The Flock (18 page)

“I've heard of those,” Ron told them. “They were a species of predatory ground birds that lived…what? Two, three million years ago?”

“Well, they're obviously not extinct,” Kate said. “But most paleontologists thought they'd been gone for at least a million years, although back in '95 a guy found an ankle bone from a phorusrachid in a Blancan deposit in Texas, which would put it at about twelve thousand years. And a fossil dig in a spring here in Florida revealed that their wings had evolved into arms—that discovery came around 1994. It just wasn't big news,” she added.

“Well, this is big news,” Mary told them. “It's
huge
news.”

“They're doomed, now,” Adam wheezed.

“Screw that,” Mary all but yelled. “As soon as the papers and the reporters get hold of this, the whole place will be protected. You'll see. You'll all see.”

All eyes were on Mary, the single voice of enthusiasm in the room.

“I suppose we will all see,” Kate admitted. “I don't think there's any other alternative, now.” She sighed, and slumped in her chair.

Ron looked at Mary, at Levin and Kate. He knew how the wheels of government turned. And, for now, he felt like crying.

“You want me to ride with you to talk with the police?” Mary was walking down the wide corridor with Ron.

“Yeah. I'd appreciate that. You can back me up on the fact that my house was broken into and that I was threatened over this.” Ron held up the disk before he stuffed it back into his shirt pocket.

“I guess it's the least a pal can do, huh?” She didn't wait for a reply to her sarcasm. “What about that Kwitney chick? Think she made a copy of the photos?” She hitched a thumb back toward the opposite end of the corridor, where they had left Levin and Kate.

“I didn't see her do it. Did you?”

“Nah. But like I said, it's my cousin who's up on all that computer stuff. Not me. I hardly know how to turn one on, much less use it. My thang is trapping.”

“I know what you mean. But I can't see where it would do them any good. If what they were saying is true, they must have plenty of photographic and video evidence of these big birds.”

“Hate to meet up with one.”

“I'd love to see one. Hope I get the chance. This is going to change everything as far as Salutations and the old bombing range is concerned.” They were almost to the entrance foyer of the main building. Sunlight streamed through the big, tinted windows, and through the skylights above.

“I wonder how that reporter got that close to one and lived through it? The one in those pictures looked as if it was bearing down on the photographer.”

“I'm sure I don't know. And it was only a temporary reprieve, as things turned out.”

“Yeah. Too bad. He didn't seem like a bad sort the times I talked to him.”

“He was just a guy making a living, is all. Same as us.” They were at the foyer, and could see the truck parked outside, its hood up.

“What the hell,” Mary said, pointing at the pickup.

Riggs ran to the door and pushed it open, a great draft of cool air following him out into the muggy day. Almost immediately he could feel moisture and heat clinging to him as he ran toward the truck. He brought himself to a halt with his forearms, leaning into the engine to see what was going on.

Mary was right behind him. “What's going on, Ron?”

But she didn't have to ask. Both of them peered down into the engine, seeing that the distributor cap had been torn free. And something blunt and obviously heavy had been used to thrash about in the general vicinity of the block and radiator. Various liquids oozed and dripped onto the sandy ground beneath the truck.

“Damn,” Ron said.

“What'll we do?”

“This is bad. I was
wondering
where that Kamaguchi guy went. Let's just get the hell out of here while we can.”

“You don't have a gun in there, do you?”

“Hell, no. I work for Fish and Wildlife, not ATF. Let's just hoof it while we can. I don't want to go back in there.”

They went past the cab of the truck and looked inside, seeing that it had been plundered, the glove compartment open, papers strewn about the seat and onto the floorboard. “Let's go man,” Mary was saying.

“You'll go nowhere but back inside.” It was Kamaguchi. He was standing in the narrow roadway just inside the overhanging shade of a pair of slash pines that flanked the trailhead.

“Try to stop us,” Mary said.

