King nodded. She was right of course. It's what you did with the demons that mattered. But he wasn't a shrink and now wasn't the time to talk military philosophy. "Is there anything new on this thumb drive I should know about?"
Beck stood up straight. Back to business. "As far as I know, it's a copy of what you already found."
He pocketed the drive. "I'll take it anyway. Just in case." He looked her in the eyes. "Then the next big question I have is: What's to keep me from taking you in right now?"
"In fifteen minutes I'll be late and they'll know something is up. But if you want me to stage some kind of coup on the inside you can forget it. The Gen-Y's won't go for it and the scientists, well, they're scientists. They wouldn't stand a chance. Besides, I think they're done."
It was King's turn to stand up straight. "They've finished?"
"The labs are empty. I've only seen Maddox and Ridley working. If they're not done, they're close."
"Tell me about Maddox."
"Todd Maddox. A pretty-boy genetics wiz. From what I've heard, he came on a few years back, after Ridley hit a brick wall, and got things back on track. On the fast track, really. A good guy, I guess. But real squir-relly lately. Afraid."
"If he knows what's going on, he should be terrified. We all should be," King added. "But is he one of the bad guys?"
Beck chewed on that, but before she could answer, a shout, full of fear, rose in the distance. King looked back toward the campground, but couldn't make anything out. When he turned to face Beck again, she was in motion. Her foot connected hard with his chest, toppling him over. The impact jarred her weapon from his hand. She picked it up and bolted. King took aim as she fled, but held his fire. She'd dropped something next to him. A sheet of paper.
He looked at the page and found a hand-drawn map of the valley. She'd drawn Stinson Mountain and campground as reference points, then the mountain just behind the campground. There was an X through it and a hastily written, X marks the spot. They weren't only in their backyard, they were actually on the campground's property. Which meant someone here knew where. It's amazing what good people will do for money, he thought before thinking of Knight, who was reconnoitering dangerous territory. But warning Knight would have to wait.
King hid his weapon and dashed back to the campground where he could hear more distant screaming. Fred stood outside the Snack Shack, hand on his forehead, looking at the woods on the other side of the quad. A plume of smoke rose from the trees. "What's happening?"
Fred turned to him, his face struck with panic. "Fire."
Through the trees, King could see a cottage just inside the woods. Fire licked at the first-floor windows while smoke billowed from the second floor. "Who's cabin is that?"
"Doug and Linda Crowell. Elderly couple." Fred looked at him. "They had grandkids visiting this week, I think."
"Call nine-one-one," King said. He unclipped Thor's leash and launched across the quad like a heat-seeking missile, heading for the burning cottage. Thor stayed right by his side. He wasn't sure what he could do to help against the fire, but he doubted Pinckney had much in the way of a fire department, and Plymouth was a fifteen-minute drive. What he was sure about was that he'd sworn to protect the people of this country, and if that meant pulling them out of a burning building, so be it.
A small group was already gathered in front of the cabin. He stopped next to them and asked, "Is anyone home?"
An older man responded. "I was able to steal a peek in the first-floor bedroom and living room. Didn't see Doug or Linda. Must be out."
King didn't like taking the man's word for it, but with flames gutting the entire first floor, what choice did he have? Even thirty feet away the heat felt intense.
A scream switched off King's apprehension in an instant.
"The children are still inside!" a woman shouted.
"Stay!" King shouted at Thor, before heading for the front door and kicking it in. But the added oxygen fed the fire. King jumped back as a vortex of flames shot from the front door. A man helped him sit up and urged him to back away. The building was impossibly hot, set to collapse and a death trap for anyone who entered. King looked around for something that could help. A hydrant. Ladder. A puddle to roll around in before running in. But there was nothing. Then he saw the crowd, now thirty people strong. They were praying.
For what? A solution? The children's souls? "Damnit!" King shouted in anger. One of the woman closest to him opened her eyes and looked at him, in anger at first, then in wonderment. But she wasn't looking at him. She was looking behind him.
King turned just in time to see a fast-moving blur enter the cabin. While the others burst into frantic chatter about the man who'd just entered the building, King took up where they left off, saying a prayer for the man who he'd just seen enter: Bishop.
FORTY-SIX
As the small motorboat bounced up and over a large, blue-green Mediterranean wave, the base of the vertical stone face of Gibraltar's famous rock could be seen clearly. A small rock-strewn shoreline rose up perhaps ten feet from the water where it met a cliffside covered in caves. The caves, massive where they met the elements, narrowed into dark tunnels into which eyes adjusted to the bright sun could not see.
They had elected to approach the caves in broad daylight in an effort to remain inconspicuous. After all, they were just a couple of Swiss tourists interested in seeing the famous Gorham's Cave.
The hum of the engine faded as the pilot, a man who refused to give his name or remove his sunglasses, idled toward the shore. Just before the boat struck the stony shoreline, the pilot reversed the engines, stopping the boat a few feet from shore. Without waiting or bidding their driver farewell, Queen and Rook hopped into the knee-deep water and waded to shore.
A tan man with long, black curly locks and a scruffy beard charged out of the cave entrance. He didn't talk, but his body language spoke volumes. He was fairly large, just a little taller than Rook, and had confident eyes and sculpted forearms. In fact, his eyes were so deep, so keen with wisdom that Queen stopped short of the shore. There was something different about this man she couldn't quite peg.
The boat powered away, out to sea. Regaining her composure, Queen motioned to it and spoke with a passable Swiss accent. "Your face says we should not be here, but as you can see, he has left us."
"Why are you here?" the man asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Our guide in town," Rook said, also laying on a Swiss accent. "He said the Gorham's Cave was the most magnificent sight on Gibraltar. That the history is so spectacular. That no man, or woman, should miss the opportunity to see the cave. To experience our shared history."
"He was right on all counts, except that you are not allowed in the caves. No one is. Not without an official invitation, and those are only given to archaeologists and anthropologists. Which I'm guessing neither of you are."
Queen pouted. "I am afraid not. You are sure about this? That we may not enter?" "Quite."
She looked at Rook. He smiled in a friendly way and shrugged a "Why not," still acting the jovial vacationer part.
"I must apologize, sir. We have not been entirely honest with you."
The man stood his ground, but did raise his eyebrows.
"You see, we were sent here by a friend. She told us to visit the caves. That we would find them fascinating. She lives in the shadow of the Acropolis in Athens. The Plaka district. Perhaps you have been there? A beautiful place this time of year."
"Wonderful gelato," Rook added with a smile.
The man stood silent for a moment, and then said, "I do not know her."