The Montauk Monster (12 page)

“I’m also going to need some paramedics at 125 Amble Drive,” he said.

“That’s going to be a while.”

Crap, it’s starting again
, he moaned.

“Why is that?”

“I’ve been told there aren’t any local paramedics available. We’re getting some from East Quogue.”

He wanted to scream,
Are you fucking kidding me?
That would only earn him an official reprimand and wouldn’t get paramedics to see the woman, boys and Jim any quicker.

“I’ll remain on scene with the body.”

Walking in a wide circle around the roasting corpse to clear out the frustration pounding through his system, he spotted a brown rectangle lying within a patch of fiery dandelions. It was a wallet. Crouching, he removed a pen from his shirt pocket and used the tip to flip it open. A driver’s license stared up at him, tucked behind a clear plastic pocket.

Mickey studied the vitals on the license, then looked over at the body. Height and weight looked about the same. Closing the wallet, he noticed a dark stain along the bottom of the leather. Had to be blood.

“Dan Hudson, what the hell did you stumble into?”

The corpse gave no answer.

Dalton had expected they’d be met at the dock by security personnel, possibly with weapons drawn when they saw a couple of faces they didn’t recognize.

All he saw was tall saw grass swaying in the breeze, an empty dock and tight clusters of trees so thick, they concealed the labs beyond.

“This is a secure government-run island, right?” he said, looking back at Robert as he tied the ferry to the dock.

“Yes,” he answered, crouched over the deck, sweat dripping down his nose.

“So where’s the security?”

Robert stood straight, looking up the path leading to the labs. “That’s why I was concerned and agreed to take you and Meredith along. You are cops, after all.”

Dalton helped Meredith to her feet. She said, “Tell him the rest.”

Robert’s complexion had paled considerably since they’d arrived. His eyes kept flicking to parts beyond, as if he was waiting for someone to take notice and acknowledge his transgression and their illegal entry.

“You know how I told you they study different animal diseases? That was the original charter for the facility, something they stuck to for five decades. This entire place was run by the USDA all that time, until it was privatized in the early ’90s. When things go private, money gets tight. The newer lab, Lab 257, was closed a few years later. It had been the site of a germ meltdown and the building was deemed unsafe. No one was going to pony up the money to fix it. All that’s left is Lab 101, a series of labs that were in major need of renovation to get up to safety code.”

His mind fixating on poorly built labs and escaping germs, Dalton worried that every breeze carried the seeds of their doom. Something was obviously wrong here. The door to the empty concrete guard shack was open, swaying back and forth with the wind. The island wasn’t necessarily quiet. The sounds of the surf and cawing gulls filled any moments of silence.

It just
felt
deserted.

Robert still hadn’t put down the gangplank so they could get off the ferry. He continued.

“Everything changed after 9/11. If people thought this place was secretive before, they were really in the dark after those fucks took down the towers. It became more than staying ahead of our enemies and protecting ourselves against all forms of agroterrorism. We altered the entire course of R and D in 2003. Scientists were recruited from bioengineering and genetics companies to come here. So we had an island full of geneticists, DNA and disease specialists. It was all for one reason. Finding ways to create organic weapons. We have a volunteer military now and no one likes to see kids die. It’s very bad PR. One of their goals was to create an expendable weapon and spare human lives.”

Dalton interrupted him. “How the hell would you know all of this? I doubt that they would release classified information like this to the guy who drives the ferry.”

He saw the concern drop over Meredith’s face like a cut curtain. Robert’s chest expanded, bristling. He was a big man, but Dalton was no ninety-pound weakling. If he wanted to throw, let him. Dalton could use the chance to vent his own frustration.

Meredith stepped between them. “Because people talk. Robert was around all of these people while they talked shop on their ride to and from the island. The history, we learned together by doing a little research. I doubt anyone else was in a better position to know what was going on than Robert.”

Closing his eyes, Robert took a calming breath. “She’s right. I also brought a ton of test animals onto the island. Dogs, sheep, cattle, pigs, mice, you name it. They came by the hundreds. There’s another boat they use for the livestock. The only way the animals get off the island is through the incinerator. Over the past year, the number of large dogs, pigs and goats increased exponentially. Six months ago, I overheard a doctor mention a party to celebrate their breakthrough. One month ago, all personnel were taken to the island to complete a major, top secret project. No one spoke about it. I was told they would remain on the island until further notice. Well, I still haven’t gotten any notice and all communication with the island has gone silent. When I called my superiors in Washington, I was told to stand down and wait for their call. That was a week ago. I still haven’t heard a thing, from anyone. I knew something was wrong.”