The first shot showered a spray of sand over her boots, and the second bored a neat hole in the taillight of the truck just to the left of her knee. “You're not going anywhere but back inside, I told you. Now,” he stepped out of the shadows and they could see the .22 semi-automatic he was carrying rather easily, holding it with some familiarity, “you two get your asses back in the building before I blow holes in your heads. I'll do it, too.”

“Crap. I had a bad feeling as soon as I saw he wasn't in there with us, with Kate and Levin,” Mary said.

“You're breaking all kinds of laws, Mister. I work for a federal agency, and you can't threaten me with a firearm without screwing yourself big time. You understand what I'm saying? Know what it's like in a Federal prison? Think about it, Kamaguchi.”

“It's
Kahm-ah-GOOCH,
” the man with the gun screamed. “You idiots don't even know how to pronounce my name.
Damn,
that pisses me off.” He fired another round at their feet, spraying them with sand again.

“We're going, we're going,” Ron told him as they both turned and marched back to the building. As they did, they could see Levin and Billy Last-Name-Unknown standing in the doorway the two had so recently exited. Billy, too, was holding a firearm, a .357 Ron and Mary immediately recognized. Kate was nowhere to be seen.

As they got in close to Levin and the Seminole, Mary looked them both in the eyes and spat at them. “What do you guys think you're going to do with us? Kill us and all hell breaks loose. That, I can guarantee you.”

“We're not going to shoot you unless you try to get away,” Levin told them. “These birds are not going to be allowed to go extinct just because two idiots didn't know what they were doing. No way. None of that crap for me.”

“You
idiots,
” Ron exploded. “Don't you know we're not the only ones who know, now? Someone else obviously found out and was willing to kill Tim Dodd over it.” Suddenly, the breath froze in Ron's lungs. He stared at Levin who looked back at him with a determined hardness to his gaze.

“You guys killed Dodd?” Mary asked what Ron was thinking.

“No. We didn't. But that doesn't mean we aren't willing to do what it takes to protect our interests.” He pointed toward the door and indicated with a shrug that they should go through. Behind them, they could hear Kamaguchi coming close, but not close enough to grab.

“Then why are you doing something so stupid?” The two prisoners went through, back into the building. They were quickly flanked by Billy and Kamaguchi who both stayed wisely out of arm's reach to prevent a quick grab by either Ron or Mary, but close enough in to get a clear shot if the unexpected should occur.

“You're going to be our guests. Until Mr. Holcomb gets back,” Levin told them.

“Does he know about this? Does he know what you're doing? This on his orders?” Ron glared back at Levin who stood just behind Billy.

“No. We haven't gotten in touch with him, yet. He hasn't responded to our calls. He hasn't called in, so we suppose his radio is still down.”

“Maybe one of those birds got him,” Mary said.

“No. They don't hunt men,” he said with conviction. “He sometimes doesn't communicate when he's out in the field. That's all. At times, he turns off his radio and leaves it that way until he's ready to talk. He's had more luck in observing the flock than the rest of us combined, so we can't complain about it.” They were halfway down the corridor, the room in which they had all so recently conversed just down the way.

Ron looked around. “Where's Kate?”

“She's around,” Levin told him.

“Did she tell you idiots to do this? Huh?” Mary twisted and looked back at the two gunmen, and at Levin. Although she was shorter than any of them, Ron felt that his lady friend was more than their equal. If not for the guns. And Kamaguchi certainly knew how to use a gun. It wasn't worth the chance, and Ron knew that Mary wasn't stupid enough to try.

“Let's just say…she's not in a position to complain,” Levin said. “Now open that door and go through.”

Riggs reached out and turned the cool brass doorknob. The door clicked open and quickly Levin was at the door, pulling it out of Ron's grasp and swinging it wide to admit him. The room was small: ten feet square. Obviously some type of storage chamber, but cleared of all contents. In the center of the floor was Kate, laid out, her long hair fanned out on the tile, a bright purple knot on her forehead. But Ron could see that she was breathing, could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest, one hand covering her right breast, her legs bent neatly at the knees, almost as if posing.

