Cat's Cradle Read online

  “Fine. Then you hear me out. This is a matter of the highest national security. If you wish to engage in a muscle-flexing contest ... well, I don’t have to tell you who is going to win. Oh, it’s quite true you might harass us a bit on the highways-for a very short time. But you do not control the skies.”

  Captain Taylor bowed up, sticking his chin out. “And just what in the hell do you mean by that?”

  “That means they’ll airlift in everything they need,” Dan said.

  “Those helicopters I heard about five this ... yesterday afternoon,” Chuck said.

  “You’re very quick, Sheriff,” the man said. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, if you will all leave? ...”

  “We’re leaving,” Dan said, before Captain Taylor exploded all over the place, which would do no one any good. Dan didn’t believe the government men would actually shoot any of them, but why take chances?

  Off government property, the men stopped just before reaching the highway.

  “What in the hell is going on back there?” Captain Taylor questioned.

  “Some sort of medical experiment, for sure,” Dan said. “But damnit, why be so hush-hush about it?”

  No one could say.

  “We’ll call dispatch,” Dan said. “See if they have anything new on the missing people. If not, I suggest we call it a day-or night-and try to get some sleep. Let’s meet at my office in the morning and see what else has developed.”

  * * *

  In the bus garage of the high school, the white Cadillac of Denise Moore was parked in between two buses that were in the process of being repaired. The naked body of Denise was spread-eagled and tied on the hood. She was alive; but just barely. Blood leaked down both fenders and across the grille. It had gathered in pools on the concrete floor. The ropes that held Denise’s ankles were stained red, tied to the bumper. The windows of the Caddy were lowered, the ropes that bound her wrists tied to the steering column. The girl had been repeatedly raped and then tortured. Strange shapes had been cut into her flesh; cuttings that depicted cats and stars and strange monuments. It had taken Mickey hours to do all that he had been instructed to do. Silently instructed in a strange language he now knew was his own. The metamorphosis of Mickey was almost complete. He had aged, his skin darkening and wrinkling. Drool leaked from his mouth. His eyes were maddened.

  Mickey had hidden his car after hiding the Cadillac. He could not now use his car, for he had forgotten how to drive it. Finished with Denise, Mickey inspected his work. He was pleased. He staggered down the dark streets of town toward his home. Now Mickey was ready to surprise his wife. He had received his instructions.

  * * *

  That which had been Eddie Brown had staggered from the basement of the school and into a patch of woods just north of the school. From there, it had made its way to a marshy area not far from a small creek. Eddie stayed as far from the water as possible. The smell of the water infuriated him. He beat his fists on the ground, suppressing howls of fury. He ran from the smell of water, hiding in a thicket. There, it rested. As it rested, the stinking drool leaking past his lips fouled the thick pelt of new-grown hair on his chest.

  * * *

  Dan climbed wearily into bed beside his wife. Forcing his mind to slow down, stop racing and reeling with all the new developments, he willed himself to sleep.

  * * *

  Captain Taylor was in his motel room just outside of the town of Valentine. A motel room with a phone; which had almost taken an act of congress to procure. A widower, Captain Taylor spent as much time on the road as possible. He did not like to stay at his own home. His house was lonely since his wife died.

  Taylor decided not to wait until dawn to call the governor. He called him right then.

  It did not come as any surprise to learn the governor had suddenly decided to take a vacation. In St. Croix.

  He would be gone for a couple of weeks. At least.

  “Bastard!” Taylor said of his boss.

  Doctor Quinn Ramsey lay sleeping soundly in his bed. Occasionally, a small smile would play at the corners of his mouth. His dreams were pleasant as he dreamed of great medical accolades being heaped on him for his discoveries. What a medical find this tragedy had turned out to be. A nightmare had turned into a gold mine. He was going to be famous. He just knew it. He’d be written up in all the journals. Maybe People magazine would interview him.

  Just think of that.

  * * *

  Mille Smith lay in her bed in the motel in Richmond. She was wide awake; didn’t matter, she had enough speed to keep her going for a week, if it came to that.

