The Montauk Monster (17 page)

Dalton dressed in the guest room after Meredith brought his clothes up to him. She wore a long towel cinched under her armpits. He was still recovering from his surprise in the shower. He’d never experienced anything like it. They actually had a mutual orgasm, and judging by the sounds she’d made, they also shared the same mind-numbing intensity.

“Now that was some end-of-the-world sex,” she’d said, burying her face in his water-slicked chest.

He hoped she was wrong.

As he laced up his shoes, she knocked on the door. It seemed strange that they had changed behind closed doors in separate rooms, but strange was the order of the day.

“I made you a sandwich. You can eat it on the way to the station. Come on, cowboy, we have to get moving.”

He opened the door, saw her face and wanted to kiss her. She must have sensed it, because she smiled and turned to the stairs. “No time for distractions. We have a lot to do.”

Her Montauk Monster file was tucked under her arm. She’d downloaded the pictures from her phone and printed up so many copies, she’d run out of toner.

Once Meredith turned onto the Montauk Parkway, she gunned the accelerator. The station was over in East Hampton, just over ten miles away. She drove like she was attempting to set a new land speed record.

“Try not to get us or anyone else killed,” he said, reaching for the handgrip mounted by the window.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m using my good leg.”

That gave him no comfort.

The heavy stalks of trees passed by in a dizzying blur. The car’s headlights made a feeble attempt at alerting them to any onrushing obstacles or pitfalls.

Dalton saw a dim light in the distance. It appeared to be in the middle of the road.

“Do you see that?”

“Probably an accident,” she said, decelerating until she was under eighty.

As they got closer, he stiffened, practically pressing his face to the windshield. “That’s no accident.”

She had to pull to a complete stop. An armed soldier held his arm out straight, palm up and facing them. He didn’t so much as flinch at the barreling SUV.

Dalton said, “I think someone may have beaten us to our big scoop.”

When Nancy Primrose accused her host, Samar Van Dayton, of cheating on her husband while they’d been filming at Turks and Caicos, the decibel level in the house went up to octaves that only dogs could hear. A relatively quiet dinner went into full Armageddon mode in seconds.

Nancy backed out of the argument, letting Grace take over for a while. She stole a glance at the director and saw his smile. Earlier, he was the one who had leaked the information about the affair, telling her she would be the star of this episode and possibly the next if she was willing to not only throw it out there, but to keep pushing the issue.

She’d been only too happy to oblige.

“Do you know what you are?” Samar shouted at her, sneering, or at least the best she could through her frozen, Botoxed face. “You’re a low-class bitch who thought becoming a high-class whore would make you welcome in finer circles.”

“Oh, and being a cheat makes you so much classier than me?” Nancy shot back.

“That was a rotten thing to say. You’re way out of line,” Grace barked, rising from the table and pointing at Samar. She picked up a dinner roll and tossed it over her head.

Samar ducked, then leapt from her chair, kicking it backward in the process.

Nancy looked at Grace.
Oh no, you don’t. You will not take the spotlight from me.

“Take it back!” Nancy demanded.

Samar, her bleached hair covering half her face, her stately demeanor shattered, said, “I never recant the truth.”

“What kind of pompous ass says
recant
?” Grace countered. “I mean, for God’s sake, you’re from Brooklyn, not London in the 1850s.”

You calculating bitch
, Nancy thought. She turned on Grace and said, “Why don’t you stay out of it? This is between the queen and me.”

Grace blanched. She hadn’t expected that. Nancy knew she had to act fast to push Grace into the background on this one.

“You know what, Samar? Screw you! You think I’m low-class. I’ll show you low-class.”

Nancy reached under the table, grabbed the linen tablecloth and yanked it as hard as she could. Expensive china, silverware, food and crystal glasses scattered, crashing to the floor.

Fiery rage shot from Samar’s eyes. “You crazy bitch! That china is worth more than your house!”

“Send me the bill—bitch.”

