Crooked River(114)

“I only did what I said I would do,” she said simply.

“Only,” the chief said, shaking his head and lying back with a wince. He glanced in the direction of the river. “I hope to hell they’re bringing painkillers.”

Coldmoon watched the helicopters pass overhead. The first patrol boat made a ground landing and several men and women in body armor jumped out, their lights flashing, armed to the teeth with assault rifles, mortars, and RPGs. Its complement deployed, the boat backed away, making room for the next vessel.

“I’m going back,” said Pendergast, moving toward the troops.

“What the hell for?” Coldmoon asked. “We did our part. Let them do the mopping up.”

“I have to get Dr. Gladstone. They gave her the drug…and she amputated her own foot.”

“Oh my God…” Coldmoon swallowed. “I’m coming with you, then.”

Pendergast nodded. “Thank you.”

They joined the stream of men clambering off the boats. “This way,” Pendergast cried to them. “Follow me!” And moments later, the assembled group set off toward the glowing complex rising beyond the trees, as the choppers hovered above, fast-roping down SWAT teams and exchanging fire with the rogue troops inside the facility.





71



AFTER THE SOUND and fury of the previous night, it was a remarkably quiet group that rode in Perelman’s Explorer the following morning. Towne drove while the chief reclined in the front passenger seat, his leg in a splint. Coldmoon, Pendergast, and Constance Greene sat in the back. The storm was spent, giving way to freshly washed blue sky.

“It’s very good of you to drop us at the house,” Pendergast said, with a voice as tranquil as if they’d just been shopping at the local mall.

“Least I could do,” came the response from the front seat.

Coldmoon was too exhausted to speak. The dawn helicopter ride back from Crooked River to Fort Myers, the obligatory medical exams, the initial debriefing, and paperwork had passed in a blur. Now Perelman was driving them home, and all Coldmoon could think of was crawling into bed. As the Explorer bumped over Blind Pass Bridge onto Captiva, he thought it was as beautiful a place as he’d ever visited in his life—but he was too tired to appreciate it.

Pendergast sat beside him, as pale and still as a marble statue. Constance was on the far side. Constance—what was he to make of her now? She hadn’t spoken to him since they left the complex, and he could feel the tension radiating from her when he was around. He once again recalled her warning when he’d refused to bring her along on the rescue mission. He hoped it was only a brief expression of anger and not an actual threat. Unfortunately, it didn’t feel that way. Maybe he could convince Pendergast to talk to her—he doubted anybody else could change her mind.

As the Explorer approached the Mortlach House, the radio squawked. “Explorer One, Explorer One. P.B., acknowledge.”

With a grunt, Perelman reached forward and plucked the handset from its cradle. “Priscilla, what is it?”

“Chief Caspar wants an update. And Commander Baugh’s been calling and call—”

“Nothing until after my nap,” he interrupted, replacing the handset and turning to Towne. “Just like I predicted, all those souls who did nothing, and even the ones who screwed up, are going to crawl out into the light, eager to share in the glory. Just wait.”

The car slowed as it turned in to the Mortlach driveway. Pendergast turned to Perelman. “I wonder if you might satisfy my curiosity on one small point.”

“Of course,” the chief replied.

“What does ‘P.B.’ stand for?”

There was an awkward pause. Perelman turned to Towne. “Lewis, would you mind waiting for us in front of the house?”

Perelman waited until Towne had exited the vehicle, then waited some more. He turned to Pendergast. “Percy Bysshe.”

“Marvelous! You must have had literary parents.”

“Not marvelous. Bloody awful. Especially to a thirteen-year-old kid.”

“It seems to have done you no harm in later life.”

“That’s because nobody knows about it. And I hope to hell you can keep my secret.” Perelman opened his door, getting out with difficulty, Pendergast handing him his crutches.

Coldmoon followed the others up the steps and into the Mortlach House. The old boards creaked under their feet. This was immediately followed by a muffled sound coming from the bowels of the house—sounding like a drawn out wail.

Perelman halted in surprise. “What fresh hell is that?”

“That,” Constance said, “is the Mortlach ghost.”

Coldmoon stared, aghast, as another sound, a sort of groan, came through the floorboards.

“If you’d care to follow me into the basement, gentlemen, I’ll be happy to introduce you.” She led the way through the house to the basement door, opened it, turned on the lights, and descended the stairs. Coldmoon followed the others. He’d only been down in the basement once before, and it was as close and stuffy as he remembered it.

There was, however, one major change. A hole had been broken through a far section of the exterior wall, bricks and dirt scattered over the floor. And at the sound of their voices, another howl of protest issued from a dark corner, a sound so full of misery that Coldmoon felt his hair prickle.