Rook felt the small of his back. Nothing. "Son of a bitch."
Though the macaque held the weapon handle out, Rook didn't want the gun to discharge outside Her Majesty's Prison Service. Explaining why a macaque had a handgun covered in his fingerprints, stolen from a ransacked office at the University of Athens would take some time. More time than they had. Even with Deep Blue's vast political influence.
As Rook reached out for the weapon, the macaque hissed and barred its teeth. Rook dove for the weapon, but the creature was too quick. He looked at Queen, who was watching and smiling. "A little help?"
"I've never seen two monkeys fight before."
Rook grunted, then dove for the macaque again. This time it leaped onto his back and off again. That's when Rook noticed Reggie approaching. "It's okay," Rook said. "You don't need to help."
"I see you have met our most famous residents? Do not worry. This is a simple matter," Reggie said. "You just have to know how to negotiate."
Rook watched as the man took out a chocolate bar. Reggie and the macaque slowly reached out both hands, each taking hold of what the other held. It was like watching a back-alley drug deal. He let go of the chocolate and the macaque disappeared over the side of the wall. "Here you go, sir," he said, handing the weapon to Rook, and then added, "Do not worry, sir. I will not speak of your weapon." He pulled up his shirt, revealing his own handgun. "The streets can be dangerous at night. Especially for tourists. You were wise to bring it."
"We were hoping to visit Gorham's Cave," Queen said, wanting to change the subject.
A magnificent place. Unfortunately, closed to the public."
"Is there anyone there now?"
"Indeed. Archaeologists have been working on the site for many years."
Queen reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. "Are you sure there isn't a way to get a private tour?"
Reggie grinned and scoured the area for any bystanders who might overhear before saying, "I might be able to arrange transport to the cave… but you must deal with the archaeologists — and consequences— on your own."
FORTY- FIVE
After tying Thor to one of the deck chairs and ordering him to stay, King entered the Snack Shack through its bright green, double screen doors that announced his entrance with a loud creak. He was about to greet Fred, the man behind the counter, when he noticed the dining room was empty. The double doors on the other side of the room swung back and forth. She'd just left.
"What can I get for ya?" Fred asked, but King ignored him and walked to the swinging doors. He pushed them open slowly, fearful of a trap. But the woman was walking quickly toward the woods. She glanced over her shoulder and met King's eyes again.
She ran.
The trees enveloped her quickly and she disappeared from view. King burst from the Snack Shack and sprinted toward the trees. Upon entering the forest, he drew his weapon. There was no doubt in his mind that this woman was with Gen-Y and he couldn't let her escape, even if it meant putting a bullet in her leg.
He could see her ahead, weaving in and out of the trees. Despite her weaving, she ran in a straight line. King was impressed by her speed and agility as she cleared fallen trees and brush with ease. His urge was to take a shot or shout for her to stop, but if there were others around he didn't want to attract their attention. It struck him then that she hadn't called in help yet, either.
Still wary of a trap, King forged ahead, slowly closing the distance. He lost sight of her as she rounded a moss-covered boulder, but something had changed in her gait as she disappeared. She wasn't running full out. She was slowing.
King bounded up the rock instead of around it. At the top, he leaped off, landing behind the woman, who had indeed stopped, and placed his gun against the back of her head.
Her hands came up quick. Empty. "I'm not armed!"
King dug his hand beneath the back of her shirt and removed a Metal Storm handgun. "Funny, you look armed."
"I meant I wasn't going to use it." She turned to face him. Her face was hard, but pretty, framed by shoulder-length brown hair. "Look, I came to find you."
"You knew where to find me?"
"Not you, no— I hoped to find someone. And I found you. But I couldn't risk being seen with you out in the open."
King kept his weapon aimed. "Who are you?"
"Anna Beck," she said, glancing left and right like a nervous animal.
King realized this was not a sanctioned visit. "So, what is a member of Gen-Y security doing at a Bible Campground? Come to ask God for forgiveness?"
King thought she would flinch at the revelation that he knew who she worked for, but the woman just met his stare and then dropped a bombshell of her own.
"Jack Sigler. Call sign "King." I have shoot-to-kill orders for you. We all do."
She knew who he was, too, just like the men in the desert. He mentally replayed the event, remembering the body shapes of the black-suited mercenaries. None were women. Beck wasn't there. Lucky for her. "And yet you didn't shoot."
"Not everyone at Manifold knows what's really going on. Most of the scientists know what they're working toward, but they have no idea that the volunteers are actually kidnapped, then murdered. And they certainly don't know that the technology they think will usher in a new age of health, long life, and prosperity will be sold to the highest bidder."
"But Gen-Y does?"
"Some of them, yes. But not all."
"And you're one of the people in the know?"
"I am now. I was given this." Beck pulled out a small USB drive and handed it to King. It matched the one found in the Amazon. "I have one just like it," he said.
Beck's eyebrows shot up and relief swept across her face. "You found Seth! He risked his life to get that. I didn't understand what was so important when he gave it to me, but— How is he?"
"Seth, I'm afraid, never made it out of the Amazon. He's dead."
She slumped and leaned against the boulder. The news struck her hard. Seth was a good guy.
"If it's any consolation, his life wasn't lost in vain. If we hadn't found him, Manifold would have finished its work unhindered on Tristan da Cunha."
Beck frowned. She'd been there. "How many people died?" she asked.
"Nearly nine hundred. Including the island's residents and over six hundred U.S. sailors."
"No…" she whispered, then found her voice again. "I was in the army. Served a tour in Iraq, then jumped ship."
He looked her in the eye, sizing her up, then guessed. "Too good at your job? At killing."
She nodded. "Some people are born to play basketball or cure cancer. I seem to be really good with a submachine gun. But it's not in my heart. I didn't want to kill people for a cause I wasn't one hundred percent sure about."
"So… you took the security job because what? You believe in Manifold's cause?"
"On the surface, yes. The PR garbage touts them as a humanitarian company out to solve the world's problems. Makes them look noble. Like something worth dying for. Or killing for. But they're no better than the people who sent me to Iraq, except that they pay better. But honestly, I didn't think we'd ever see any action. And I never thought I'd be one of the bad guys."
"How many more are there like you?"
"In Gen-Y?"
He nodded.
"If I thought there were others I wouldn't be here alone." The statement reminded her to check for eavesdroppers again. "Some of the others aren't that bad, but do I think they would leave the money and status behind…? What do they have to look forward to? It's not like people are lining up to hire Iraq vets these days. Going to war makes you a 'hero' to everyone but employers. At least for soldiers on the front lines, putting bullets into people. You can't do that and not have demons."