All of the women backed away from the table. Their designer dresses were stained beyond saving. They turned on Nancy like a pride of hungry lions.

Bring it on, bitches. By the time you’re done, this whole season will be mine.

Before they could pounce, the sound of more breaking glass startled even the production crew. Cameras turned, ready to capture the next act in this three-ring circus.

Samar was the first to scream, all color draining from her face.

Jake Winn sat in his patrol car, parked by the entrance to Star Isle. The small inlet was fed by the waters of the Long Island Sound and had a heavy concentration of boat and water sports enthusiasts. It was also surrounded by a bevy of small motels, all filled to capacity.

The U.S. Coast Guard had a base of operations on Star Isle. He’d driven over to see if anything suspicious was going on with the guardsmen. His worst fears were confirmed when he found the place empty. Everyone had hit the waters.

Families strolled past his idling car, bellies full from dinner at one of the restaurants on the isle.

A little girl no older than four, her mouth covered with ice cream, her fingers clutched around a soggy cone, looked at him and waved. He waved back, feeling the pressure on his chest.

He’d been told earlier that everyone in the department was to assist with federal authorities.

“What federal authorities?” he’d asked his sergeant, Fred Paulson, a man he’d worked with for almost two decades. He didn’t let on that he’d already come across CDC, DARPA and FEMA vehicles. No one had spoken about Henderson’s body or where it had gone. It was as if he’d never existed.

He’d never seen Fred so worked up. His florid features telegraphed an internal blood pressure that was percolating to dangerous levels.

“What federal authorities?” Fred shouted. Everyone had been called in to the precinct, which meant, minus Norm, they were six strong. All heads turned when Fred spoke up. “Hell, all of them, as far as I can tell.” He threw his hands in the air. “I’ve gotten calls from the military, those jackwads at FEMA, some senator I never heard of on some committee that had more letters than a Greek surname.”

Sergeant Paulson looked over at Jim Kanelos, the lone county cop in the bunch, and heaved a deep sigh. “Sorry, Kanelos.” Jim had stopped by to talk to Jake. When Paulson called his meeting, he’d asked him to stay, figuring he’d need to know this as much as the locals.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Kanelos said. He looked sick to his stomach. He was still fretting over the blood he’d gotten on him when they responded to Hudson’s body being found. The paramedics had cleaned and disinfected him good and declared him fit for duty, but Winn could tell by his shifting eyes that he wasn’t buying it.

He’s going to go AWOL
, he thought.
And I’m not sure I can blame him.

“What’s really going on?” asked Officer Jane McGrath. Her green eyes flashed liked emeralds. She’d tried to keep her orange hair under her cap, but the wiry strands poked out as if they had a life of their own. She was as proud of her Irish heritage as she was of being a cop. Like Winn, she didn’t like being reduced to a step-and-fetch for the feds—especially when she hadn’t a clue why they were here in the first place. “You’re telling us the feds are now a response team to wild animal complaints?”

She has no idea. I should fill her in when this is over
, Winn thought. Jane had just returned from an extended weekend in Rhode Island with her husband. She hadn’t seen the entire town turned inside out, didn’t know about what had happened to the bodies or the strange animal deaths and the need for hazmat suits. She knew that Norm had been attacked and dragged off and that was enough to light her anger.

Paulson leaned against the wall, kicking his heel into it. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on out there. Whatever it is, it’s dangerous as hell. I didn’t call the feds in. I checked with the county police and neither did they. Something put us on the feds’ radar and they’re here to stay no matter how we feel about it.” He handed out a sheet of paper to everyone. “Here are your assignments for now.”

“Are you kidding me?” Winn asked, waving the sheet. “Are you really sending us out on pet patrol?”

Each had been given a quadrant of the town. They were to look for anyone walking their dogs and advise them to keep their pets in for the night. At dusk, they were to order any pedestrians back to their homes or motels and to stay there until dawn.

