“I remember that, actually,” Brett told him. “The theory was that she’d fallen overboard and been killed by an engine propeller. She was eventually ID’d as an illegal, finally claimed by an uncle after he received his legal status in the country.”
Matt nodded. “Fishermen out in the Florida Straits brought up a body about four months ago. A man. Same thing. Head bashed in. They never did discover who he was. The assumption is that he was an illegal, trying to make landfall so he’d be allowed to stay in the country. No one ever claimed him, needless to say.”
“That’s the problem here. So many people take off from Cuba or Haiti in rafts and boats, desperate to make it to land anywhere they can. A lot of them don’t make it, but a lot of others do and then end up part of the criminal underworld, because that’s the only option open to them.”
“A whole slew of unwilling human subjects for medical experimentation?” Meg asked thoughtfully.
“Maybe,” Brett said. “But what’s the connection to our zombies?”
“That’s the interesting thing,” Matt replied. “They’d been struck on the head. Sure, people are murdered often enough by being struck on the head. But with everything that’s going on, I’m thinking we ought to be testing for puffer fish poison. And,” he added with a shrug, “who do you choose, who’s your ideal victim, if you’re doing something criminal? Someone with no name. A forgotten person. People die—they drown—when boats go down at sea. They don’t usually wind up with their heads bashed in.”
“But I still can’t figure out why someone would do it,” Lara said.
“Because he can?” Matt asked.
Brett thought about the question. “I don’t know. Unless we really do have a would-be Papa Doc Duvalier out there, someone who really believes he can create an army of zombies who’ll do anything they’re programmed to do?”
“Is that really possible?” Lara asked.
“Possible, maybe, but certainly not feasible here,” Brett said. “I think that local law enforcement is more than capable of stopping an army of what amounts to automatons.”
Lara sat back, frowning. “You think someone has been actively kidnapping people—starting out with people no would notice were gone, or at least wouldn’t dare report? And then they upped the game when they weren’t caught?”
“I certainly think it’s possible,” Matt said.
“I’ll go one step further and say I firmly believe they set out kidnapping the forgotten people and experimenting on them,” Brett said.
Lara turned to him. “You’ve got me thinking. I went to talk to Nelson Amory today. He was out with three of our high-powered sponsors a few days ago. Meg and I saw him when we went to lunch with Sonia Larson. Their conversation looked...heated. I had the feeling he might be accepting a job offer from one of them. Today I flat-out asked him what was going on. If he was going to work for one of them, I thought he needed to tell Grady. In fact, Ely Taggerly had asked him to leave Sea Life and go to work for a new pharmaceutical company Ely is starting up to look at what Dr. Amory says is a whole new class of drugs. Apparently he used some of his time at Sea Life events trying to gather some funding for his project. So here we are talking about a zombie drug made from puffer fish, and now there’s a Sea Life connection to pharmaceuticals. It might not mean a thing, but it seems worth thinking about, at least.”
“You think Ely might be looking for something—some magic drug—that’s found in the brains of the dead?” Meg asked. “That’s...gruesome.”
“Very gruesome,” Matt agreed. He looked at Lara. “I’m not sure how that fits with zombies going around killing people, but who knows? You could be on to something.”
“A cure,” Brett said. “Someone might be looking for a cure for something. A brain disease. Alzheimer’s. Parkinson’s. Any one of the dozens of neuro diseases out there.”
Lara cleared her throat. “So,” she said, looking at Brett, “let’s say that you’re all right and this started out with someone kidnapping illegal immigrants trying to get into the United States. The forgotten people, as you say. They performed experiments on their brains, which they covered up when disposing of the corpses by smashing in their heads. Then...”
“Then,” Brett picked up, “they took Antoine Deveau. They knew he was illegal and that Pierre couldn’t raise a stink, because he was illegal, too. And given that we’re talking illegals, there may be more people missing than we’ll ever know. So Antoine ‘dies’ and they have a funeral, and when they bring him back they send him to kill Pierre. Maybe they were trying to see if he still recognized his brother after what they’d done to him. Who knows?”
“And then,” Meg continued, “they graduated to cruising the hospital to see if they could get away with fooling the doctors with their toxin. At least they had some scruples. They looked for someone who was dying anyway and found Randy Nicholson.”
“What about Miguel and Maria Gomez?” Lara asked.
Brett felt his muscles tighten. “Miguel was on purpose. They knew that he’d contacted the FBI. They wanted to torture him before they killed him. And even if he didn’t know what he was doing, they wanted his final torture to be killing his own wife, the woman he loved. I’m hoping tomorrow we’ll find out more about how it was done, how the drug actually works.” He took a drink of his water and went on, “We stopped in to see Dr. Treme, too. We’re pretty sure he wasn’t complicit in any way, and it seems unlikely he had anything to do with a body being found in the bay. He made a mistake, one that’s going to cost him. But we’re pretty sure he wasn’t involved in any criminal way.”
“So we’re back to the Barillo family?” Meg asked.
