a minute, Blossom! Mind filling me in on what the hell you’re talking about?”
“The water from the Fountain of Youth, that’s what,” she replied sharply.
Nick massaged his forehead. He was too exhausted to play twenty questions with Crow’s niece today. “Why don’t you go back to the beginning of your story about the water, huh?”
She sipped the black coffee on the bed tray and took a deep breath. Nick scanned the room absently. The far wall was decorated with insipid wallpaper covere
d with faded pastel palm trees that looked like they were taken straight from Mary Poppin’s Beach. The dark, disconnected machines behind her bed lay in a tangle of black, red, and green wires. Only the plastic IV bag and tube running to the back of Blossom’s hand were functioning at the moment.
Poor girl, he thought. No doubt she was having a rough time of it from her kidnapping, rape, and the alleged murder of her fiancé, Clay Corey. Despite Nick’s extreme fatigue, he would force himself to play nice. She was suffering far worse than even he could imagine.
After draining the Styrofoam coffee cup, Blossom achieved a semblance of composure. “Jay found an old bladder filled with Fountain of Youth water inside the chest that Clay and I discovered diving out in the Gulf.” At the mention of Clay’s name, a single tear trickled down her left cheek.
“How did you determine that the liquid was that water?”
Blossom frowned. “I was about to explain, Nick.”
Nick threw up both hands in surrender. “No more interruptions, I promise,” he smiled.
Her prickly mood softened, but she was still muzzy from the myriad of drugs the doctors had prescribed. “He – and me too, I guess – wanted to run an experiment to prove that the liquid inside the chest was the magical water. Truthfully, Nick, I was probably more anxious than Jay to find out,” she admitted.
Nick kept his promise not to disrupt her narrative and merely nodded his understanding. He glanced anxiously at his watch again. It was almost 7:30. He hoped that she’d wrap up her little confession, or whatever it was, in ten minutes or less. He had so much work to do.
“Anyway, Jay poured like a shot glass full of the water into a plastic cup and gave it to Lonny to drink. Lonny said it tasted good and wanted more, but Jay refused. That night, Jay revised the sleeping arrangements and put . . .” Blossom paused and glanced down, embarrassed. “What was I saying?”
Nick understood her absentmindedness. Too many mind-thickening drugs.
“Jay rearranged where everybody slept and – put something,” he replied.
“Oh yeah, he put Lonny in the living room with him so he could keep an eye on Lonny in case he turned into a kid again. Unfortunately, Jay and I were both way off base on our predicted outcomes. So,” she sighed, “I fell asleep, and the next thing I know, I’m awake and staring into two incredibly horrid green eyes. It was Lonny - only it wasn’t.”
Nick turned away and rolled his eyes.
“Lonny had changed into this little, ugly creature with a big head, sharp teeth, and really long fingernails. The damn thing tried to kill me, but Jay woke up in time and shot it.” She shuddered. “Its blood splattered all over me. I’ve never been so scared in my life, and that includes when Jay kidnapped me and shot Clay.”
Nick desperately wanted to know where this story was going, but out of respect for Blossom and Crow, he kept quiet.
“Well, I couldn’t see Jay while he was in the kitchen, because I was handcuffed to the bedpost, but I knew he was fooling around with the water by the clinking of a lot of glass beakers. Chemistry was his major at Nebraska—so he knows his stuff. So, I wondered what the hell he was doing out there.” Her eyes widened to saucers. “Then it hit me. He was experimenting with it. But why?”
Nick felt obligated to soundlessly shrug his lack of an answer.
Blossom bent forward. “My guess is that he worked on diluting the water to delay and possibly weaken its effect. But then again, I wondered why?” She stopped a moment to recover her mental focus. “Then I figured it out. Jay’s planning to feed or inject that stuff into some important government person today. That’s his big terrorist operation.”
Nick raised a hand. “Mind if I ask a question now?”
Blossom smiled wanly. “Sure, go ahead.”
“I thought Jay and the others already had their operation planned and ready to execute before they kidnapped you. So how would finding the water cause them to deviate from their plans?”
“You’re right, but the night Jay shot Lonny, he mentioned that the water gave him a great idea for Friday.”
“He told you that?”
“No, I overheard him. He was talking to himself.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t you see, Nick, that if he gives that stuff to Vice President Donaldson, the First Lady, or anyone else, they’ll change into monstrous killers? You’ve got to stop him, Nick!” she implored as she fell back on her pillows, panting from the exertion.
Nick’s impatience and fatigue vanished in one alarming second. If Blossom was correct about Jay’s plans, then monitoring the security subjects’ eating and drinking would be bordering on the impossible. They didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of stopping Walkingman unless he strolled up to a checkpoint and surrendered.