“And then the shit hit the fan in Montauk,” Meredith said. “You see, scientists have been playing around with genetic manipulation and crossbreeding longer than you’d think. It didn’t just start twenty years ago or with the decoding of human DNA. Even back in the 1920s, a Russian scientist named Ilya Ivanov actually got funding from the government to crossbreed humans with chimpanzees.”

“You get that from some conspiracy website?” Dalton asked.

Meredith poked him in the chest. “It’s a heavily documented and noted fact. What Ivanov did was implant human sperm into chimpanzees to create a human-ape hybrid. The why has been speculated about for decades. I tend to think that like most scientists, he tried to do it because he could. If he succeeded, which he didn’t, I’m positive the Russian government would have found a way to militarize his creations. It’s the way of any large governmental entity. Just like we have here, now. Plum Island is a perfect place to do all kinds of things on the wrong side of ethics without prying eyes gumming up the works.”

Robert released the gangplank. It hit the dock with a dull thud.

Meredith continued, “If we had the time, I’d run down all of the crazy things the Nazis tried to do before and during the war, from eugenics to create a master race, to crossbreeding of animals that should never have been thrown together. Unlike back then, we have the technology now to make these nightmares come true.”

“And here we are back to Nazis,” Dalton said. He hadn’t realized until now that he was grinding his back teeth. His gums were sore.

Meredith nodded sagely. “Life is all about going in circles. You still want to come with us?”

Robert’s face was clouded with concern. There was no denying something had happened here. Dalton would never forgive himself if he bailed out now. The more he heard, the angrier he felt. If the things that happened to Anita and Norm Henderson were the result of the government playing God, he wouldn’t stop until everyone involved was exposed and burned.

“Do you at least have any masks?” Dalton asked. Meredith was visibly relieved. He was anxious to see what the hell was going on, but felt the need for at least the bare minimum of protection.

Pointing up the paved path, Robert said, “There are safety garments in the decontamination section before we hit the labs. I think we’re safe out in the open.”

“Your positivity is very reassuring,” Dalton said, taking the lead. He turned back to offer Meredith a hand. She waved him off. “I have a feeling no matter what we find, we’re not going to be happy.”

It wasn’t long after finding Henderson’s pitted badge when the search was called to an end. And it wasn’t for the reason Jake Winn had been hoping for all along.

About seventy yards from the badge, a volunteer fireman stumbled upon a well-used fire pit in the yard of one of the houses along the beach. Within the pit lay the foaming remains of Norman Henderson.

There was no way to tell it was Henderson from the body itself. They had to go by the uniform, or at least what was left of it. Whatever had attacked the man did so with the savagery of a pride of lions. Winn lost track of the number of searchers who had to run off to vomit after catching a glimpse into the fire pit.

When the meat truck pulled up, Winn watched the guys step out and asked, “Hey, where are Dale and Frankie?”

“Called in sick,” the younger one said, concentrating on getting the stretcher out of the back of the van.

As tough a guy as he’d known himself to be, he couldn’t bear to watch them gather Norman’s remains. He stormed off toward the water, his eyes burning, vision blurry. There was still a chance the body wasn’t his. The tatters of the uniform were sprinkled around the fire pit, sticking out of the exposed meat.

No, don’t give yourself false hope
, he thought.
You know damn well that’s Norm. What you need to know now is what did that to him, find it and erase it without prejudice. Don’t fall apart now, Jake. Be a cop, dammit. Man or animal, something murdered Norm.

A slight commotion behind him made him turn back. Two white vans had pulled up to the scene, discharging several people dressed in tan hazmat suits with rectangular glass visors sewn into the full hood. Winn ran back to the yard.

“What’s going on here?”

The MEs had been pushed against the van, held in place by a pair of towering men in protective gear. Winn couldn’t make out any faces behind the tint of the visors. The team that had worked on the search was being urged back by a half-dozen other men.

“Are you in charge of this crime scene?” said one of them, his voice muffled by the hood.

Winn folded his arms across his chest, flexing his forearms. “I am. Who the hell are you?”

“The new man in charge. I need you and everyone else to vacate this area immediately.”