Paulson stiffened. “I know it sounds like a waste of time.” He chewed on his upper lip, his gaze turned inward. He finally said, “Before you mutiny on me, I will tell you what I was told. We need to do this for two reasons. One, to get pets off the street and away from harm, as well as the pet owners. Two—and this is the part that had me drink a bottle of Pepto—and I quote,
‘to choke off a potential food supply
.
’
”

They looked at one another with total confusion.

Kanelos said, “Come again?” His skin flushed a deathly white.

“You all heard me. Now get out there.”

As everyone shuffled out, Winn followed Paulson to his office, a tight, cluttered box that had poor air-conditioning and furniture from the 1960s. “What you said about choking off the food supply. Does that mean the animals”—he paused, not even wanting to finish the thought—“or the people?”

Paulson dropped unceremoniously into his chair. “I haven’t a goddamn clue, Jake. Just assume both.”

Jake patrolled his quadrant and told over a dozen bewildered dog walkers to stay inside until dawn. He also said it would be helpful if they got in touch with friends and neighbors and advised them to do the same. A man in his late fifties accused him of imposing martial law and he had to hear the man out while he railed against the
system.
If he could only know how much Winn agreed with him.

And now even the Coast Guard had been called into action. Worse still were the hundreds of vacationers milling about. As the sky went from purple to black, he turned on his flashers and went about corralling everyone to safety.

Pulling into the lot of the Golden Cabana Motel, a twenty-room affair that had seen better days, Jake slammed on the brakes. A group of kids, all of them under ten, were playing kickball in the lot. Their parents watched them while sitting in resin chairs outside their rooms, having cocktails and talking with one another.

A dark, looming shadow crouched in stark relief against the moon atop the motel. Its head swiveled from side to side, not following the ball, but the children as they darted back and forth, laughing and shouting.

Oh Jesus, what is that?

He stepped out of the car, revolver in hand. The shadow ignored him.

It was enormous, like one of those sheepdogs, only leaner.

He had to get the kids in their rooms before it attacked.

One of the parents spotted him and asked, “Is something wrong?”

The shadowy beast stepped closer to the roof’s edge. The aluminum drain groaned under its weight. A couple sitting under it looked up. The children, seeing a policeman with his gun drawn, stopped playing. They stared at him with tiny, open mouths.

“Kids, when I say ‘Go!’ I need you to run into your rooms.” They stood like cherub statues. He took another approach. “It’ll be a race. First one in gets a deputy badge when I come back tomorrow. You all understand?”

Some of them nodded, up for the challenge.

A few of the parents made to walk over to him. “Stay where you are,” he said. “I need every one of you to open your doors. Once your kids are inside, follow them and throw the locks.” The parents hesitated, looked at the closed motel room doors, and took several steps back.

Winn’s eyes wavered between the kids, the motel doors and the creature that hovered over them like an expectant gargoyle.

“Hurry up,” he said to the parents, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. He didn’t want to spook the kids or cause the creature to spring to action.

Just stay where you are
, he implored the shadow.
Stay away from the kids.
He thought about what would become of them if he did, indeed, have to shoot it in front of them.
Better they’re alive and in therapy than dead.

He looked across the lot and saw six wide-open doors. Terrified faces peered back at him.

“Okay, kids, are you ready to race?” Winn said.

“Yes,” a few of them answered, voices shaking.

Keeping his eyes on the shadow, he barked, “Go!”

The kids ran in a tight pack, their sneakers and flip-flops kicking up gravel as they dashed for their rooms.

They hadn’t made it halfway across the lot before everything went to pieces.

Dalton had his door open before Meredith could come to a complete stop. The soldier who stood in their way was tall and broad with cutting eyes that defied you to question him. His dark skin shone wetly with sweat.

Tapping the badge pinned to his chest, Dalton said, “We’re with the Suffolk County PD. You need to let us through so we can report to our station.”

The soldier shook his head slowly. “Can’t let you through. This road is closed.”

