Oath of Office (31 page)

“Do you know whose car that is?”

“Actually, I think it’s one of Bill Chester’s.”

“He’s here,” Lou said. “Maybe he can finally provide some answers. How do we get in?”

“Well, we can pound all night on this door, or we can use this.” Looking somewhat puffed, Stone held up a key. “Like I said, I’m the chief of police.”

With a turn of Stone’s key, the green metal door swung open on well-oiled hinges. Brushed steel wall scones illuminated the cinder block entrance and a staircase with a metal handrail. Stone removed his gun from its holster and started down, with Lou following.

“Should we send for backup?” Lou asked.

Stone turned. For the first time, his expression had darkened. “I saw what Roberta did to herself,” he said. “If the cause of what happened to her is down these stairs, I intend to uncover it here and now.”

Lou nodded as Stone cautiously resumed his descent. They came to another locked steel door at the bottom of the stairwell. A keypad secured access to whatever was behind it. Without hesitating, Stone punched in a short series of numbers. Then after a soft click, the red LED light on the pad turned green and the lock responded.

“What now?” Lou asked, somewhat surprised by Stone’s familiarity with the place.

“Now we go in,” the cop said simply.

Remembering Chester’s thugs, Lou glanced up the stairwell behind them, wishing at least that reinforcements were on the way. At the same time, he wondered again about precisely how tight Stone was with the mogul at the center of Kings Ridge’s prosperity.

The cop pulled open the door without first peering inside. Either he had no reason to believe any threat existed, or in his zeal to get to the bottom of Roberta’s death and the rest of the troubles in his town, he had become reckless.

Or maybe,
Lou found himself wondering,
it’s the corn at work.
…

He fell into step behind Stone and followed him down a short corridor that dead-ended at another windowless metal door with another keypad.

“Better stay back,” Stone said. “Not sure what we’re going to find behind this door.”

At least he’s finally being cautious,
Lou thought.

Again Stone keyed a number sequence, and again the access panel’s red light gave way to green.

“I hope you’re right about forging ahead like this, Gilbert,” Lou said.

“I’ve had just about enough strange things happening in my town.”

Pistol at the ready, Stone went in with Lou following. The space ahead of them was brightly lit.

Just inside the threshold, Lou stopped abruptly, his mouth agape at what he was seeing. A series of conveyor belts snaked throughout a large area. Corn seed, lit by banks of powerful overhead lights, covered every inch of the conveyor belts in a golden river that seemed to have no beginning or end.

Suspended above the conveyor belt was a thick metal tube, four feet long, with gauges, control knobs along the side, and smaller tubes running down its length. It appeared to be a ray gun of sorts with a short, six-inch muzzle, half the diameter of the main tube. The rest of the space reminded Lou of Oliver Humphries’s lab on steroids—stainless steel tables, centrifuges, multiple microscopes, glass cabinets stocked with flasks, beakers, plastic tubing, pipettes, and other scientific materials.

Lou composed himself and quickly covered the gap between him and Stone. “My radar machine picked up some sort of expanse down here,” he said. “I suppose this is it. Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

Instead of responding, Stone surveyed the crowded underground laboratory, training his gun wherever he looked. With a nod, he motioned Lou down a central corridor toward another door. It was stainless steel, like the others, but this one had no keypad. Lou moved up beside the cop.

“I think you’ll want to see what’s behind this,” Stone said.

“Aren’t we being a bit cavalier, not sending for backup?” Lou asked.

Stone did not reply. Still training his gun ahead of him, he opened the door. It seemed to Lou as if the man knew precisely what he would find, and was not at all concerned. From where Lou stood, the space ahead was dark. Stone disappeared through doorway, reached to his left, and flipped on high-powered fluorescent lights. Moments later he motioned with his gun for Lou to follow.

Lou hesitated, feeling increasingly uneasy.
Oh, well,
he thought,
in for a penny—

One step through the door, and he froze.

