Warehouse 13: A Touch of Fever (9 page)

The serpent’s scaly body was cool and dry to the touch. Myka fought an instinctive sense of revulsion. She had to stay cool and keep her wits about her. Thank goodness snakes were not among her phobias.

“That’sss it, sssugar!” Ophidia cheered on her pet. “Show that nasssty lady who’sss bosss!”

Myka wished the woman had trained poodles instead.

A hand wriggled past the snake to dig around in her pocket. “Yes!” Nadia exclaimed as she reclaimed her glove and slipped it back onto her right hand. “I’ve got it!”

She darted for the exit, taking the artifact with her. “Run, Nadia!” her boyfriend urged her. “Get out of here!”

She hesitated in the doorway. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

He shook his head. “I’ll catch up with you later. We’ll hold on to these losers while you get away!”

“Nadia, don’t!” Myka called out. Caught up in the coils of the python, she could only watch in frustration as the artifact slipped away from them. “You don’t know what you’re messing with!”

None of them did, really.

But Nadia ignored the agent’s orders. The fat lady scooted the young healer out of the tent, then planted herself in front of the exit. “Don’t worry,” she assured Jim and her fellow carnies. “Nobody’s getting past me.”

The python squeezed her ribs. Myka’s hold on its neck slipped for a moment, and its fangs came closer to her face. A forked tongue licked her cheek. Grimacing, she shifted her grip on the writhing coils and shoved the snake’s head back. Its gaping jaws offered her a clear view down its gullet. It was a visual she could have done without.

Remind me to make sure that asp is safely bottled up,
she thought,
if and when we make it back to the Warehouse.

Where was Pete? She glanced away from the snake’s fangs long enough to spot her partner in a tight squeeze of his own. The strong man had Pete in a bear hug, and it didn’t look like he was planning to let him go anytime soon. Myka wondered which of them was in the most trouble.

Given a choice,
she thought,
I think I’d prefer the muscle man.

The snake snapped at her again.

Pete’s ribs and arms felt like they were in a vise. He tried to break from the strong man’s grip, but it was like straining against iron girders. The rugged agent liked to think he had plenty of muscle, too, but the strong man made him feel like a ninety-pound weakling. All he needed was sand kicked in his face.

What the heck were they feeding this guy?

“Good job, Atlas!” Jim urged the strong man. “Don’t let him go.”

Despite his current predicament, Pete noted that the knife thrower had yet to put his blades to lethal use, despite plenty of opportunity to do so. This told him that Jim Doherty wasn’t actually out to hurt them. He just wanted to let his girlfriend get away—with that darn glove.

Pete wasn’t going to let that happen.

Years of hand-to-hand combat training proved useless against the human behemoth squeezing the breath out of him. He tried to hook his leg around Atlas’s and yank him off his feet, but it was like trying to uproot a redwood. A head butt just bruised his own brow. The strong man had a skull of concrete.

“Try that again,” Atlas snarled, “and I’ll crack your ribs.”

His breath reeked of tobacco and alcohol. Pete turned his face away to avoid the stench.

“Sorry ’bout that,” Pete gasped. “My mistake.”

Dangling above the ground, it was difficult to get any leverage. All he had managed to do was hang on to the Tesla, not that it was doing him much good right now. He and Atlas were just a little too cozy at the moment. There was no way to blast the strong man without zapping himself as well. Electricity was a bitch that way.

What about Myka? Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his partner wrestling with an upset python while the snake charmer egged the serpent on. Myka appeared to be holding her own for the time being, but in the meantime Nadia and the glove were getting farther and farther away.

There had to be some way out of this mess.

Pete noticed that Myka was still wearing her protective purple gloves. A wild idea occurred to him. His arms remained pinned to his sides, but he could still move his wrist slightly. Maybe enough to aim the Tesla . . .

“Myka!” he shouted. “Can you unwrap yourself a little?”

She risked a peek at him. Her eyes widened as she spied the Tesla’s transparent barrel recharging. She nodded back at him, getting the message. Her right hand let go of the python’s throat, leaving only the left hand to hold its head—with its gaping mouth and fangs—away from her, and grabbed the snake’s tail. Agent and serpent danced awkwardly across the backstage area as she forcibly unwound the coils around her waist. It didn’t look easy, and she grunted with exertion, but she briefly managed to extricate herself from the python’s embrace. “Hurry!” she yelled, holding the writhing snake at arm’s length from her body. “It’s getting loose!”

“Hang on!” He bent his wrist back as far as it would go, pointing the Tesla toward her. There was no way to read the gauges on the weapon, but he hoped that it still had enough of a charge to take out a snake. “Here goes nothing!”

He squeezed the trigger. Cobalt lightning sizzled through the air to strike the python, which twitched and sparked like a high-voltage cable. Myka turned her face away from the crackling electricity, relying on her gloves to insulate her. Ozone tickled Pete’s nostrils.

The python went limp in Myka’s hands.

“Sssusssie-Q!” Ophidia shrieked sibilantly. “Sssweetie!”

Her leathery face contorted with rage, she ran at Myka, who dropped her with a spinning kick to the jaw. The snake charmer joined her pet in unconsciousness.