Winn stood his ground. “That’s my friend over there. You’re not doing a goddamn thing with him until you tell me who you are.”

The man’s shoulders slumped as the hood swiveled over to the fire pit. “Look, we have a job to do here and you’re not in a need-to-know status. Trust me when I say this is over your jurisdiction.”

“Are you kidding me? This is my frigging town. It’s been my jurisdiction for over twenty years. Maybe if you take your little mask off, we can talk like men.”

Winn reached for the top of the hood. The man recoiled. Another came up from behind him, wrapping him in a bear hug. Jesus, he was strong. Winn was lifted off his feet and carried to one of the white vans. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t break the iron grip. When everyone else saw how easily he’d been dispatched, they left the area without further provocation. Winn watched the MEs go back into their truck and pull away.

The monster holding Winn said, “Now, can I let you go or do you have to make things harder on yourself?”

Winn’s options raced through his mind. In almost every scenario, he couldn’t see himself coming out on the winning side of any physical confrontation, not with this guy being one among many.

As much as it pained him, he sighed, “You can put me down.”

His constricted lungs gathered in as much air as they could hold the moment the pressure was eased from his rib cage. The other hooded mystery man came back to him.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way. Thank you for cooperating. I don’t want things to get any uglier than they already are. Rest assured, we’ll take the utmost care with the deceased.”

A team of men were gingerly lifting Norman’s remains into a body bag that looked to be made of thick rubber. Something slipped from one of their gloved hands and landed back in the pit with a heavy plop. Winn’s stomach flinched.

“I’m going to find out what this is all about,” Winn said, boring a hole into the visor. “Where are you taking him?”

“Some place safe. Any questions that can be answered will have to come through your superior to mine.”

“And who the hell are your superiors?”

The man turned his attention to the extraction team. The big man placed a paw on his shoulder. “We need you to leave now.”

Jake glared at him. “Get your fucking hand off me.”

As he walked past the open double doors of the white van, he stole a quick peek inside. There was a small command center on one side of the van, with a bank of computers, a narrow shelf and several chairs, all of them empty for the moment. Something nudged him in the back, moving him along.

Jake didn’t resist. He’d seen what he needed to see.

On one of the screen savers, there’d been a platinum background with three black letters emblazoned across the center of the screen.

Those letters were CDC—the Centers for Disease Control.

A uniform shirt lay draped across a chair that had been welded to the floor. There was an official patch on the upper arm of the dark blue shirt.

“Fuck me sideways,” Winn whispered. It was a DARPA patch—the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, the military development arm that was synonymous with black ops and other unseemly things that fueled political debates and inspired a multitude of conspiracy theories.

If DARPA and the CDC were staging their coup, they were all in deep shit.

“If you don’t mind, Kathryn, I’m going to take a little break,” Dr. Harrison Greene said, tapping her shoulder. She was hunched over her laptop in an empty grammar school classroom. It was as good a place as any to set up their temporary command center.

“Do you need some water?” she asked, eyeing the silver pill container he’d extracted from his pocket.

He nodded. She reached for the cooler under her desk and handed him a bottle.

By the faraway look in his eyes, he was overdue. When the panic came, it overtook everything. He wouldn’t be able to read a passage in a book when he was like this, much less pore through the information dump that had been coming at them from all sides.

Dr. Greene tilted a couple of pills into his palm, one Klonopin to settle his nerves and stop the anxiety attack before it fully blossomed, and one Donepezil to slow the hands of fate.

She wasn’t sure he’d even told his wife about the early-onset Alzheimer’s. It had come on so suddenly, so damn fast, but he was just as quick to realize the implication of the symptoms and seek discreet help. That was six months ago. It was only his steadfast belief in full professional disclosure that made him confide in her. Kathryn wasn’t to tell a soul, and she’d been true to her word.

With the sure knowledge that his mind—his greatest asset, the foundation upon which he’d built his working and personal life—was failing, in came the tide of panic.

He fought them both with his will and two simple pills.

To say she was concerned about him and his ability to sift through the madness they’d been unceremoniously dumped into was putting things mildly. This was a crisis that had all the earmarks for a pandemic. Worst of all, no one was talking to one another, at least not in a productive manner. The whole thing reeked of official secrets. Human lives, thousands of them, were at risk. It didn’t take a genius to see that someone was pulling strings, shifting them like pawns, greedily hoarding information. Vital information. Life-and-death information.