Dinosaur Thunder (17 page)

“But what does it mean?” Elizabeth asked.

“I don’t know, and before you ask, I don’t have any idea about whether it connects to Nick’s disappearance or not.” Returning to the computer, John searched through other recently opened files.

“What’s this?” Elizabeth asked.

John ignored her, finding a file marked “Mission Harsh Mistress.” John got the literary reference, and sure enough, the file held reports on the mission to the moon. John knew most of the OSS secrets but not all, and now searched documents for something he did not know. Virtually all the recent files related to the dinosaur trapped in the folds of time on the moon, and the strange material collected in the surrounding area. After the moon mission, Nick had asked John to send a team to the Yucatán to collect any similar material in the vicinity of the pyramid destroyed there.

“It’s funny stuff,” Elizabeth said. “It refracts light in an odd way.”

John looked up to see Elizabeth holding a strange-looking chunk of black plastic. A small lead box sat open on the desk.

“Don’t touch that,” John said, taking the lead box and holding it out, so she could drop it in. Once in, John closed and latched the lid. “I think that’s what they found on the moon,” John said.

“Is it radioactive?” Elizabeth asked, looking at her hands.

“No, but Nick had it in a lead box, so let’s not touch it.”

“It looks like it came from the interior of the moon pyramid,” Elizabeth said, once again leaning over John.

They read files together for an hour, and then Elizabeth stood, stretched her back, and went to Nick’s leather couch, lying down. “John, I want to see where Nick disappeared,” Elizabeth said.

“There’s nothing to see,” John insisted.

“Then there’s no reason for me not to go,” Elizabeth said. “I won’t be convinced that we can’t get him back until I see for myself.”

“I haven’t given up,” John said.

“It’s been a month, John,” Elizabeth said. “I want to visit the place where Nick was last seen.”

“There is nothing to see,” John said. “We’ve secured the site with marines. I’ll check with them and see if anything has changed.”

“Call me,” Elizabeth insisted.

“I won’t stop looking,” John said.

“All right,” Elizabeth said, knowing she was running out of patience.

20

Big Chicks

The velociraptor is a bipedal carnivore with a long, stiffened tail and can be distinguished from other dromaeosaurids by its long and low skull, with an upturned snout. It [bears] a relatively large, sickle-shaped claw.… This enlarged claw, up to 67 millimeters (2.6 in) … is a predatory device, used to tear into the prey, delivering a fatal blow.

—www.velociraptors.info

Present Time
Near Hillsdale, Florida

Nearly three months old, the velociraptor chicks were the size of turkeys, with razor-sharp claws on fingers and toes. Most of the purple coloring was gone, replaced by dull greens, mixed with patches and streaks of brown and gray. The chicks looked like they were wearing army camouflage. By now, all of them easily hopped over the box wall Jeanette had built, only Ti still struggling a bit, sometimes teetering on the wall before she had the confidence to hop off. Do, the biggest chick, was the first to leap out. Coming into the barn one morning with Sally, Jeanette found Do waiting for her, hopping up and down, snapping at the food bowls she carried.

Now, all the chicks hopped out to wander the barn, chasing mice, cockroaches, and occasional birds. They were excellent hunters, and occasionally caught a mouse and killed it, but they never ate their kills. If the food did not come from Jeanette, it was not considered food by the chicks. Graduating from Alpo, the chicks now ate chicken, fish, beef, and occasional lamb—whatever was cheapest. Watching the chicks, Jeanette was struck by two qualities. First, the chicks coordinated hunting to an uncanny degree. If Re chased a mouse into a pile of hay, Me, Fa, and So would circle the pile, stationed an equal distance apart, and then freeze, holding as still as a cat stalking a bird. Then Re would plunge into the pile, flushing the mouse into the waiting claws of another chick.

Even more surprising than the coordinated hunting was the submission of the chicks to Jeanette and Sally. The chicks were highly sensitive to Jeanette’s and Sally’s moods, responding instantly to a bark or whimper from Sally, or a command from Jeanette. Despite their ugliness, Jeanette found herself attracted to the little carnivores, even knowing she could not keep them. Getting caught with seven unlicensed velociraptors meant jail and fines. Besides, these chicks represented thirty, forty, or even fifty thousand dollars to the right buyer. Maybe more, since they were tame enough to be hand-fed. If Carson ever returned, he would either butcher them or sell them. Watching Me chase a fly around the barn, Jeanette smiled and cheered Me on as she would a kitten.