“Next time, keep your ‘sweetie’ on a leash,” Myka advised, her hands still full of stunned reptile. She turned toward Atlas. “Hey, big boy. You like snakes?”

Had she also noticed the strong man’s aversion to the serpent earlier? Of course, Pete realized. This was Myka, after all.

Atlas backed away from her. “Get that slimy thing away from me!”

“Trade you,” she said. “Catch!”

She lobbed the sagging serpent at the strong man, who let out a surprisingly high-pitched squeal. Panicked by the sight of the snake flying toward him, he let go of Pete and threw himself backward—right into the central pole supporting the tent.

A couple hundred pounds of pumped muscle collided with the pole, which cracked alarmingly. Heavy canvas heaved and tore loose from its moorings. The rippling fabric crackled like thunder. Pete looked up in dismay, as did everybody else under the tent.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” the fat lady said.

Jim dived for cover. More poles snapped.

“Timber . . .” Pete groaned.

An avalanche of canvas came down on their heads.

6

WEST HAVEN

Everything was dark and stuffy. Pete felt like a princess looking for a pea as he wriggled beneath the heavy canvas toward a narrow sliver of light.
Just a few more inches,
he thought, as a meaty hand closed on his ankle. “Forget it, slick,” the fat lady huffed. “You’re not going anywhere.”

He gave her a taste of his shoe leather. He felt bad kicking a woman in the face, but maybe the extra padding in her cheeks would soften the blow? In any event, the pudgy fingers came loose long enough for him to scramble out from beneath the collapsed tent into the open air of the midway. The bright electric lights came as a jolt after the suffocating darkness. Squinting, he jumped to his feet. He kept a tight grip on the handle of the Tesla. Artie would kill him if he lost it.

“Myka?”

“Right here.” His partner emerged into the electric glow a few yards away. He ran over and helped her to her feet. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She brushed the dirt from her knees, then looked up and down the midway. “Where is Nadia?”

“Hell if I know.” He joined her in scanning the bustling carnival. Unfortunately, her sideshow buddies had given the fleeing healer plenty of time to vanish into the crowd. She could be anywhere by now, and they didn’t have time to search the entire show on foot. Glancing behind him, he saw more bodies burrowing under the canvas. Jim and the others would be crawling out soon. Anxious carnies and random lookie loos came running to check on the fallen tent. Pete and Myka blended into the spectators like they had nothing to do with the accident.

“We can’t let her get away with that glove,” Myka said urgently.

“Tell me about it.”

The Ferris wheel rotated above them. High-spirited shrieks and laughter spilled from its swinging cars. Pete’s gaze climbed to the top of the wheel, which was at least 150 feet above the carnival. There had to be quite a view from up there. . . .

“Hey!” he announced. “I just had the greatest idea ever.”

A nearby souvenir stand hawked cheap plastic toys and doodads. Pete dashed over to the stand, squeezing past a milling pod of schoolkids. Toy swords, rubber snakes, helium balloons, inflatable cartoon characters, whistles, pennants, and posters competed for his attention, but he ignored them in favor of a pair of flimsy plastic binoculars. “Put it on my tab,” he told the vendor as he snatched the binoculars and made tracks for the Ferris wheel, which was several yards away. He bulldozed through the crowd while a confused-looking Myka rushed to keep up with him.

“Pete?”

He tossed her the Tesla.

“Take this! You might need it!”

He skidded to a halt in front of the Ferris wheel and pointed to the topmost cars. “Maybe I can spot her from up there,” he explained, while cutting to the front of the line. He flashed his badge at the ride operator. “Secret Service, bub. I’m commandeering this ride.”

The operator looked understandably baffled. “‘Commandeering’?”

“You heard me, mister.” Pete took possession of a bottom car, over the protests of a teenage Romeo and his date. He barked orders at the carnie. “Take me up and don’t bring me down until you hear me yelling. This is a matter of national security!”

That might be stretching it or bit, or maybe not. Who knew what the full potential of Nadia’s glove was? Not too long ago, Charles Atlas’s workout trunks had nearly destroyed Detroit. . . .

“Okay, okay,” the cowed operator complied. “Whatever you say, man!”

The carnie worked a lever and the wheel resumed its turning. Pete called out to Myka as his car lurched forward. “I’ll let you know if I spot her. Stand by!”

“Good luck!” she shouted back.

The wheel’s leisurely rotation wasn’t nearly fast enough. He tapped his feet impatiently against the floor of the car while he waited for the ride to carry him upward. As soon as he cleared the roofs of the surrounding snack bars and ticket booths, he started scanning the carnival grounds through the toy binoculars. The cheap lenses weren’t exactly government issue, but they were better than his naked eyes . . . barely. Pete found himself wishing that he had borrowed George Reeves’s eyeglasses from the Warehouse before heading east. He could really use some super-vision right now.

The car shuddered to a halt at the top of the wheel. It rocked beneath him, even as he checked out the bird’s-eye view before him, which was just as breathtaking as he had imagined. The entire carnival was spread out beneath him. Tiny figures paraded amidst the brightly lit rides and attractions or crowded around the collapsed sideshow tent. Dozens of feet below, Myka looked like The Incredible Shrinking Agent. She waited tensely at the foot of the ride.