  This one was going to be the big one for Mille. The biggest of the big. This story would put her right up there at the top of the list. It contained everything a good muckraker needed: police cover-up, gory murders, mystery, withholding of evidence-now a young woman and an older man are missing; probably shacked up someplace, with the old dude fulfilling his fantasies. And now the government-had to be the government, Mille couldn’t think of anything else-had stepped in, doing something strange and secret at that old terminal. It hadn’t taken Mille long to find out the government owned the property. Public record.

  But what were they doing out there?

  And was it connected with the murders?

  Had to be.

  And what in the hell was that creature she’d got a glimpse of yesterday? She’d never seen anything like it. It had to be some sort of nut case all dressed up in a Halloween costume. Forget about those lies at the press conference. All that junk about some mysterious disease contracted down in South America. The doctors were covering up because the local hotdog sheriff shot an unarmed mental patient. And she didn’t believe that story about the doctors’ wives being attacked either.

  And what in the hell was Kenny doing up there in New York City? She hadn’t heard from him. But she knew if there was anything to be found, Kenny would find it.

  She finally closed her eyes and slept.

  Ruger County lay quiet under the night skies. A picture postcard setting.

  Except for the Mickey Reynolds’ house. Which was a mess.

  13

  Tuesday.

  Surprisingly, Dan felt well-rested when he awakened. He showered, shaved, dressed, and had breakfast with Vonne. Since schools were still closed in the county, Carrie had elected to sleep late. Dan brought his wife up-to-date—telling her as much as he could.

  “What does it all mean, Dan?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. But I can’t help but believe Quinn is involved in this up to his butt. He’s the coroner. Chuck told me last night—this morning—the body of the engineer we killed is gone from the morgue. And Jimmy had been moved out sometime between dark and when Chuck called me.”

  “Where would they—whoever they might be—take the body and Jimmy?”

  “Probably out to that new . . . whatever it is out at the old terminal. It’s big, Vonne. It had to be to get the power company boys out there in the middle of the night running all those lines.”

  She looked at her husband, looked at the new lines in his face. Was there more gray in his hair? She thought so. “One good thing came out of this, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’re off the hook. Just play the old military game, Dan. Remember it from our days in the service? ”

  He smiled. “CYA. Cover Your Ass. You’re right, Vonne. And that is exactly what I’m going to do. I can play that game with the best of them.”

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Dan answered it. Agent Dodge of the FBI—and Dan was beginning to wonder if the man really was FBI—stood on the porch.

  “One side of me says you’re not very welcome here, Dodge. But the sheriff side of me is very curious. So come on in and have a cup of coffee.”

  “Thanks.” Dodge stepped inside. “All I ask is that you hear my side of the story.”

  “That’s fair. Fine. I’ve told my wife all I could about the case.”


  “Suits me. I’m married too, buddy.” That slick smile came too easily to Dodge’s lips.

  The man reminded Dan of a lot of new, young, fast-up-coming politicians. Always on.

  And Dan didn’t trust any of those who smiled all the time.

  Dodge passed on Vonne’s offer of breakfast, settling for a cup of coffee.

  Dodge said, “Dan, none of this was my idea.” Dan didn’t believe that either. “Nor anyone’s at the Bureau. You know we don’t operate this way.” That much was true; but Dan was convinced now, more than ever, that Dodge was no Bureau man. “This was literally taken right out of my hands.”

  “That big, huh?”

  “Real big, buddy. Goes nearly all the way to the top. It’s very big.”

  Dan nodded his head. He poured a second cup of coffee. “Yeah, I can see that, Dodge. Tell me, what is the Office of Special Studies?”