Fat chance.
If Blossom had only been able to relay this information to him a few days ago, then he and Rance could have advised the officials to cancel this weekend’s political events in Tampa. But now, Jesus H. Christ! Walkingman was a phantom with a catastrophic weapon.
His mind was alive with possibilities, scenarios, and consequences. Then like the lottery show on television, the balls stopped rotating in the bin. There was one grisly consequence that Blossom had overlooked in her account. If the fountain water didn’t transform the victim into a hideous killer, it was certain that the fountain’s guardian would come knocking at his or her door and tear that person to shreds. Literally. Either way, the victim didn’t have a rosy future to look forward to.
Nick stood and paced the small area in front of the window. How could this day possibly get any worse?
“Nick?”
Blossom’s suddenly small voice caused him to cease his pacing. He went to her and patted her hand. It was ice.
“What is it, Blossom?” he asked softly, disguising his apprehension.
“I heard Jay pour his final formula into several vials, and then stuff them into shipping envelopes.”
“You’re sure?”
Blossom nodded.
“Do you know which shipping company he used, or where he was sending the bottles?”
“I couldn’t see the shipping envelopes, but I did overhear him talking to himself in the kitchen. He intended to send his formula to others in his terrorist group.”
Nick groaned. “Oh, God.”
“The terrorists receiving the formula were going to use the water samples for their own operations today, too. Worldwide.”
Nick thanked Blossom for her information and rushed from the room. Agent Johnston put the pedal to the metal on their brief trip downtown. Nick put a call through to Rance, but his secretary notified Nick that he was in the middle of an important meeting with the president of the United States.
“Call him out of the damn meeting and have him call me back in two minutes!”
“But Nick . . .”
“Just do it! Tell Rance we’re on the verge of a worldwide disaster.” He disconnected the satellite phone call, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
Just when he thought today couldn’t get any worse, the sky had fallen!
27
S
omething catastrophic was about to happen today. Nick felt the ominous chill in his bones, and it distressed him. He checked his watch: 10:12 a.m.
The wind shook the palms and the pink-and-white-flowering oleanders lining I-275 as Nick and Agent Johnston crawled in the bumper-to-bumper, rush-hour traffic past the University of Tampa on their way downtown. The air was stifling and thick with humidity. Lightning flickered above the Gulf of Mexico, and grumbling thunder reverberated through the swelling gloom. Nick frowned. What next? An earthquake?
Although Neo had reported that their security teams were in position for today’s political activities, Nick realized the futility of their efforts. Jay Walkingman could be anywhere in the area, ready to serve up his new and improved fountain of youth formula. Neo’s security teams couldn’t blanket the entire city, especially without the services of the lo
cal police. Despite their sophisticated surveillance equipment, cutting-edge communications, and other high-tech resources at his disposal, Nick was powerless to stop Walkingman. If there was ever a time when he needed Gabriella’s magical support, it was now. But, of course, she wasn’t accessible.
Earlier that morning, Geronimo plucked fourteen felons from the massive list of vendors, workers, and private security forces employed by the visitation sites, the largest being Busch Gardens. Crow ordered those businesses to suspend their employees who appeared on the felon list for the remainder of the weekend or face government fines. Even the largest corporations complied immediately.
Nick phoned Grandfather, who was visiting Blossom at the hospital, and inquired if the elder Indian sensed the presence of the demon guardian in the Tampa area; but Grandfather said he didn’t. Nick told the old man to contact him if the demon guardian showed up, and then he slammed the sat phone down on the leather seat. Agent Johnston flinched.
“Dammit!” Nick swore. “I can’t believe this day. When I want that miserable son-of-a-bitch demon around, he’s a damn no-show.”
“Why would you want that murderous thing around here, especially today?” Johnston asked.
Nick faced the agent. “To hunt and kill the terrorist.”
“It would do that?”
“Oh yeah, in spades.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story. Some other time.” A few sprinkles dotted the windshield; Nick sighed. This was going to be, as Neo would say, one mutha of a day.
Jay Walkingman, now known as “Carl Sanger,” an assistant manager of Arthur’s Bon Appetit Gourmet Catering, and his four associates finished unloading the last of the perishables for the luncheon. The head honcho, Arthur Belotti, arrived in his Cadillac Escalade and directed “Carl” to park the company van in the parking garage to avoid potential scrapes and dings from the other delivery vehicles. “Carl” did as he was instructed and then withdrew the remote detonator from his pocket. A mask of rage swamped his compliant-employee expression as he flicked on its power. The winking red light indicated its readiness.
The Ancient Breed Page 18