Zig Zag (74 page)

"Have
a nice rest, Professor?" Lopera nodded as he took a seat.
Harrison noted that the woman looked at him with concern. How could
she be
friends
with
that pathetic idiot?
Maybe
she should be there when he's killed. Maybe the slut should watch him
die.
He
filed that idea away to discuss with Jurgens later and concentrated
on Blanes for the time being. "Where were we? So ... you saw
Clissot's remains, and then what happened?"

"It
went dark. But I knew he'd struck again." He stopped, and
stressed his next words. "And then I saw him."

"Who?"

"Ric
Valente."

The
monotonous sound of rainfall accentuated the silence.

"How
did you recognize him, if it was dark?"

"I
saw him," Blanes repeated. "It was like he glowed. He was
standing in front of me in the screening room, covered in blood. He
ran out the door before Carter and Professor Lopera got back."

"Did
you see him, too?" Harrison said in Victor's general direction.

"No..."
Victor was groggy. "But I don't think I could have really
focused on anything at the time..."

"What
about you, Professor?" he asked, not looking at Elisa. "You
were still in the control room, weren't you? You'd fainted. Did you
see Valente?"

She
didn't even look up.

Harrison
was afraid. Not because he thought she might do something to him, but
because of all the things he wanted to do to her. All the things he
would
do
to her, in good time. Contemplating the body he would play so many
unknown games with alarmed him. After a pause, he took a breath and
expelled it in the form of words.

"You
don't know. No reply ... Fine. Be that as it may, my men will find
him. He can't get off the island, no matter where he is." He
turned back to his new best friend, Blanes. "Do you think
Valente is Zig Zag?"

"I'm
sure of it."

"So
where has he been all these years?"

"I
don't know. I'd have to look into that."

"I'd
like to know, Professor. Know how he did it, he or his 'double' or
'splinter' or whatever you call it... how he managed to kill off so
many of you. I want to know his secret. Got it? When I was a kid, one
of my teachers used to answer my questions by saying, 'Don't look for
the cause; the effect is good enough,' But now the 'effect' is in the
next room and it's a little hard to figure out." Though he was
smiling, Harrison winced like he was in pain. "It's an 'effect'
that gives you goose blimps. You wonder what Mr. Valente must have
been thinking, to be able to do all that to another human being ... I
need some sort of report. After all, this project is as much ours as
it is yours."

"And
I'll need some time and some peace and quiet to be able to look into
all this," Blanes replied.

"You'll
get it."

Elisa
stared at Blanes, dumbfounded. She opened her mouth for almost the
first time since the seemingly endless interrogation had begun.

"Are
you insane?
Estas
loco?"
she
asked in Spanish. "You're going to
help
them?"

Harrison
butted in before he could respond.

"Estas
loco?"
he
imitated with a mediocre accent and fake humorous tone. "We're
all 'loco,' Professor. All of us."

He
leaned over her. Now he could look at her, and he fully intended to
enjoy it: she was so beautiful, so sexy—despite smelling like
sweat and filth and being totally disheveled—it gave him the
chills. He improvised a little speech to take full advantage of the
seconds he stared at her, putting on a stern fatherly voice as if
speaking to his favorite, spoiled daughter.

"But
some
people's
insanity revolves around making sure others can rest easy at night.
We live in a dangerous world, a world where terrorists strike without
showing their faces: surprise attacks, like Zig Zag. We can't let...
what happened tonight be used by the wrong people—"

"You're
not the
right
people,"
Elisa spat harshly, holding his gaze.

Harrison
froze midsentence, his mouth hanging open. Then, almost sweetly, he
added, "That may be, but there are some a lot worse than me."

"Possibly,
but they're under your command."

"Elisa..."
Blanes cut in.

"Oh,
don't worry." Harrison was acting like an adult intent on
proving a child's words would never hurt him. "The professor and
I have had a... special... relationship for years now ... We're well
acquainted." He moved away and closed his eyes. For a second,
the sound of the rain on the window made him think of spilled blood.
He spread his arms. "I imagine you're all tired and hungry. You
can have something to eat now and then rest, if you like. My men will
comb the island inch by inch. We'll find Valente, if he's here ... if
he's findable." He snickered. Then he looked at Blanes like a
salesman eyeing up a very select customer. "If you give us a
report on everything that's happened, Professor, we'll overlook all
your other mistakes. I know why you came back here, and why you ran
away. I understand ... Eagle Group won't press charges. In fact, you
won't even be arrested. Try to relax, take a little walk... if you
feel like it, in this weather. Tomorrow, a scientific delegation will
arrive, and once you give them your findings we'll all be able to go
home."