“You
bastards,
” Ron said as, for the second time that day, and in
precisely
the same spot, he took a blow from a blunt instrument to the back of his head. This time, the lights went out, and the last thing he saw before he met the floor was Mary looking down at him as the door was slammed shut.

“Load light and tight, boys,” Grisham told his men.

He looked down on them from the vantage point of his office in the loft of the “barn.” Yes, he actually boarded four horses there, at the rear of the building; and, yes, there was actually a pair of tractors and various wagons lodged safely in the overhanging shed that was attached to the big structure. But most of this barn was an armory and an array of intelligence gathering offices, with a recording studio added on for good measure. This was where Grisham spent most of his days, where he taped his thrice weekly radio shows, where he plotted his war games, where he preached to his men, where he prepared to do his part in the coming civil war.

Grisham was standing on a wooden deck, almost an elevated porch. Behind him was a plate glass window that showed his own well-kept office. A wooden staircase led down to the floor of the barn, maps tacked to the walls all around the gathered fire team. The commander looked down from a height of roughly twelve feet, which made him appear as superior as he currently felt. He was better than the lot of them rolled into one, and they all knew it.

“I've explained to you fellows why I chose you. We're not only going to have to hit human targets today, but we're also going to be doing some big game hunting. I'd say we'd do the big game first, but the truth is that I know where the people are going to be, but I only have a rough idea of where to look for the game.”

He felt the heft of the bundle of neat, manila folders under his left arm. There was one for each man, and as soon as he'd seen that each of them had read every syllable of each report and had consumed every square centimeter of each photograph, he'd see to it that all of the intelligence was properly disposed of. Slowly, he began to descend the staircase, continuing to address his soldiers.

“You fellows know how fortunate you are. There are thirty men outside this building stewing in their disappointment right now. Any of them would have been equal to the task, I'm sure. But each of you is more than that. Each of you is the
best
I have, right now. I'd say that each and every one of you are the equal of anything the United States Armed Forces could throw at us these days.”

Some of the hard-faced men nodded solemnly at Grisham's words.

“But you also all have extensive experience hunting big game. Dangerous game. As our other team eliminates the people on our list, we're going to be doing something truly great. Something you'll be able to think about for the rest of your lives.” He then stared out at the group of six, and although he was not actually smiling, it was as close to a psychic grin as anything any of them would ever see.

“We're going to cause the extinction of an entire race of creatures Mankind isn't even aware of. An animal that exists right here in our midst, and which will be snuffed out within the next few days. We're going to destroy a creature that has no right to be.” He was at the bottom of the stairway, standing on the wooden floor, hard planks under his military boots. Slowly, deliberately, he began to dole out the folders. Stenciled in stark, black letters on each folder was the term:
Operation Terror Bird
.

“Open them up, men.” In unison, the half dozen bent back the covers and saw the face of the animal they were going to drive to extinction. A couple of them could not suppress a short exclamation.

“Goddamn, indeed, gentlemen. This animal has no right to be seen by God or man. So we're going to do something about it. We're going to kill each and every one of them. We're going to shoot every one of the beasts we can find, until the forests are bare of them and none remain.”

He pointed quickly at the man nearest to him, a blond, almost gracefully built soldier with clear green eyes and reddish complexion. “You. Jim Gant. You've shot Bengal tigers. Two of them that I know of. Faced the damned beasts from a few paces and put bullets into their hearts.” The man nodded, barely.

He pointed to another, a man standing far to the left. “Wallace Joyner. You once killed an Alaskan brown bear with a .22 rifle. Dropped him with a single shot at twenty yards. Fine shooting.”

“And you, Redmond.” Grisham indicated a very tall man standing directly in front of him. “You sly bastard. You killed a damned Komodo dragon with a
crossbow
. How you got away with
that
particular deed, I don't even
want
to know.” The retired colonel cracked a smile. “The point is that each of you knows how to not only kill a man with a single good shot, but you also know how to track the kind of creature we're going to be hunting. Make no mistake about it. These animals are predators, and efficient ones. I'm sure they're agile, and I can tell just from looking at a single photograph of one that they are fast.”