“Or someone with ties to the Barillo family—and money,” Brett said. “Diego and I are going to see Phil Kinny tomorrow. He has some ideas that might add to what we’ve been talking about here. We’re going to pay a visit to Anthony Barillo, too.” He turned to Lara. “After that threat yesterday, I was thinking that maybe you should come with us tomorrow, so we can make sure you stay safe.”
She smiled at him. “Not tomorrow. It’s Just Say Thanks day. I’ll be running around like a chicken with my head cut off.”
“Mike the chicken,” Brett said.
“What?” Meg asked.
Brett shrugged. “Look it up. Diego told me about it. Back in the 1940s a chicken lived for months with most of its head missing.”
Meg and Matt stared at him.
“I’ve heard about Mike the chicken. Our zombies still have their heads, at least,” Meg said.
“Until they don’t,” Lara added very softly.
Brett looked over at her and felt his body grow tense. Apparently there was something to chemistry after all.
He hated knowing that she had to go to work tomorrow, but she wouldn’t be alone. Meg and Matt would be there.
Not to mention hundreds of retired members of the American military.
He wanted to argue that she should leave the event to someone else and be with him. It was that primeval need every caveman felt to protect his woman. But he didn’t say anything. It was pure ego to think that he could be a better protector than Meg and Matt. Not to mention that it was wrong to take something away that meant so much to her—and to so many others, as well.
He’d actually intended to be there himself, but there was no waiting on this case. He and Diego had to follow these new leads.
“Tomorrow,” he told her, “you have to be careful. Very, very careful. Please.”
“Tomorrow,” she assured him, “I’ll be safer than ever. The place will be flooded with people—including the media. I can’t imagine a situation where there could possibly be more help at hand—if help was needed, which I’m sure it won’t be,” she said. “I’ll be surrounded by the military, for heaven’s sake. And of course I’ll have Meg and Matt with me at all times.
”
“I know,” he said.
She smiled. “And I’ll also have Miguel Gomez.” She paused and touched his arm. “He was there this evening when I went to see Cocoa. She sees him, too. He’s lost and so sad. I really pray that there’s a heaven and that he’ll find Maria there.”
“I believe that they’re meant to be together forever and that they will meet again,” Brett assured her. And, he realized, he did believe it.
“Have you seen her again? Maria?” Meg asked him.
He shook his head. “But I haven’t been home in days except to grab a change of clothes. She only shows up at night, or when I’m just waking up, actually.”
“Miguel definitely wants to help,” Lara said with a smile, “and he’s going to be watching out for anything strange now, too.”
After dinner they returned to Sea Life, where Brett and Lara went down to the docks to see Diego.
Brett caught him up on the conversation they’d had at dinner, and Diego nodded gravely. “Mike the headless chicken,” he said. “And to think you mocked me.”
“You have to admit, it sounds pretty strange,” Brett admitted.
“You two better go get your sleep—or whatever,” Diego said. He winked at Lara. “After the ‘whatever,’ you should have plenty of time to rest.”
“He must be speaking from experience,” Brett told Lara. She laughed softly, linking an arm through his, and they left Diego there on the platform. He’d apparently formed his own relationship with the dolphins. Brett looked back and saw two of them swim over and let Diego stroke their backs.
Back at the house, he and Lara tiptoed past Meg and Matt, who already seemed to be asleep on the couch. Up in the guest room of Grady’s suite, they turned to one another by instinct and fell swiftly into a frenzy of lovemaking, as if they really did have only minutes.
He wondered if making love to her would ever get old.
No, never old. Just more comfortable, easier, with more time to laugh and tease.
But it would always be amazing.
As he drifted to sleep, he thought of Miguel. And he wondered if this was how Miguel had felt about Maria when it had all begun for them.
* * *
Lara had done more work on the Just Say Thanks day, with press releases and appeals to their sponsors, than on anything else since her arrival at Sea Life. She’d approached it with every bit as much passion as she ever had brought to her political campaign work and enjoyed it more.
They always hoped for contributions to help keep the place afloat, but they didn’t have to kowtow to lobbyists, nor were they expected to provide payback beyond the occasional gala dinner and special opportunities to interact with the dolphins.
Far better than politics!
But Just Say Thanks day was the best, because it was all about giving back to those who had given so much themselves.
She was with Rick and the trainers when they had their 6:30 a.m. meeting, and she was with Grady twenty minutes later when he spoke with the rest of the staff, including the interns.
She caught Dr. Amory watching her as they all listened to Grady talk about the importance of the day. When Dr. Amory smiled at her and gave her a thumbs-up sign, she returned it. She saw in his face that what he’d told her the other day had been true.
He loved Sea Life. He didn’t mind being a happy poor man.
When it was almost time for the Just Say Thanks people to arrive, she was thrilled to see that her efforts had paid off. Ely Taggerly, Grant Blackwood, Mason Martinez and Sonia Larson had all, as promised, shown up to make the day special for the vets.
Grant flirted with her—the man just couldn’t help himself, she thought—but she easily kept a safe distance.
The locals and tourists had also come out in droves to say thank-you to the veterans, and that made her even happier. Their show of support was bound to bring smiles to a lot of faces.
