“What, we’re supposed to just rummage around until we find the girl?” Nichols asked, staying close to the entrance.
“Better that than to have a suspicious chaperone,” Key reminded her.
“Aw, just take a look.” Daniels grinned as he ambled toward the meat locker’s freezer door. “Smaller than a woman, bigger than a baby, not breathing—you can’t miss her.”
“Shut up, Morty,” Key sighed as he moved beside Daniels.
“Okay,” the big man snorted as he pulled open the heavy vault door. “Say we got here in time. Say the kid is in here and actually bloodless. So what? What are we looking for?”
“I think it’s one of those ‘we’ll know it when we see it,’ right?” Nichols offered from the door.
Key nodded, stepping into the meat locker. “First things first,” he quoted his father as he surveyed the wooden shelves along the freezer walls. “We claim the body and bring it to Professor Rahal.”
There were two body bags on one side and a naked man on the other. Key stepped toward the smaller of the body bags as Daniels eyed the unclad man across the aisle.
“Fresh meat,” he said drily, then joined Key as the former corporal unzipped the smaller bag.
He looked down into the face of an angelic child who couldn’t have been more than three years old when she died. He then nearly twitched when a voice popped into his ear.
“I guess they all look like that when they’re at peace,” he heard Nichols say gently before looking over his shoulder to see her at his side. The men had known the young lady long enough not to be surprised by her enhanced reflexes anymore. Not after what she, and they, had been through. But they were, constantly.
By then Daniels had checked the other bag, making sure it wasn’t also a child. “Okay,” he said. “We just take it and take off, or are we stopping to check with Barney Fife first?”
That was as far as the former sergeant got when the naked man suddenly appeared, grabbed the child, and ran.
To the agents’ amazement and annoyance, the man had done it so quickly, powerfully, and silently that even Nichols was taken by surprise. Daniels was so startled he didn’t even blurt profanity. They froze an unwanted moment, each chastising themselves in their own way, then took off after him.
Nichols was first out of the bunker, and probably would have been even if her reflexes hadn’t been heightened by an Idmonarchne Brasieri infection and Professor Rahal’s subsequent treatment. Daniels was next, just by dint of his size taking up the entire doorway as he lumbered after her. That was fine by Key, who knew it was best that he get the big picture, focusing in on what had been vague details before.
He was tempted to jump into the SUV, just to keep up with Nichols, but the first thing he realized was that the streets were too narrow and haphazard to make the Ecosport any advantage. The second thing he noted was how fast the naked man was going. He had looked every inch a corpse—haggard, emaciated, aged—but now he was running like a teenage shoplifter. Thankfully Nichols was going after him like a gazelle.
Key saw that Daniels was already drifting to the west. Smart cookie: he was automatically finding another path that would narrow the naked man’s escape routes. So Key moved quickly to the east, to create a trident of pursuit. The naked man was sprinting south, directly toward the calliope music and Christmas lights.
They all ran into thickening crowds. It seemed that everyone in town was at, or going to, the garment market, which was either always like this or celebrating some special festival. Either way, to the Westerners’ eyes, it still seemed like a minor flea market, transient street fair, and rinky-dink traveling amusement park in some lower-middle-class suburban town.
Nichols was just steps behind the naked man when he burst into a patchy, compact fairground between tent-like booths; bent, discolored, miniature, ancient rides; and a makeshift stage from which a local band played classic catchy, danceable, Indian pop music. None of that was a problem. In fact, it effectively hemmed in the naked man. The problem was were all the young men in out-of-fashion jeans and shirts acting like it was their own personal mosh pit.
They were jumping, kicking, and thrusting their arms in the air to the live music, while the few women present were off to the sides. The latter were the ones who started reacting to both the naked man and redhead first. Their little shrieks and cries acted like a wave, catching the attention of the dancers like a pond ripple. The result was the naked man turning toward Nichols on the far side of a human circle, while the path was closed off behind the redhead by curious, concerned festival-goers.
Nichols slowed, letting her peripheral vision take in all the confused faces. But she concentrated on the man, who was now holding the corpse like a sleeping child while babbling something in Punjabi, the local dialect.
“What is he saying?” she asked no one in particular. But her sharp tone elicited a reaction from a nearby co-ed.
“He says you are a demon, a redheaded demon, who attacked his family.”
Nichols didn’t look away from the man as she quickly responded. “Tell them he is a child molester who stole that girl. I’m trying to stop him!”
To the co-ed’s credit, she tried translating for the crowd, but the naked man was louder, and already speaking in their language. Nichols tried taking a step forward, but suddenly she was confronted by several angry, suspicious young men advancing on her. She recognized the look of distrusting amazement. She had seen it wherever redheads were not the norm—which made up most of the world.
She heard the co-ed’s shrill admonitions cut off, then found out why. Daniels was right beside her, his back bent, his fists clenched, and a ravenous grin on his otherwise mirthless face.
“What’s Punjabi for ‘bring it on’?” he growled.
Nichols didn’t want a riot, but left that to Daniels. She took another step toward the naked man, who started shoving the nearest young men in front of him, all while still babbling in despair and fear. She could see exactly what he was doing but was nearly powerless to stop him. Even with her heightened speed, she saw no way to get to him without becoming entangled in the encroaching crowd.
As Daniels looked ready to take them all on, Nichols kept her gaze locked onto the child snatcher. To her angry despair she saw him take the final step toward the fairground’s north-most exit, all while looking directly back at her with a triumphant, knowing grin on his face. That’s when she saw Josiah Key appear behind him.
To her regret, she let her relief and pleasure infuse her own face, alerting the man. He ducked, crouched, and scrambled like a wet pig, shaking off Key’s hands, and started running again. Infuriated at herself, Nichols stepped before Daniels while pulling her Sig Sauer P239 from its shoulder holster. As she saw Key go after the naked man, she pointed it straight up and fired.
“Make way for the redheaded demon with a gun,” she cried, and used the crowd’s momentary shock to race through them.
She heard Daniels following suit, accompanied by the exclamations of a foolhardy few who tried to stop him, but by then she was already out the fairground’s other side—hardly noticing that it led to a stony, root-veined, vine-covered path. If the information she had gleaned on the drive here was to be trusted, this had to be the trail to the temple fort, which stood between the town and the river.
A second later she was past Key, wishing she also had the time to take a shot at the naked man, but knowing that she couldn’t risk hitting the child. Dead or not, that was why they were here, and any further damage to her might negate the whole mission. Her speed was being turbo-charged by her anger and resentment, so she no longer had time to question anything because she was on the guy.