The fly got away, so Jeanette got the fishing pole from the corner. The pole had a rubber mouse dangling from the end of it; now she held it above Me, who jumped for the mouse, Jeanette jerking it out of Me’s reach. The other chicks came running, jumping and snapping at the mouse. Sally barked at their antics, but it was a playful bark, and the chicks ignored Sally. Walking slowly, Jeanette led the flock around the barn, teasing them with the mouse, careful to keep it out of their reach. The chicks enjoyed the game, hopping, snapping, landing on one another, and making their hoarse
awk-awk
sound. The game ended when Jeanette tossed a handful of dry dog food onto the floor and put the pole away. Jeanette stood by the door, watching the chicks scramble for the treats. Sally whimpered softly, watching the chicks eat her dog food, but did not join the fray.

“What are we going to do with them?” Jeanette asked.

Jeanette’s phone buzzed, and she took it from the holster on her belt. There was an e-mail response from someone selling a cargo van—Jeanette was negotiating the purchase of another truck. With Carson gone, Jeanette ran the Dinosaur Wrangler business now, dispatching their trucks, doing the billing, reception, and hiring two more wranglers. One hire was to replace Carson—Nate Simpson, Robby Bryson’s cousin—and another to handle the increased business. Doris Melton was the newest wrangler, and the first female. Business was booming, with four or five calls a day about dinosaurs running loose. Jeanette was raking in more cash in a week than she and Carson had previously earned in a month. Between the growing business and raising the velociraptors, Jeanette had little time to think about Carson and where he had gone. She called the Ocala Preserve every day, and every day she got the same response: “Mr. Wills is assisting with a dinosaur retrieval. I will tell him you called as soon as he returns. No, there is no way to contact him at this time.”

They never said Carson was dead, but Jeanette assumed it. Carson would never work for the government, the military, or any group that made him get up early in the morning or go to bed before 2 a.m. If they had arrested him, Carson would have called and told Jeanette to get rid of the eggs. No, Jeanette was sure something bad had happened to Carson. As the months went by, Jeanette became the face of the Dinosaur Wrangler company, and spent her nights alone.

Angry chicken clucks and the sound of footsteps panicked Jeanette.

“Hide,” she said sharply.

Instantly, the chicks fled in every direction. The door opened before Jeanette could reach it, and a man leaned inside. He was wearing sandals, dark blue board shorts, and a Florida Marlins T-shirt.

“Les, what are you doing here?” Jeanette asked, trying not to look worried.

Deputy Les Wilson smiled, showing his perfect teeth. Les Wilson had dropped in regularly, talking to Jeanette, flirting with her. Since he had never met Carson, Les assumed Jeanette had made up a boyfriend to discourage unwanted attention. Ever since puberty, Jeanette had received more attention from men than ten average women, and mostly it annoyed her. She wasn’t above using her body to manipulate men, but had come to hate the constant looks, whistles, lewd comments, and leering of men who undressed her with their eyes. She had reacted to Les Wilson the same way at first, but there was a boyish sincerity to Les that won her over.

“I got bored and asked myself if I could do anything I wanted to do today, what would it be? So I’m here.”

“That’s a good line,” Jeanette said.

“Thanks. I worked on it all night because I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about you.”

“Wow, a twofer. Did you pull these off the Internet?”

“I’m insulted. I’m not just some dumb flatfoot.”

“What’s a flatfoot?” Jeanette asked, looping her arm through Les’s and leaning gently against him. Les sighed involuntarily, letting Jeanette turn him toward the door.

“A flatfoot? That’s a cop.”

“Oh, I’ve never heard that,” Jeanette lied.

For total control over men, Jeanette mixed just a hint of dumb blonde with light physical touch.

“Flatfoot, dick, five-oh, Barney, bear, bull, fuzz, narc, pig. We get called lots of things.”

Jeanette pushed Les out the door, looking back over her shoulder—no chicks in sight.

“Dick?” Jeanette said. “Why do they call you guys dicks?” Jeanette giggled, finishing off Les Wilson’s self-control.

“I think it comes from Dick Tracy, or maybe Fearless Fosdick,” Les said, realizing Jeanette was not interested and just teasing.