The space, warm and humid, was at least the same size as the laboratory. Echoing off the stainless steel walls was the machinery-like humming of insects—many, many insects. He stepped forward onto a grated steel walkway with heavy metal pipe railings and three- or four-foot chain-link sidewalls that crossed a pit at least twenty feet deep. The whole space just below the walkway was covered with a dense metal screen. With the overheads reflecting off the fine mesh, it was difficult to see what was in the pit.

But Lou had no doubt.

Stone reached over to the wall next to him and depressed a large red plastic button. Smoothly, gears engaged and the vast screen slid back on tracks and rolled up on a reel at the far end. Revealed below was a terrible, surreal landscape. The sides of the massive pit were lined with brushed stainless steel, gleaming beneath the overheads. The surface of the space looked like an alien moonscape, formed by at least a hundred termite mounds of various heights and sizes, some of which reached upward to within ten or fifteen feet of the walkway. The chilling diorama was swarming with
Macrotermes bellicosi.
Like the mound in the forest, more insects were humming about through the air—some actually flying above the steel catwalk.

For a time, Lou remained transfixed on the bugs below as they moved with blind purpose in and out of the mounds. This was their city—their home. The clicking of thousands of feet and jaws made his fillings ache.

The walkways were three feet wide, crossing at right angles to one another over the precise center of the pit. Thick metal rods, descending from the ceiling, held the walks firmly suspended in place. There was a door ending the walk to their left, and a third door, painted red, directly across from them. That door featured a large decal with the yellow symbol for a biohazard. Even from where he stood, he could read the words below the symbol:
CAUTION RADIATION AREA.

Lou batted at a huge termite that buzzed past his face. “Behind that door is where they must be mutating the termites,” Lou said as much to himself as to Stone. “And the conveyor belt in the lab we just passed through is where they fire the termite reproductive genes into the corn seeds.”

He had been so astonished by what he was seeing that it took some time for him to register that the police chief was not.

Stone nudged the toe of his boot against a sturdy metal pole resting by his foot. The pole had what looked like several extension segments, and the head of it had a rotating claw for grabbing and gripping. Lou wondered if it was used for feeding.

“I’m guessing these are your bugs,” Stone said, too nonchalantly.

Lou looked over at the heavy service revolver and felt himself shudder. “No ladders. There’s a reason people don’t want to go down into that pit. The termites must not be able to scale that surface.”

Stone appeared somewhat troubled. “And you think the bugs little Joey adopted slipped out of a crack somewhere in the foundation here?”

“I do. Or else enough of them flew out and escaped this place to start a colony.”

“Let’s see if we can find where that leak might have happened. That infernal clicking and grinding can really get to you. Can’t hardly hear your own footsteps sometimes. It’s like they’re constantly eating.”

But eating what?

Stone stepped out onto the catwalk until he was standing above one of the larger mounds.

Now with his senses electrified, Lou followed. Stone’s haphazard approach to investigating the lab and observing the termite metropolis continued to gnaw at him. Even without firsthand knowledge of police departmental procedure, Lou assumed that Stone had violated many safety measures in this investigation.

If he’s so familiar with this place,
Lou wondered,
why did he even let me come down here? If anything happens to me, it would be Stone’s responsibility.

Lou glanced down into the pit again. Something between two mounds directly beneath him caught his eye—a glint of gold. He strained to get a better look. Then his body tensed and he broke into a chilling sweat. The golden object was a necklace with a handcuff pendant attached—Notso Brite’s necklace.

It was at that moment Lou knew exactly why the chief had let him tag along.

CHAPTER 44

Lou had no doubt that any moment he was going to die, and most likely die horribly. Another thing he had no doubt about was that he was not going to go down without a hell of a fight.

He took a single step back to size up his situation and the potbellied lawman who he was certain was about to kill him. The first thing he warned himself of was that under no circumstance was he going to underestimate the man. Despite his bulk, Stone carried himself with the balance, grace, and confidence of a fighter—probably a brawler. At the moment, though, he appeared totally at ease, almost blissful. Holding his pistol loosely in front of him, he looked like anything other than a man who was preparing to kill.