  “If you’re thinking it’s the Agency, forget it, it isn’t.” Dan never thought it was. The Company would never be that high-handed, showing arms, in public-not around something as press-drawing as multiple murders. “The Agency,” Dodge continued, “has really cleaned up their act stateside. The OSS—no relation to the old OSS—is a relative newcomer; but one with enormous power. Sugar Cube knows of their existence, but there is nothing The Man can do about them. I’ll level with you, Dan. I don’t know much about them.” Liar! “It’s both civilian and military and government. They work out of an obscure office in Maryland. Their ties go deep into the Pentagon. They’ve got a lot of clout. And something else: I was told to cooperate with them. Right down the line.”

  “Let me finish it, Dodge. Big money behind it from the various conservative fundamental religious groups around the country. Right?”

  Dodge fiddled with his coffee cup. “Well, off the record, yes.”

  “All right, Dodge. Let me ask something else: What do I do?”

  “Stand clear and pass the buck. The latter is off the record. Dan, keep your own skirts clean. And don’t push this thing.”

  “That is something to be considered. I’ll think about it. Those tractor trailer rigs at the terminal. Those are portable labs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Extensive ones?”

  “The very best that can be put together. They’ve got a hospital out there, Dan.”

  “I see. All right. So it’s big and it is-putting aside all the B.S.—government?”

  Dodge said nothing.

  “The ... creature was shot yesterday; it’s out there? And Jimmy, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Quinn Ramsey is involved in this?”

  “Oh, yes. Doctor Harrison too. And the new CDC people; might as well list them all for you.”

  “But they aren’t really CDC people, are they? And never mind the crap, Dodge. I know they aren’t. They never were.”

  Dodge’s smile was filled with grudging admiration. “How’d you put that together, Dan?”

  “I had one of my deputies follow them. None of them ever flew back to Atlanta. Always to Washington.”

  “Cute, Dan. But I wish you hadn’t done that. I really do.”

  Dan shrugged his total indifference as to what Dodge did or did not want.

  “All right, Dan,” the government man said. “You want the whole nine yards?” Dan nodded. “Then here it is. They’re from the military’s chemical and biological warfare center. That tell you anything?”

  “Oh, yes. The continuing search for the ultimate weapon to use against our enemies.”

  “You got it, buddy.”

  “Doctor Goodson?”

  “He was, to use his word, ’appalled.’ He pulled out and went back to the university. Then he changed his mind and returned. Said he might be able to do more good staying around, looking over the shoulders of these people.”

  “Good for Doctor Goodson.” I have an ally in camp. He kept that thought silent. “The highway patrol?”

  “I ... understand they have been instructed not to make waves.” Short and to the point.

  Big, Dan thought. Real big. Bigger than a county sheriff alone can cope with. But how big? “By whom?”

  Dodge lifted his shoulders.

  Lying son of a bitch! “And you’re here to tell me to do the same.” It was not put in question form.

  Dodge sighed; put a hound dog expression on his face. He was a really terrible actor. “Yeah. I’m afraid that’s so, buddy.”

  Dan fought to keep his temper in check. He gave it his best effort. “Well, buddy, you’d better make sure no reporters get close to me. ’Cause I’m damn sure going to lift the lid off this stinking, slimy, wriggling, cover-up can of worms.”

  Dodge flushed, his eyes hardening in expression. He pointed his finger at Dan.

  “You want that finger broken or just badly bent?” Dan asked.

  Dodge tucked his finger back into his fist and lowered his hand. “No need to get hostile, buddy. I’m here only to help.”

  Dan laughed at him.

  “Believe me, Dan. I can produce more muscle than you can-if that’s the way you choose to play it.”

  “I’m sure you can. But I intend to play legal, Dodge. You are familiar with that word, are you not?”

  “There is no can of worms, Dan.”

  “You can’t be serious!”

  “Like a crutch, buddy.”

  “You want to explain that?”

  “There is no mummy-man. No severed arm. It’s been destroyed. There is no one named Jimmy. He was released and went on a long recuperative vacation. Doctor’s orders.”

  “Oh, come on, Dodge! That’s shit and you know it.”

  “Prove it, buddy.”

  “Man, I’ve got pictures!”