When the buses drove up with the soldiers and their counselors, she felt an incredible rush of pleasure at being part of something so special. She stood at the entrance, the head of their welcoming committee.
There were several hundred people lining the paths behind her, waving American flags and applauding as the soldiers entered the facility. She glanced down the line; Sea Life sponsors, from the high flyers to those who donated what few dollars they could, were mingling with all the other guests. Sonia Larson was applauding enthusiastically, a look of tremendous appreciation on her face. Lara was also glad to see Meg just a short distance away, keeping an eye open for anything out of place and potentially dangerous.
The soldiers started getting off the buses and making their way through the gate. Some walked easily while some needed canes or crutches. Still others were in wheelchairs.
Some had prosthetic arms or legs—or both. Some looked down, faces reddening, as if embarrassed by the show of appreciation. And some smiled and laughed, fist-bumping the children standing by the path and thanking those who’d come to thank them.
Once all the vets were inside the gate, they headed in groups down to the docks and the different lagoons, where the trainers would work with them. Lara helped with directions and made sure everyone knew where they were going.
She also talked to reporters and made certain that they only talked to veterans who had agreed ahead of time to be interviewed. She left one reporter with Grady, then took a minute to hang out by Cocoa’s lagoon, where Rick was taking a group in to swim with her as another group made their way out of the water.
Lara was pleased to see that her favorite dolphin was ready to show off. Even as the soldiers readied themselves to go into the water, Cocoa greeted them with a spectacular leap and a chattering sound that sounded almost like “Welcome.”
Lara paused then, and felt a wave of gratitude and emotion nearly overwhelm her as she noticed a wheelchair by the dock. It was piled high with the artificial limbs the men and women couldn’t wear into the water.
She turned to see if she could help the group whose swim had just finished, but she didn’t need to. One of the soldiers using a crutch was already standing by the wheelchair, handing out limbs.
“Hey!” one of the others called to him. “Wrong leg. Give a marine one task and he blows it!” he teased.
“That one might make you taller, GI Joe,” the marine called back.
They were young, she thought. All so young. And it occurred to her that too often there was no choice in life but to fight, and so many times the fight took the young and beautiful of the world.
“Lara,” Adrianna called to her from the platform. “Want to help piggy-back a soldier?”
She was startled; she’d had no idea she might be asked to help out in the water.
“Me?” She felt a moment’s genuine fear. What if she did something wrong?
“Cocoa knows what to do, but she likes to have someone she trusts with her.”
“I’m not wearing a suit yet.”
“There are extra suits like mine in my locker,” Adrianna said.
Lara thought Adrianna’s outfit, which was more like a T-shirt and shorts than a bathing suit, looked both comfortable and flattering.
“Come on in!” one of the soldiers called, and suddenly it was a chant.
“Okay, I’m coming! Just let me grab a suit and I’ll be right back,” she said.
She realized she was still scared, but this was also something she really wanted to do.
Meg nodded to her. “I’ll be watching the lockers,” she said quietly.
Lara hurried back to the lockers, heading to the left side where the trainers kept their things. Adrianna’s locker was open, with a pile of suits neatly folded and ready for use on the upper shelf. Lara grabbed one and shut the door, and the locker next to Adrianna’s popped open. Evidently the lock on it hadn’t caught. r />
She started to close it, then paused.
There was a small tube of paint lying on the floor of the locker.
Red paint.
Like the color poured all over the dismembered doll she’d found on her desk.
For a moment she froze. Then she felt her anger kick in, and she looked quickly through the locker, trying to determine whose it was.
None of the lockers had nameplates, and the contents—a newspaper, a water bottle, a towel—didn’t tell her anything. She bent down and carefully picked up the tube of paint, using her shirt to hold it so she wouldn’t disturb any prints.
Then she went ahead and changed, leaving the paint wrapped in her clothes in Adrianna’s locker. She closed the door and wished she had a lock, but she figured it would be safe for the next thirty minutes or so. She would tell Meg about it right away, and get it to her as soon as she could. Since she suspected the perpetrator had thought the paint would never be found, she thought it was highly likely that they might find fingerprints on it.
She had a smile on her face when she headed out the door.
And she felt a steely determination that no one was going to mess with Sea Life.
* * *
“I’ve now had the opportunity to compare the brains and tox screens of each of our dead men, so I’ll speak as plainly as I can,” Kinny told Brett and Diego. “Certain chemicals that the body makes—dopamine, for one—can be given in doses to patients suffering from various diseases of the brain and nervous system. There are a number of dopamine systems in the brain, managing neural and muscle control. It’s logical to think other chemicals—including man-made chemicals—could have different effects, effects that could be harnessed in some way.” He paused, shaking his head. “I believe that someone was directly injecting certain chemicals into the brains of the dead men to destroy their mental capacity, their ability to reason, and leave them open to nothing but his direct commands. I haven’t been able to figure out the exact compounds that were used, because they were slightly different in each case. What, exactly, the experimenter has been trying to do, I’m not sure. But while the victims meant no more to him than cockroaches do to you and me, I don’t think that creating a zombie army is what he was trying for. I think the murders were simply part of the experiment.”