Lou wondered if Stone was aware that his target had figured out what was coming. More than likely, he decided.

Desperately, Lou searched for a move, any move, that would shorten the odds against him. His advantage was his quickness, his skill as a boxer, and the surprise if he managed to make his play before Stone made his.

Trying to run would result only in a bullet between the shoulder blades. Lou did not know when Stone intended to strike, only that it would happen and happen soon. The pit made for the perfect human disposal receptacle. If the man was trained in martial arts, he might try to gain leverage to flip Lou over the rail. The bugs would devour his clothes while they were mulching his flesh. His bones would be last.

More likely, Stone would neutralize him first with a single shot, possibly to a nonvital spot. From where the policeman was cradling his gun, Lou would have a second or so before he could raise it and fire. Cap would have shown him the move he should go to—possibly a jab-uppercut combination. He would have more confidence if he could connect with a weapon of some sort. Then he realized that he had one in his pants pocket—the pencil he had been using to graph the termites’ ventilation shafts.

Stone was gesturing below them and commenting on the setup.

Easy,
Lou warned himself as he turned away an inch or so and slid his hand into his pocket. The pencil was there, complete with point.

Perfect.

Lou gestured into the pit. “Look,” he said. “Look there.”

Stone kept a wary distance and peered below. “I don’t see anything.”

The termites’ clicking seemed to have gotten louder, as if they sensed a meal was on the way.

With thoughts of Emily and their last, too brief, conversation, Lou slipped the pencil out of his pocket, then held it under his wrist and concealed it against the top of the catwalk railing. Leaning forward, hoping Stone would react to his vulnerability, he gestured down at the golden necklace.

Lou’s grip on the handrail was tight. His feet were well spaced and his knees wedged up against the sidewall.

Make your move, Stone … make your move … make your move.
…

Sweat slickened Lou’s grip. He wanted to wipe his hands dry to strengthen his hold, but feared letting go of the handrail for even a moment. Below him, he watched the bugs scamper about. He imagined their jaws sinking into his flesh—digesting him one small piece at a time.

Come on.
…

One second … two … three …

Maybe I’m wrong about the man,
Lou found himself thinking.

The loss of concentration was only momentary, but it was enough.

Stone grabbed Lou by the back of the shirt and slammed the muzzle across the back of his head. Lou was still prepared enough to twist away, reducing the force of the blow. Still, his vision blurred and his knees buckled. He would have gone down had he not been wedged against the sidewall.

“You should have stayed out of Kings Ridge,” Stone said, raising his gun for another blow.

Lou released his grip on the railing, ducked as if he were avoiding a vicious right hook, and brought the pencil up behind his shoulder. Still bleary, he approximated where Stone’s neck would be and stabbed at it with a broad, sweeping motion. The pencil sank into the muscle beside the man’s throat. Lou hoped to tear into the jugular vein, but sensed right away that hadn’t happened. Stone cried out and stumbled backwards, raising his gun.

Lou parried the pistol with his left forearm and rammed his fist into Stone’s abdomen with as much force as he had ever hit a man. Stone splayed backwards, crashing into the railing and teetering perilously over the edge for a moment before righting himself. The pencil stuck out from his neck like a bloodied yellow dart.

Bellowing like an enraged bull, Stone hunched over and drove his head into the center of Lou’s chest. Intense pain exploded from the spot, and Lou’s initial fear was that the bone had shattered. His vision dimmed, then went dark. Moments later, when he regained his senses, he was kneeling on the catwalk. Stone was looming above him, clawing at the pencil.

As the pencil came free, followed by a jet of blood, Lou dived for the man’s ankles, got ahold of the right one, and twisted it sharply. Stone fell backwards, landing with a force that shook the entire catwalk. Lou straddled him, grabbed his head on each side, and slammed it onto the catwalk—once, then again, and again. Stone grunted with each blow, and finally went limp. Lou, gasping for breath and feeling as if his sternum might have been broken, slumped over onto the catwalk, then painfully pulled himself to his feet.