He turned and walked over to the map wall at his right. It was hung with a number of topographic quadrangle maps showing the lay of the land for over two hundred square miles. “We've only got a short time to act,” he told them. “We have to
disappear
our human targets and then get right down to business. While we're out in the bush, we have other members of our group doing the wetwork elsewhere. There may be problems. We have to plan for such contingencies. I doubt any of our law enforcement officers will be poking about in the wilderness outside of Salutations. But just in case, I want to track these damned things down and be
done,
” he roared the word, “with them in short order.”

Once more he faced his men. “And, in case we encounter any of the stray human targets in the bush, you must be able to sanction them, too. Keep that in mind and don't hesitate to act while we're out there.

“Now. Before I let you sit down here to consume these intelligence reports, I'll field a few questions.” He stepped back, as if ready to take a shot in his hard gut.

“Sir.” It was Gant, the red-faced one. “How many of these things are there?”

“I don't know,” he said. “My sources say maybe a dozen. But I don't know.”

Redmond cleared his throat and spoke. “
What
are they?”

“What do they look like?” Grisham returned.

There were a few seconds of hesitation from tall Redmond. “Well…I hate to sound foolish…but this looks like a dinosaur. Some kind of dinosaur.”

“Then that's what it is,” Grisham said. His expression grew very hard, his brow knitting into a fleshy shelf. “Any other questions?” he yelled.

“What about human targets? Do you foresee any problems there? There's a lot of bush to whack out there.”

“Ah. We have an ace in the hole,” he told them. “Someone on the inside has made it much easier for us to find our main target, if he's out there. He has a transmitter he doesn't even know about, and I have the frequency. Piece of cake.

“Anything else?”

There was silence.

“Then get busy reading. After that, give the folders back to me. Then prepare to go in-country.”

 

“Where am I?” His head hurt. Someone was slowly pounding a hole in the base of his skull. And it was dark. The lights were out.

“You're with me,” she said.

Ron immediately recognized Kate's husky voice. “Kate. Oh.” So
that's
whose lap his head rested in. He was slowly getting his bearings. He was pretty sure where up was and that down was against his back.

“Are you going to be all right?” she asked.

“I think so. Yeah.” It was very dark in the room. He couldn't see Kate's face, and although he knew his eyes were searching the room, he couldn't see any sign of a flaw beneath door and floor. Or any place that looked like there might even
be
a door. “I'm going to try and sit up,” he told her. He groaned and fell back.

“Just lie still.”

“No. No. I'll be okay. It was just that first try. I can do it.” He made another attempt and succeeded this time, propping himself up with one arm while he twisted his torso until he was sitting with his back against the wall. His legs splayed out in front, he could feel his shoulder touching Kate's arm. “How about you? Are you okay? That was a nasty bruise you had, too.”

“I'll be fine,” she said.

“How long have I been out?”

“I couldn't say. I came to just when you and Niccols were brought here. But I was too woozy to do more than just lie here. I think I passed out again when the door was shut, but if I did I don't know for how long.”

“Where's Mary? What did they do to Mary?”

“I don't know. They didn't leave her here. I wouldn't worry about her anyway; your pal looks like she could maybe just pound a door down if she was of a mind to do so.”

“She might at that,” Ron told her. “What the hell's going on? What're Levin and those others up to?” He shifted and pushed a bit closer to Kate. Not completely involuntarily.

“He thinks he's going to save the birds,” she said. “I think he believes that when Vance comes back, all of his troubles will be over. Vance will have all of the answers and will save the day.”

“He wouldn't have shot us, then.” Ron reached back and gingerly touched at the bruised and swollen knot on the back of his head.

“I don't think so. But that guy's an Earth First-er if ever I met one. I think he'd exterminate all of Mankind if he had the chance.”

“For real?”