Jeanette walked Les to the office, then sat on the edge of the desk while Les leaned against the wall. Les was the anti-Carson in many ways. Handsome but not rugged-looking, neat, reliable, tender, mainstream, and undoubtedly brave. Carson was good-looking if you liked country boys, sloppy, unreliable, unpredictable, reckless and antisocial, or at least socially indifferent. The most striking difference between Carson and Les was in their attitudes toward Jeanette. Carson took Jeanette for granted, but Les worshipped her. Sleeping alone for a month made being worshipped feel good.

Jeanette wore a pink polo shirt with the Dinosaur Wrangler logo embroidered over her left breast, jean shorts, and pink flip-flops.

“No tool belt today?” Les asked.

“It’s an office day,” Jeanette said, scooting back on the desk, then crossing her legs. Jeanette smiled, pushed her short brown hair back off her forehead, knowing it would tumble back down. Then she let the tip of her tongue play with the small gap in her front teeth.

“Any chance you could take a couple of hours off?” Les asked. “We could run over to the lake for a swim.”

“What would my boyfriend think?” Jeanette asked.

“You sure you’ve got a boyfriend?” Les asked.

“Yeah.”

“How come I never see him?”

“He’s working with the government on something,” Jeanette said.

“He wouldn’t want you sitting around here all the time having no fun, would he?”

“Yeah, he would,” Jeanette said. “Besides, someone’s got to run the business while he’s gone.”

“Just two hours,” Les pleaded.

Jeanette wavered. Calls came in sporadically, and the answering service could handle any that came while she was gone. All the wranglers had assignments that would take them a few hours to handle, and each had two or three calls stacked on top of those. Jeanette looked at the clock.

“I suppose I could do an early lunch,” Jeanette said. “Did you bring any food?”

“Beer,” Les said.

In that way, Les was just like Carson.

“I’ll make a couple of sandwiches and grab my suit,” Jeanette said.

“All right,” Les said, as excited as if she had agreed to go to bed with him.

Jeanette made a chicken salad out of chicken chunks she had cut up for the chicks, and then spread it on bread. She threw in a bag of chips and two bottles of water. In the bedroom, Jeanette took off her clothes, grabbed her one-piece swimsuit and stepped into it, pulling it up. She looked in the mirror and then took pity on Les. Pulling the suit down, she picked out a two-piece, put it on, and then stood in front of the mirror. Carson had picked the suit, giving it to Jeanette for her birthday. It covered enough, but barely enough.

Les earned this,
Jeanette thought.

Putting on a silver beach cover-up, Jeanette stepped into gray flip-flops, picked up the beach bag with her towel and the lunch, and left with Les.

Les was attentive, opening the door to his pickup for her, and then jogging around to get in the driver’s side. Sally watched them go, unconcerned, and then walked slowly to the barn door, flopping down in front of it.

The lake was only fifteen minutes away and not crowded. A few moms sat in lawn chairs, their children splashing in shallow water. They walked away from the families, gaining a little privacy. Les had a blanket, and they spread it on the grass.

“Swim first?” Les said.

“First?” Jeanette asked suspiciously.

“Before we eat!” Les said.

“Oh. Sure.”

Jeanette pulled off her cover-up, and Les gawked. Until now, her clothes had camouflaged her body. Fighting to take his eyes away, Les stripped off his shirt and kicked off his sandals. Les was always so clean-shaven that Jeanette wondered whether he actually had body hair. There was chest hair, but not much. He wasn’t as hairy as Carson, and that was okay with Jeanette. Taking Les’s hand, Jeanette pulled him toward the water.

“Let’s go,” she said, and they ran into the lake.

Like most men, Les was a playful show-off and Jeanette let him perform. Les swam, dived, splashed, and picked Jeanette up and tossed her. They played like kids for a while, and then swam, Les demonstrating different strokes, and then floated next to each other, talking. After half an hour, Jeanette’s fingertips were puckered and they got out, drying, and then lying on the blanket. Drinking cold beer from the cooler, they ate the sandwiches and munched on chips, Les talking about police work, Jeanette telling him stories about runaway dinosaurs.

“Seems like there are more and more loose dinosaurs turning up,” Les said.

“Yeah,” Jeanette said. “I guess they suspended the reward for Visitor dinosaurs. They had to pay too many claims. Our company’s put in for ten claims for our customers. We get a share of the reward.”