  “You have no pictures. Not of anything pertaining to this subject.”

  “I’ve got pictures of the kids. Al and Jimmy. Donald Drake. And ...” He cut it off as Dodge smiled at him. Suckered! he thought. I’ve been stiffed. Taken like a rookie. “Why do I get the impression I’ll never see any of those pictures again? And why do I get the feeling those medics of Ramsey’s never took any pictures of the dead engineer?”

  “You’re learning, buddy. All gone. Accidents do happen when dealing with cameras, you know?”

  “I see.” Dan was conscious of his wife’s pale face; her eyes staring at him. “Well, there is still the matter of Mille Smith. She saw the mummy-man.”

  “We’re working on that.”

  Dan picked up on the ‘we’re’ part of it. He kept his expression closed. “Dodge, there are a couple of points I’d like to make.”

  “I’m listening, buddy.”

  “One: you have no right to expose the people of this county to more danger. Two: the murderers who brought all this about.”

  “The people are in no danger, buddy. We’re not savages. Jesus Christ! That terminal is cordoned off with armed guards. You know that. And we—all of us—will be working very closely with you and your people in capturing the people responsible for the murders.”

  “Suppose I don’t choose to accept your offer of help?”

  “You don’t have a choice in the matter, buddy.”

  “Are you threatening me, Dodge?”

  “Not you, directly.” He cut his eyes to Evonne.

  Dan got it. “You lying—”

  “Anything else, buddy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Name it.”

  “Get your goddamned ass out of my house-buddy!”

  * * *

  Dan laid it out for Captain Taylor, Sergeant Langway, Chuck Klevan, and the rest of the people. He did that after ordering a thorough search of the sheriff’s department for the pictures of the murder victims.

  The prints were gone.

  “How in the hell did they get in here to do that?” a deputy questioned.

  “Easily,” Dan told them. “Can any of you dispatch people remember taking a phone call that seemed a little strange? Maybe one that lasted for an unusually long time?”


  “Yes, sir,” one of the night dispatch people said. “The same day that mummy thing was killed. That night, I mean. Some nut called in. Kept me on the line for about fifteen minutes. Wildest crap I ever heard.” The dispatcher paused, a rueful smile on his lips. “Sure. And while I was busy trying to make some sense out of the call, giving it all my attention, somebody just walks right in the office and helps themselves. Right, Sheriff?”

  “That’s it. When I was with the Bureau, I worked similar ops, but never on a police station.”

  The deputies were angry, and it showed on their faces. Fellow officers-regardless of agency, they were still brother cops-had stiffed them. Battle lines had been drawn; the enemy identified.

  “Get back to work,” Dan ordered.

  The deputies on duty returned to the roads. The off-duty dispatchers left to go home. Four Virginia Highway Patrolmen entered the room. They were dressed in civilian clothes. Dan knew them all, but not well.

  Captain Taylor said, “In a very roundabout way, with nothing firm being said, I was ordered to work very closely with this new bunch out at the terminal. Give them my fullest cooperation. I told my C.O. that if he wasn’t my C.O., I would tell him where to shove his orders. He said he understood my feelings.”

  “Did they pull the national security bit with you?” Chuck asked. “They sure did with me. Sounded like a broken record.”

  “They tried,” Taylor said. “I told that damned Dodge to get the hell out of my motel room before I jammed his phony I.D. up his butt. Sideways. I don’t believe that man is Bureau.”

  “He may be Bureau,” Dan said. “But if so, he’s working both sides of the street. I would imagine all agencies have been infiltrated by these OSS people. They’ve got to be big and very powerful. And very secret. And I think they’ve been around a lot longer than Dodge is telling us. And I’m thinking this bunch is the same bunch we ran up against out west back in the sixties. Some of you may recall the flap about mutilated cattle. Those responsible were using cattle to try to perfect some sort of weapon to use against the Russians. Germ warfare. Between 1965 and 1970 some five thousand head of cattle were found, mutilated. It’s still going on, but on a much smaller scale.”