“Why? Is there an accident?” Not that the military would be called in for an accident, unless it involved a caravan of their own.

“No,” he answered in a deep bass. “We have orders not to let anyone out or in.”

“Orders from who?” Meredith demanded, joining Dalton’s side.

He looked down at her and simply said, “My boss.”

Meredith made it a point to slam her crutch on the ground, nearly missing the man’s boot. His eyes flicked to the boot, then her face.

“Look, we need to report for duty. Odds are, we’ll be sent right back here anyway. Why don’t you call your boss and let him know that you’re preventing the police from doing their job? Things are bad enough out here. The place could use one less prick,” Dalton said.

Somehow, he stood his ground under the soldier’s withering stare. Another soldier sitting in a jeep flicked his cigarette out the window and shook his head, as if to say,
You may want to rethink your strategy here, chief.

Meredith went back into her car, saying, “If you don’t want to move, I’ll just drive around you. What are you going to do, shoot us?” The engine revved as she pumped the gas.

Dalton got the distinct impression that they
would
shoot them. Because of that, he remained outside the car. He was about to ask whom he could speak to when a familiar voice called out from the side of the road. “Hold up.”

Officer Mickey Conrad zipped up his fly as he emerged from the bushes. He walked over to the soldier and patted him on the back.

“They’re with me. I’m supposed to take them to the station.”

The Goliath in camouflage pulled his lips back, rolling his neck until it cracked.

“These are your reinforcements?” he said.

Mickey said, “They are. Meredith, you’re going to have to leave your car here and jump in mine. I promise it’ll be safe.”

Before Meredith could protest, Dalton turned to her. “Pick your battles wisely. At least we can pass through.”

“Just pull it over there,” the soldier said, pointing to the shoulder. Meredith did as she was told—angrily. She spun her wheels, the car starting and stopping with tremendous jerks. The rear swerved as she slid into the shoulder.

“Fiesty,” the soldier said with the hint of a smile as she stormed past him. A couple of the soldiers snickered.

They walked through the barricade to Mickey’s squad car. “That guy is an asshole,” she said, slamming the passenger door. Mickey let Dalton into the back.

“He’s not so bad,” Mickey said. “He needs to be that way to get his point across. Though calling him a prick was probably not the brightest idea.”

Dalton asked, “Why are troops here with roadblocks?”

The government absolutely had to know what was going on at Plum Island. If they had any inkling that something was wrong, why wait until people lost their lives? Jesus, were conspiracy theorists the ones who
weren’t
crazy?

“They’re not telling me, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out it has something to do with the people who’ve been murdered the last couple of days. I came across another body today, some guy who went out fishing and was dropped back on land as if he was a sack of spoiled meat. We just found his boat adrift in the sound.”

Meredith flashed the folder. “We may know what’s going on. Dalton and I did some recon this afternoon. It’s not pretty.”

“I hope you have something good because Campos is pissed. He’s been trying to reach you two all day. When I came across the roadblock and called in, he told me to wait for any sign of you and bring your asses right in. Everyone’s on duty now. No excuses.”

Dalton leaned forward until his forehead leaned against the safety glass. “Trust me, it’s good. But we’re going straight to Hammerlich with it.”

Mickey gave a short laugh. “Boy, you’re really looking to get on Campos’s good side.”

“He’ll have to deal with it. What we saw is bigger than him, hell, bigger than Captain Hammerlich, but we have to start at the top so it gets to the appropriate people, and before it’s . . .” Dalton trailed off, feeling in his gut that forces were operating against them. Meredith shifted in her seat, beaming with approval. He was in it all the way now. After what he saw, there was no way to half-ass it. Genetically bred killers had descended on his beat. They had taken the lives of people he liked and respected. When it came time to drop the hammer, he wanted to be holding the handle.

“So I guess you’re not going to tell it to me first.”

“Trust me,” Meredith said, “when we’re done, everyone will have to be told.”

If we expect to get everyone out alive
, Dalton finished quietly to himself.