“For real.” She arched her back, and brought herself a little closer to Ron. At least it seemed to
him
that she was closer. More of her was making contact with more of him, at any rate. “He used to be into all kinds of terrorist dogma. Spiking trees, poisoning livestock, setting mantraps in old growth forests. Pleasant stuff like that.”

“Jesus.”

“He's not a bad sort, really. He's just sick of seeing Mankind eating away at the natural world.”

Ron said nothing. He didn't quite know what to say.

“Ron?” He could feel Kate turn toward him. One of her long arms reached over and she grasped his right hand in hers.

“What is it?” He swallowed hard. Ron was nervous. Grade school nervous. He was being stupid.

“Since we've got nothing better to do, why don't we have that talk we were going to have?”

He could feel her breath against the side of his face. “Sure. I'd like that, I guess. It'll help pass the time until Holcomb gets back and they let us out of here.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“You were going to tell me about some things I needed to know about you,” he said. “I can't imagine what it might be, but if you think it's important, go ahead and tell me. If you're Jewish, I can always convert.”

She laughed. “I will tell you,” she said. “But first I want to ask you something.”

“Fire away.”

“The other night, when I took you back to your truck. You wanted to kiss me, didn't you?”

“Well. Sure I did. Fact is, I've wanted to kiss you just about since you came across that field and found me sitting under the pines.”

“Well. Kiss me then.”

“You don't mind?”

“Kiss me, dammit.”

In the darkness, Ron reached out and found her. His hand closed gently on her long neck, and he turned and lifted himself to a kneeling position, leaned toward her, and found her lips. Their mouths met warmly, softly. It was as he had hoped. The smell of her, the taste of her, the
feel
of her was good. His breath came quicker; his heart beat a little faster. They remained that way for a few seconds, soft lips caressing and tasting one another there in the darkness. Finally, their mouths parted. Ron edged back a bit, feeling an erection.

“That was nice,” Ron told her.

“Yes,” Kate said. And then, “You enjoyed it?”

“Very much,” he admitted.

“You trust me?” she asked.

“What do you mean? Trust you concerning what?”

“Let me put it to you another way,” she said. “We've both been zapped in the noggin and tossed here in what serves as the lockup, right?”

“Yes.”

“So we're both pretty much in the same boat.”

Ron nodded, remembered that there was no way for Kate to see the movement, then said, “Yes. We're both stuck here. We were both sapped on the skull. As far as your former friends are concerned, I guess I trust you as well as I would anyone. What are you getting at?”

“Well.” She paused. “I know you're not going to want to hear this.”

“Hear what?”

“I think Mary is in with the studio. I think she had something to do with Dodd getting aced.”

Ron's breath caught in his chest. And although he wanted to, he found he couldn't so much as swallow.

 

William Tatum looked up from the papers on his desk to see a true horror enter his office. The building was quiet, and not a sound filtered into the room from the hallway outside: not so much as a whisper. Of course the figure standing in the doorway had shocked everyone and everything into complete silence. His presence was not unlike God's, Tatum often thought. Michael Irons closed the door behind him and looked down on the seated figure of a suddenly very small and very insignificant Bill Tatum.

Tatum wondered what Irons had said to keep his secretary from announcing his visitation. He wondered if he'd said nothing at all. He could see, in his mind's eye, the perfectly manicured index finger coming up to those rosy, almost cherubic lips, just the suggestion of a mischievous smile painted on.
Hush, little Miss. I'm here to suuuuuuuuurPRISE your boss
. And she had remained obediently still, like a good little scared rabbit.

The chairman stood easily inside the doorway, saying nothing. Calmly, he reached into his coat and withdrew a silver tube from which he produced a cigar. He lit it with a gold lighter produced from another pocket, tilting his head as he did so, peering down at Tatum. He puffed, obviously enjoying each inhalation. A strong and pleasant odor was soon wafting throughout the room, despite the fact that a truly superlative circulation system drew out and replaced the air in the building every few minutes. Cigar smoke seemed to make a nearly straight line toward the ceiling, where it vanished invisibly. With the cigar champed firmly in those shark-like teeth, Irons replaced the gleaming lighter.