“I got a huge favor to ask.”
Kathleen only looked at him. There was no questioning in her eyes, only misery. He wished he could hold her.
Andrew knew he was about to get Ben Ellison in serious trouble. The FBI agent would probably lose his job over this. Sorry, Ben. Sorry. Maybe he would understand there was no other choice, though; not when Luce’s life was at stake.
“I was wondering if maybe you’d be willing to . . . to put out another video.”
The black boat slid among the network of tiny wild islands and narrow channels north of Seattle. The sky was the morose steel blue of a thickly overcast dawn. The divers had been up all night hunting, sounding out prospective mermaid lairs that had shown up on the scans. More and more often now the caves they checked proved to be empty, though some of them had suspicious signs of habitation: piles of empty shells or trinkets dangling from the rocks. Mermaids were obviously getting away from them, but there were no hints to where they’d all gone.
It was somebody’s fault, clearly. And somebody was going to have to take the blame. The government operatives had managed to decrease radically the incidence of shipwrecks along the West Coast, but if the sinkings started up again as soon as their backs were turned, it was sure going to look like they were a bunch of incompetents.
“There’s one . . .” The major was peering through high-powered binoculars, and he’d caught a distant but distinct glimpse of coppery fins. Not far from the mermaid there was an abrupt jag in the coast that seemed to indicate a promising cove. “About time. We’ll try to come up on her nice and gradually, see if there are more of them with her.”
Some of the men thought that was stupid. They’d realized by now that the damned tails could stay under for at least half an hour, sometimes much longer. They were incredibly fast swimmers, too; no human diver was a match for them. Their only real options were to take mermaids by surprise or else corner them. In this tangle of islands it would be absurdly easy to lose sight of their quarry. “With all due respect, sir,” a high-pitched voice objected, “she’ll dive. We should speed up and nab her before she sees us.”
“She hasn’t seen us,” the major said confidently. “Goddamn. She’s playing. And, wait, it looks like there’re at least two of them. Slow approach, like I said, and stay right up against the rocks. We’re about to hit pay dirt, men.”
Even without binoculars they could all see the tiny figure leaping high above the waves now, her long tail breaching as she spun in midair. She was probably brown-skinned, and her copper scales gave off flashes of ruby shine even in the morning dusk. After she splashed down, a second figure leaped, smaller and paler, her tail a light smoky blue. They appeared to be taking turns seeing how high they could go, completely oblivious of the danger creeping toward them. They looked so carefree, so joyful and innocent.
The only antidote to feelings of tenderness for these creatures was, the major reminded himself, a carefully cultivated loathing.
The boat slithered closer, its darkness blending with the slick black shoreline. It almost seemed like all the stealth wasn’t necessary, though. Whenever the mermaids surfaced they were always facing the other way. If it was indeed the case that some of the mermaids who’d escaped had been warning the rest of them, the news obviously hadn’t reached these two.
There was the flash of a third tail, a purple one, a little way to one side. Probably there was a whole tribe of them lounging right around that bend in the shore. The major started calculating. If they shot a bunch of mermaids out in the water they’d have to be extremely careful not to be seen by anyone at any stage of the procedure. The operation was still dead secret. And there would be the hassle of hiding the bodies, though one of those empty caves they’d found ought to do the job.
The copper-tailed one flung herself skyward again and pirouetted in space, coming down with an enormous splash. The boat was only fifty yards away now and still the mermaids seemed utterly thoughtless, as naïve as the children they decidedly weren’t. In a few more seconds he’d give the order to gun the silent engines, rush the mermaids, and attack. Blue-tail somersaulted then dipped below the water. It would be best to charge at a moment when all three heads were above the surface, shoot them all simultaneously before they had a chance to realize what was happening.
As if on cue, all three heads appeared close together, their shoulders gleaming in the dull blue light. They appeared to be talking, maybe laughing at something, though of course the major’s helmet kept him from hearing anything outside the network of microphones and speakers that linked him to his men. He shook his head and smiled grimly.
It was almost ludicrous how reckless these mermaids were being. If he didn’t know better, the major might have thought they wanted to get caught. Maybe they did. Maybe their guilt drove them to it. The men had their spear guns up, ready to fire. Geffen looked back at him from the cabin, waiting for the signal. He nodded brusquely at the pilot, and the boat accelerated in perfect silence, hurtling almost to the spot where the mermaids laughed.
When he looked back at the low, dim waves there was nothing. No, that was one of them . . . or no, it was only a seal . . .
The boat was still ebbing forward a bit from the momentum. On all sides there was only the stone-colored roll of the water, dancing trails of shadow, blackish scrolls that seemed to be hair until he focused his gaze on them and they turned back into weeds. All he could hear was the electrical hum of his helmet and the layered rhythms of his men’s exhalations against their built-in microphones. He usually tuned out the noise of their breathing, but somehow it was more intrusive now, as if it might be louder and quicker than he was used to . . . as if . . .
The world started spinning, slowly at first, like a merry-go-round just getting underway.
All the major could think for a moment was that he must be hallucinating. The dim blue world swept ragged trees across his vision as if it wanted to brush his eyes out of his head . . . then tarnished water . . . trees again, a diving cormorant, a sense of infinite distance.
“Major?”
He snapped back to the sight of his men stumbling or pressed up against the boat’s sides. The helmets hid everything but their worried, disoriented eyes. They were rotating at shocking speed now, each view of trees no more than a whiplash of passing darkness. Even worse, a mysterious circular blue wall seemed to be rising around them.
It was either that or . . .”Get us out of here!”
“I can’t, major! We’re in a funnel; we’re—”
“Gun the goddamn engines and get us out!”
He found himself staggering back and crashing down on top of one of his fallen men. His stomach lurched and speed hammered at his head. The centrifugal force was now so great that it was a struggle to shift his leg a few inches to one side. Through the cabin’s open door he saw Geffen’s body swinging in midair as he tried to keep his grip on the wheel; then the pilot lost his hold and smashed screaming into the wall. His wasn’t the only voice: the screams were all amplified by the helmets, throbbing into an intolerable, collective yowl.
It had to be Luce. She was the only one of those damn tails who could do something like this. She’d used the others as bait and lured the boat there.
Beyond the boat there was nothing but a blue blur of void, a towering emptiness. Blots of foam flew overhead. How far were they from the surface? Their suits would provide oxygen, of course. They wouldn’t drown, unless . . .