Don Sorely had originally wanted to set up their disaster field office, which would be composed of seven trailers and just under a hundred personnel, at Sag Harbor. From the scant information he’d been given, he felt it would put them in perfect position.

A check of the current running through Long Island Sound told him different. Sag Harbor would leave them with their asses blowing in the wind. They needed to be in the eye of the storm, not out in the rain bands.

He’d been with FEMA too long. It seemed he’d been running to a string of never-ending weather disasters for the past ten years.

This time, Mother Nature, that fickle bitch who gave and took with the best of them, wasn’t the problem. He had to shift his brain and stop thinking in climate terminology.

A change of plans was necessary, so they settled into a string of vacant plots of land by the Montauk Airport, a lone airstrip that catered mostly to small, single-engine planes. Earlier, he’d watched several Pipers take off, banking north toward Connecticut. Shortly after, he’d placed a call to the FAA and had them shut the entire operation down. He hoped the passengers in those Pipers packed a change of clothes, because no one was coming home until they got a handle on things. Now the airport sat dark and silent.

He wasn’t thrilled with the level of secrecy that had been part of the operation from the start. Directives to local law enforcement had been handed to him from his superiors. For now, he was a middleman and he had no answers to their questions. When he questioned the CDC’s involvement, he knew he wasn’t given the whole story. Being half in the dark made it a bitch to handle things from the ground, but it wasn’t as if he had a choice.

When he saw the military and DARPA prowling around, his stomach dropped. This was big. Too big to not have the heads of each agency fully debriefed. DARPA gave him nightmares.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

He was used to having information withheld from him. But this was life-and-death business. DARPA were the symbolic men in black. Their presence alone meant something supremely bad was in the works. They weren’t here just to watch the show and they sure as hell had nothing to add in the way of help. He felt their eyes everywhere, carefully evaluating events as they unfolded. They were here because they had a vested interest in the place. The trick was finding what that interest was.

Don was beginning to feel like a minnow on a very big hook, cast into a sea of piranha.

A knock on the Winnebago’s door had him bounding from his seat. A tall, older man in a suit and a younger woman stood outside.

“Are you Mr. Sorely?” the man asked with a mild, Midwest accent.

“That would be me.” He leaned against the doorway. A blast of humid air made him grateful the big bus, as he liked to call it, was air-conditioned.

“I’m Dr. Harrison Greene. This is my assistant, Dr. Kathryn Ling. We’re with the CDC. We were told by your director to come see you.”

Dr. Greene offered his hand, then Dr. Ling. She was a real looker, with shoulder-length hair so red she’d stand out in any crowd, and lips to match.
If my doctor looked like that, I’d fake being sick once a week
, he thought. He hadn’t met many redheaded Asian women. Ling looked too young to be a doctor, but he was happy she was here.

Sam Bunker, FEMA director and his direct boss, had e-mailed him an hour ago letting him know to expect their company.
We’re three blind mice
, Don thought.
Maybe they have some puzzle pieces I don’t.

“May we come in?” Dr. Greene asked awkwardly, seeing that Don had lost himself looking at the lovely Dr. Ling.

Don shook his head to clear the cobwebs in his brain. “Sorry, where are my manners? Yes, please, come in and have a seat.”

The big bus was divided into two parts. The front half of the oversized Winnebago was like any normal, though well-appointed RV, with swiveling captain’s chairs, a plush couch, marble table and even a full galley kitchen. The rear was more of a command center. Dan had four men back there locked on to their computers, communicating with the EPA, Department of Health and Human Services and, most important at the moment, National Communications System. The nagging problem of public Internet access on this end of the island was about to be solved. Social media only worked if people could get online. He wondered how they planned to scrub the tweets and posts that had gone out all day.

Not my problem.

The doctors walked and sat in perfect synchronicity, right down to crossing their right legs over their left. Dr. Greene unbuttoned his suit jacket. Dr. Ling worked at the crease in her dress pants.

