“Wait a minute, if this is so simple, why’d the general bother with a satellite in the first place?”
“It would be more effective and easier to control, and a ground-based ray would be a hell of a lot easier to lock onto and shoot out than a satellite twenty thousand miles above the earth.”
“Back to my original question, Sundance: has it launched?”
“It’s on the pad. Six hours to liftoff.”
“Then it should achieve orbit …”
“Thirty-six hours after that. But it doesn’t matter, Blaine, because I’m going to stop the launch. I’m going straight to the President as soon as I’m finished here and lay it all out for him. He’ll understand. He has to.”
“That’s the hope, Sundance. Now put Johnny back on.”
Blaine could hear the receiver changing hands.
“Hello, Blainey,” said Wareagle.
“You’re a man of many miracles, Indian. I thought I’d asked the impossible of you this time.”
“A state of mind,” Wareagle told him, “easily overcome.”
“Of that I’m sure. Up to another journey?”
“Life is but a collection of random journeys.”
“I’m headed for the Biminis, Indian, specifically an island with no name. We still may need the Atragon to get this over with. This nameless island is supposed to be guarded by a sea monster.”
“A new challenge for us, Blainey.”
“See you there, Indian.”
Sundowner was about to phone the White House when the call came from Captain Midnight. He signaled Wareagle to follow him.
A descent of six floors by elevator brought them to the cavernous bottom floor of the Toy Factory and the personal lab of Captain Midnight.
“You’re sure?” Sundowner demanded, moving straight for the pinkish crystals placed atop the lab table.
Captain Midnight nodded. “It’s Atragon, all right.”
Sundowner ran his fingers over one of the crystals. He glanced over at Johnny Wareagle whose stolid expression showed no sign of surprise. “Not the same consistency as the ones we got from Earnst,” said Sundowner. “Smoother, less ridges. More gemlike.”
“Some people in Colorado were probably hoping for gemstones when they sent these to the National Assayer’s Office. They sent them down here when they couldn’t identify them.”
“But you have.”
Another nod, even surer. “It’s less refined and developed but every bit as potent as Earnst’s Atragon. The lighter color seems indicative of a smaller storage capacity, but the difference so far as we’re concerned is negligible. If we still need this kind of power, the wild-goose chase is over.”
Sundowner headed for the door. “I’ll let you know in an hour.”
Ordinarily, Ryan Sundowner was a patient driver. But while driving to the White House, he couldn’t help charging through yellow lights with horn honking. He imagined himself explaining to a traffic cop that if he didn’t deliver certain information to the President fast, the entire country would be facing destruction. Probably the best excuse the cop would ever hear.
Traffic was moderate from Bethesda to the outskirts of Washington, but once in the city the snarl of vehicles seemed to stretch forever. Sundowner fought back the gnawing in his stomach, chanced a few darts through red lights, and was certain the sound of an approaching motorcycle belonged to a traffic cop about to nail him.
He had actually relaxed a bit when the sideview mirror revealed a leather-clad civilian rider with darkened visor who had pulled his bike up right alongside the car as if sifting through traffic.
The machine pistol bullets shattered the window and most of Sundowner’s brain with it. His last reflex was to jam down on the accelerator, which sent his car crashing forward, starting a chain of collisions the motorcyclist quickly left behind.
And in the backseat of a limousine far back in traffic George Kappel dialed an overseas phone number.
“Sundowner has been eliminated,” the Farmer Boy reported.
Johnny Wareagle stared intensely at the phone, willing it to ring. Sundowner’s call was now more than an hour overdue. Several explanations were possible, but Johnny considered only one.
Sundowner was dead. The scientist’s aura had felt pale, depleted, and now Wareagle understood why. The spirits had been trying to warn him men, but he had disregarded them and now the price for that would have to be paid.
The deadly satellite would be launched.
Part Four
The Dragon Fish
The Biminis: Wednesday, nine A.M.
Chapter 27
The Biminis lie fifty miles off the coast of southern Florida. They are composed of two major islands sandwiching many small cays little more than a quick sprint apart. The chain offers fewer pleasures than many of its sister islands in the Caribbean. But for big-game fishing it is one of the most sought after locales in the world.
The Biminis are isolated, nearly two hundred empty miles west of the major Bahaman islands. The Biminis’ only airport lies in South Bimini, which provides easy access to all manner of boats and fishing equipment, rented or sold by people totally dependent on tourism for their survival.
McCracken and Natalya had watched the sun come up Wednesday morning on board the plane that had taken them to Miami. There they boarded a small commuter flight which landed in South Bimini just after eight A.M.
“I blew up a whole island last time I was in the Caribbean,” Blaine told her when their small jet at last taxied to a halt.
“You know what they say about playing with matches.”
“Yeah, you get burned. And right now we better get out. The Dragon Fish is probably just waiting for his breakfast.”
“Shall we feed him?”
“Least we can do.”
A small cab took them from the airport to South Bimini Harbor where they planned to rent a boat and plenty of scuba equipment. Of course what they needed most of all was a concrete destination.
“Need a detailed map of the area,” Blaine told the rental shop’s proprietor.
“No problem,” the man returned, reaching into a drawer next to the cash register. He came out with one and spread it atop the counter. “I can recommend some of the best fishing areas.”
Blaine studied the map closely. “What I’m looking for seems to be missing.” And with his eyes fixed on the clerk, “Your map’s one island short.”
The man pretended not to grasp his meaning. “Just tell me exactly what kind of sport you’re out for and—”
“What kind of sport? Say a bit of exploring. My wife and I have this Star Trek fetish. We like going where no man has gone before … and lived to tell about it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
The man lowered his voice. “Fortune hunters, eh?”
“In a manner of speaking, I suppose.”
“Well, I won’t help you get killed,” the man told them, shaking his head. “And there’s my equipment to consider. I doubt you carry enough cash to put up the deposit for the stuff’s full worth and that’s what it’ll take ‘fore I send you to what you’re looking for.”
“You’ve seen the island then.”
The man hesitated. “Never close up. Few of us locals have. When I was a boy my friends and me took a sailboat out and felt brave.” The man’s black face lost its sheen. “Storm came up out of nowhere. They were lost. I got rescued.”
“See any sea monsters?”
The man’s eyes bulged. “You know what’s good for you, mister, you’ll turn around and head for home. I seen plenty like you pass through these parts chasing after legends and mysteries. What I say is some things is better left alone.” He started to fold the map back into sections.