Jack refrained from voicing one other possibility. He pictured Lorna’s body being dumped overboard into the ocean. That would also block the signal.
Paxton sighed, expressively loud. “Then that’s unfortunate. This set of islands flies the Nicaraguan flag. We can’t go storming their beach based on a ghost of a contact that we can’t replicate.”
“Sir…”
Paxton held up a hand. “It’s beyond our jurisdiction. I can open diplomatic channels, begin a dialogue, but it’ll take a day at least.”
A day we don’t have, Jack thought and swore silently. He fought to keep in control. He wanted to pound on the desk, scream at his boss, demand an immediate response, but such an outburst would do more harm than good. He didn’t want to get kicked off this case.
“Let me work my magic,” his boss continued. “Give me a few hours to make some calls. In the meantime, have that FBI agent keep tracking that signal. If we can solidify that trace, it would help my case. In the meantime, Jack, get some rest. You look like shit.”
Jack felt like it, too, but didn’t say so. His head pounded. His throat burned as a fever took hold. He had no time to coddle a flu or cold. Aspirin and antihistamines would keep him propped up at least for another day.
After that, it wouldn’t matter.
“Grab a cot out back and take a nap,” Paxton said. “That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir,” he said and turned in frustration back toward the office door.
“Jack,” his boss called. “I’ll do everything I can.”
He nodded, knowing the man would. He headed back down to the computer room to give the others the bad news. Reaching the basement facility, he took a moment to compose himself, then entered. Faces turned hopefully in his direction. At the moment the only ones here were those who had survived the assault at ACRES.
Kyle stood up from a stool. “When are they heading out to find Lorna?”
Jack didn’t answer.
Randy read his brother’s expression and understood. “Motherfuckers… we’re not going.”
Kyle glanced to Randy, then back to Jack. He visibly paled and sank back to his seat. The kid checked his watch. It had been five hours and twenty-two minutes since the rescue helicopter had found them in the woods. They all knew time was running out for Lorna-if it hadn’t already.
A fire grew inside Jack, stoked as much by fever as by frustration. He read the despair in the others’ expressions and refused to give in to it.
To hell with it.
He closed the door behind him and pointed an arm at his brother. “Randy, get off your ass and call the Thibodeaux brothers. Tell ’em we’re going hunting again.”
Randy stood up, a question forming on his lips.
Before it could be asked, Jack swung his arm to Lorna’s brother. “Kyle, you said you could get us on one of those oil platforms if we wanted.”
Kyle nodded and stood back up. “Not a problem. When?”
“Now.”
Jack swiftly ran logistics through his burning mind. He knew a pilot and at least two of his Special Response teammates who could keep their mouths shut and would do what was asked of them. That should be enough. In fact, the smaller the strike force, the better. They had to get in under their radar and secure Lorna before anyone knew better.
Carlton stood with Zoë and Greer. The head of ACRES understood what was not being spoken aloud. “The animals are about to be transported to the New Orleans Zoo’s veterinary hospital. We’ll go with them and keep our heads down. And we’ll continue researching what we can over there.”
Zoë nodded. “Paul…” Her voice cracked around her husband’s name. “He backed up our data to an off-site server. We’ll be able to pick up where we left off.”
Carlton placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’ll update you if we learn anything that will help.”
Jack gazed at the expectant faces staring back at him.
“Then let’s get moving.”
Chapter 41
Standing in the holding pen, Lorna now knew what a pit bull on death row must feel like. Under the glare of stark bare bulbs, she studied her confinement. The rest of the subterranean laboratory had been as sleek and antiseptic as a modern hospital.
Not here.
The cell floors had been cut out of native rock and trenched to help wash down urine and feces. The walls were damp cement blocks, sealed by a chain-link gate. She stood in more of a dog run than a prison cell.
Without even a stool to sit on, Lorna paced the ten-foot-by-four enclosure. Another dozen identical runs ran the length of the low-roofed room. All of them were empty, but she could imagine the usual inhabitants. She ran a hand along the wall, felt the scratches in the cement. She remembered the dead body on the surgical table. From the high forehead and flat face, it had to have once been human, but like the animals from the trawler, it had reverted to some earlier form, a genetic throwback to a prehistoric form.
But to what end?
Duncan’s description returned to her: bioweapon systems.
She had no explanation of what that meant but now knew with cold certainty that this outfit had moved beyond animal research into human experimentation. And isolated out here, who would question it or even know about it? It wouldn’t even be that hard to find test subjects. The Caribbean area was rife with human trafficking. In poor countries like Haiti, people were regularly sold into slavery, sometimes by their own relatives. Authorities in the region knew about such trafficking, but they would look the other way for the right price.
She heard a door open across the room. Voices reached her.
“I put her over here.”
“Bring her out.” She recognized Duncan from his raspy, harsh voice. “Malik wants to attend her interrogation. It seems her background as a veterinarian has intrigued Dr. Raghead.”
Lorna absorbed his words. Her hands went instantly damp. She moved away from the chained gate as the two men stepped into view.
Her bodyguard unlocked the gate with a key. Duncan stood back with his arms crossed. “C’mon,” the man named Connor ordered. He didn’t even bother with his holstered sidearm.
Lorna took a deep shuddering breath. It took all her strength to obey. She didn’t want to be dragged kicking and screaming out of the cell. For the moment she had no recourse but to cooperate.
Duncan fixed her with that dead gaze of his, his face a frozen mask of scar tissue and barely suppressed anger. Without a word, he turned and led them out of the kennel and back down to the main lab. Only now the circular room was empty. Except for Dr. Malik. He stood at one of the genetic workstations and turned as they approached.