“Care for a drink? We have everything from water to the hard stuff.” Dan opened the fridge, ready to grab a couple of waters.

“It’s been a long day. You have any beer?” Dr. Ling asked to Don’s utter shock.

“Do you have any coffee?” Dr. Greene said, unfazed by his partner’s choice in beverage.

“We have one of those one-cup coffeemakers. I’ll whip one up for you.”

He got a beer for Dr. Ling and one for himself. The coffee was ready a couple of minutes later. Don sat in a captain’s chair opposite them and leaned back, taking a sip from the sweat-beaded bottle.

“So, what did you hear from Director Bunker?”

Dr. Greene said, “He called us in the early morning and said there was a potential viral outbreak at a hospital in the Hamptons. We flew up immediately and met our local response team. The hospital has been in lockdown since this afternoon. There were some very unfortunate events that, from every earmark, indicate a deadly contagion has been introduced to this area. Some of our best doctors are on the scene.” He put his coffee down and sat forward, leaning his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together. “Now here’s my concern. I have a strong suspicion someone knows exactly what this is and hasn’t been totally honest with us. One of my response teams was met by a representative from DARPA. He’s been with them ever since, even causing a bit of a scene at the recovery of a body, a local policeman, I’ve been told. When I inquired why we had to integrate with DARPA, I was instructed to speak to you.”

Don took a long, slow sip of his beer. He could tell Dr. Greene was a man who always got his way. He pegged him for a God complex multiplied by ten. And judging by the look in his eyes and body language, God was ready to smite any puny human who got in his way.

“Our colleagues and friends are running a quarantine, exposed to a potentially fatal infection at this very moment,” Dr. Ling added. “There are thousands of people packed in a very tight space. The military and their weapons and technology development team aren’t talking. Someone is coordinating everything and knows more than they’ve let on. So you can see why we’re concerned.”

“I’m just as concerned,” Don said. “No one could take this job without public safety being their number one priority.” If he sounded defensive, he wasn’t concerned. He didn’t like what they were implying. “I can assure you, if someone knows more about what’s been going on here, that someone isn’t me.”

“Then what, exactly, do you know?” Dr. Greene asked.

“FEMA isn’t exactly in the practice of deploying itself for infectious diseases.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Don shifted in his chair, the leather making a racket.

“I didn’t know there was going to be a contagion,” he finally said. “The NSA contacted us last night. The cat’s already out of the bag on them, so I’m sure you’re well aware of their extensive monitoring program, from news wires to phones calls, e-mails and web searches. It’s a ton of white noise to try to filter information out, but it’s made easier when they’re given a target.”

Dr. Ling put her beer down, uncrossed and crossed her legs, studying him like he was some kind of bacteria on a slide under a microscope. For all her unexpected hotness, she could be damn unsettling.

He continued. “The Department of Homeland Security, our current boss, also runs the Plum Island research facility.”

“The CDC has consulted with succeeding directors at Plum Island over the years,” Dr. Greene interrupted. A prescient awareness dawned in his eyes. “That explains the contagion. Why on earth wouldn’t you put us directly in touch with the doctors at Plum Island when we arrived? If they’ve been working on a particular disease, their assistance will be invaluable.”

Don raised a hand to cut him off. “I agree. But it’s not so cut-and-dry. About a week ago, Plum Island went dark. The entire facility had been dedicated to a high-level, classified project for the military. They were close to a breakthrough. Every single person who worked on the island was ferried in a month ago. No one was to leave until their mission was complete. Not hearing from them for a few days wasn’t unusual. With this particular project, they were required to give briefings twice a week with the director of Homeland Security and members of the committee driving their research. Sometimes, even the President would be present. When they missed the first briefing last week, it was assumed they were engrossed in their work, maybe holding back until they had a larger picture to paint. When they missed the second briefing, people in high places got concerned. They asked the NSA to focus on the lab, this area and the families of Plum Island personnel.”