The birds made short work of their lunch, stripping the carcasses clean with beaks and talons as efficient as any blades. The show appeared to be over. The birds hopped off the table and, rather laboriously, took to the air again, achieving height with some frantic, again almost comical, flapping of the huge wings. They finally soared almost gracefully for a few seconds as they circled up the dome, then looked clumsy again as they attempted to land on springy branches at the high tops. But within seconds, all was settled and calm again, and the six black dots looked down from their high perches. The Russian stepped forward and keyed a code into the touch screen; the table whirred and sank. The opening in the floor closed as if it had never been, leaving a green sweep of grass with not even a stray bone or scrap of flesh left to show for the feeding.
The three scientists had gone into a huddle again, and this time when Volkov noticed, he got visibly more agitated, and made straight for Waterston.
“Come, sir, tell me,” he demanded. “What have you seen that makes you so conspiratorial? I have bared the secrets of this place to you. At least do me the same courtesy.”
“Bared your secrets?” Waterston said. “I don’t think we’ve even begun to see the depths to which you have sunk in your rush to get your ‘zoo’ open.” The emphasis he used on the word showed all too clearly his opinion of both the little Russian and his work.
Banks started to pay attention; the tension had just risen several notches. Volkov bristled, and the three Russian workers moved, almost imperceptibly, closer to their boss. Banks had changed his earlier opinion; now he was pretty sure they were all armed; the bulge of a shoulder holster showed when one of them moved closer to their boss. Banks saw Hynd and McCally take note and go still and watchful.
They were one false move away from a knockdown fight, possibly even a shooting match.
And we’ve only been here an hour.
- 5 -
It was obvious to Banks that the stocky Russian needed the scientists’ approval; it had been obvious as soon as he’d seen the Lear Jet in Lossiemouth, and took note of the spread of food and drink on offer.
Sugar works better than vinegar.
Waterston was, however, so far at least, proving immune to the bribery, and Banks’ estimation of the English scientist had gone up several notches. But something had to give before the tension spilled over into action, and Volkov himself broke the strained silence. He waved his men away and went to stand beside Waterston, leaning in close to speak.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Yes, there are indeed things yet to see, things that will explain everything. Will you come? Your curiosity can be assuaged within minutes. I have nothing to hide.”
“That is yet to be seen,” Waterston muttered in reply, but the scientists allowed themselves to once again be led away. Banks’ squad followed, with the Russian workers at the rear, but the tension had not dissipated completely, and he had a much more watchful team around him as they circled the great aviary. Finally, they arrived at a spot where a double doorway led to another concrete and glass building at the back of the facility.
This time, Volkov used the keypad, six numbers with no associated tones, but the doors slid open with a hiss in response, revealing a gleaming, white-tiled corridor beyond.
“I told you I have nothing to hide,” he said as he motioned the group forward into the corridor. “Come and see where the magic happens. Welcome to my labs.”
As they walked along the sterile white corridor, a double door twenty yards inside opened at their approach, triggered by a motion detector switch. Beyond that was yet another dome, a single high structure containing what appeared to Banks’ untutored eye to be a state-of-the-art modern laboratory. Several large cages ran around the outside walls, while the center of the area was a mixture of computers, monitors, printers, refrigeration units, and high, banked systems of glassware and chrome containing a variety of liquids that he could only guess at. For as much as he knew of the working of this place, it might as well be magic.
Volkov, Waterston, and the other two Englishmen were already deep in the esoterica of a scientific discussion that Banks lost the thread of within seconds. Wiggins was at his side, also listening.
“I don’t know what the fuck Reverse Transcriptase is, but it sounds painful,” the Glaswegian said after a while.
Hynd answered.
“It’s an enzyme used to generate DNA from an RNA template,” he said laconically, and smiled. “What, you didnae pay attention in O’ Level Biology?”
“The only thing I was paying attention to in class was the teacher’s tits,” Wiggins replied, and leered, then his eyes went wide as he looked over Hynd’s shoulder to one of the cages against the outside wall of the dome.
“Holy fuck, would you look at the size of that.”
Banks turned to look.
At first, he thought it was some kind of German Shepherd, then his sense of scale kicked in again. It was indeed canine, but this was a wolf, sitting inside a large cage on its haunches, its steely blue gaze fixed directly on Banks and Wiggins. It was as gray along the flanks as the lion they’d seen early, but shaggier, and almost white in places. It was difficult to gauge its size while it was sitting, but given the size of the head—and its teeth—it would stand around four feet high when upright. The power and strength of the lion had impressed him—but this was different again. What he felt now was the same kind of weak-kneed terror that came just before a firefight. He faced it the same way he would in combat—he looked it in the eye and went to meet it.
The wolf’s stare never wavered as Banks walked over to the cage. It was only as he got closer that he saw the beast was not alone. A straw bed dominated the rear of the cage, and on that laid three more wolves, none as large as the big male. It only took a second to confirm that one was a large female, almost all ghost white, and with her, two nearly full-grown cubs with shorter, darker coats and markings.
The big male’s stare never left Banks’ face, and Banks knew that if the cage was not present, he would face the full cold fury of an attack.
I think I’d rather face the lion.
Wiggins whispered at his side.
“Who’s a good boy then?”
Banks took another step forward, and the big male growled with a rumble that Banks felt in his belly, as if he’d stood close to a big bass speaker.
“Careful, Captain,” Volkov said, coming across the room toward them, “our big boy is most protective of his family.”
Waterston was at the Russian’s side, and only took a quick look in the cage before turning to Volkov.
“See, that’s exactly what I was talking about. Dire wolves did not grow that large.”
Banks guessed this was the continuation of a private conversation the men were having. It wasn’t private now. The whole lab fell quiet, as if waiting for the Russian’s response.
All he did was wave a hand toward the large cage.
“They do now,” he said, and walked away. Banks noted that his workers—his bodyguards—were not with him. The three Russians stood at the far end of the dome, where it butted up against a hillside beyond the glass. There was a large door at that end, which looked like it went out directly into a courtyard, and the hill just yards beyond that.