"What
about Carter?" Blanes asked before Harrison left.

"I'm
afraid things won't go quite so smoothly for him." The Eagle
Group badge on Harrison's rain-soaked, brushed-cotton jacket
glistened. "But his final destiny is out of my hands. Mr. Carter
will be charged, among other things, with having been paid for
services not rendered."

"He
was just trying to protect himself... and us."

"I'll
try to balance the scales when he goes to trial, Professor, but
that's all I can promise you."

Harrison
gave a quick nod and the two soldiers followed him out. When the door
closed, Elisa brushed the hair from her face and glared at Blanes.

"You're
going to give them a
report?"
she
exploded. "Don't you see what they're
doing?
They're
going to turn Zig Zag into the weapon of the century! Soldiers
killing enemies from another time and all that!" She got up and
banged her fists on the table. "Is that all Jacqueline's death
is good for? A fucking
report?"

"Calm
down, Elisa." Blanes seemed genuinely taken aback by her rage.

"That
son of a bitch is tickled pink thinking about the damn report he's
going to hand over to the scientific delegation tomorrow! Disgusting
pervert! Sicko. And that sick fucker is who you're going to
help?"
She
fell back into her chair, crying, and buried her face in her hands.

"I
think you're exaggerating, Elisa." He got up and went into the
kitchen. "They want answers, of course, but they do have a
right, you know."

Elisa's
crying tapered off. Suddenly she was too tired, even for that.

"You're
acting like Eagle is a group of paid assassins," Blanes called
from the kitchen. "Don't blow everything all out of proportion."
He paused and then added, in a different tone, "Harrison's
right. The sockets are burned and the power cords are totally
stripped; it's unbelievable. Anyone want cookies or mineral water?"
He walked back in with a plastic bottle and a paper napkin and stood
at the window as he munched.

"I
have
no
intention
of collaborating with those scumbags, David," Elisa said curtly.
"You do whatever you want, but I'm not going to say a word."
She snatched a cookie and scarfed it down in two bites. God, she was
starving. Then she took another one, and another. She swallowed big
chunks, almost without chewing. Then she looked down and saw the
napkin Blanes had just placed on the table. He'd scribbled on it, in
all caps:
M
ight
B
e
B
ugged.
Exit I x I.
M
eet
in Old Garrison.

IT
was
still raining, though less intensely. But she felt so sticky and
disgusting, all covered in sweat and grime, that she appreciated the
clean shower. Taking off her shoes and socks, Elisa wandered down the
sand like someone who'd just decided to go for a lonely stroll. She
glanced around and saw no sign of Harrison or his men. Then she
froze.

A
few feet away, the chair sat on the sand.

She
recognized it immediately. Black leather seat, metal legs on wheels.
On the right side of the chair back, a long, oval slash ran almost
halfway across the backrest. Two of the four legs were missing and
one of the armrests was encrusted with metal shavings, shimmering
like jewels. That chair would have collapsed, if it were just an
ordinary chair.

But
it was no ordinary chair. The rain had not soaked it, didn't even
splash it. No drops of water ricocheted off its surface, though they
didn't seem to float through it like a hologram, either. The
raindrops were like silver needles shooting down from the heavens:
they plunged into the seat and disappeared, only to reappear beneath
it and sink into the sand.

Elisa
stared, fascinated. She'd seen this chair for the first time when
Harrison had been grilling them; it was wound around his legs like a
silent cat. He'd walked right through it, the way the rain passed
through it now. She'd noticed that one of the soldiers was fidgeting
with his computer watch during its entire appearance; no doubt it had
stopped keeping time.

She
counted to five, and then it disappeared. Elisa wished she had the
time (and desire) to study splits. They were one of the most
incredible findings in the history of science. She could almost
sympathize with Marini, Craig, and Ric, though it was too late to
forgive them.

When
the chair disappeared, she turned and went through the barbed-wire
fence.

She
shivered, thinking that Zig Zag wasn't much different from that
chair: a sporadic apparition, the result of the algebraic sum of two
different times. But Zig Zag had willpower. And his
will
was
to torture and kill them. There were three victims left (four, if you
counted Ric), and then his will would be done, unless they stopped
him first. They had to do something. Fast.