Project Hyperion (A Kaiju Thriller) (Kaiju #4)

“I’m not the one with mud in his shoe...or on high blood-pressure meds.” Double D grinned when Jones looked surprised, but didn’t say anything.

Jones wanted to argue, but he knew it was a losing fight. Double D seemed to know everything about everyone, and getting into it with the man really wouldn’t be good for his heart. So he focused on the reason for their visit—the DHS had flagged the sight and wanted someone to take a look. For what, they wouldn’t say, which is probably why it sat on a desk for a few weeks. Everyone was pretty well distracted by what had happened in Boston. When work had resumed in earnest, they discovered that crime had taken a nose dive. Cable news argued it had something to do with the Nemesis creature, that people were afraid it would judge them. Jones didn’t think that would last, but for now, it seemed they were stuck working old cases. When he rediscovered the order to explore an area of empty terrain, he’d jumped at it. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“You going to start investigating?” Donovan said. “Or do I need to point out the obvious.”

Still distracted by his wet foot, Jones asked, “Which is?”

“Ain’t no roads,” Donovan said.

He was right about that, too. The map of the area revealed no official roads, but he thought they’d see something from the air. Other than a few trails that circled back to the old dig site there wasn’t a single road connecting the site to the outside world. “So they flew everything in.”

“This site wasn’t made by hand,” Donovan said, motioning to the sloping dirt, piled rocks and the sealed mineshaft. “This took some heavy machinery. If they flew it in, and out, and took whatever was in the mine with them, it would have cost a fortune.”

Right again, Jones thought. Something big had gone on here, but not recently.

“What does the search request say?” Donovan asked.

Jones dug the folded-up piece of paper out of his pocket. Donovan wasn’t an investigator, but he’d been on more investigations than anyone and was pretty smart, to boot. He also knew the land better than most agents who preferred to stay in the city and beg for reassignment. While agents came and went, Donovan had been around for twenty years. He was an easy target for teasing, but he was also a valuable resource. Though he came with a price. “How many?”

“If this turns out to be nothing, we’ll make it a twelve-pack.” He shrugs. “If it’s interesting, my help is on the house. Haven’t seen anything worth my while in a few weeks now.”

“Tell me about it,” Jones said, as he unfolded the paper and handed it to Donovan.

The large man took the paper and dropped a pair of reading glasses onto his nose. “Huh, kind of vague.”

“I know,” Jones said, looking at the caved-in tunnel. “Looks like they blew the tunnel entrance, but it’s nothing a backhoe couldn’t get through.”

“If you could get a backhoe out here.”

“Right.”

As they got nearer, the size of the excavation revealed itself. “Must be twenty five feet tall,” Jones said. “Nearly as wide.”

“Bigger,” Donovan said. He pushed his booted foot into the loose ground. “I think they filled in this whole area. He pointed to the caved-in tunnel. “That’s just the top.”

“But it would have been huge,” Jones said.

Donovan suddenly gasped and thrust his finger toward the top of the caved-in tunnel. “I think I saw someone.”

Jones’s hand went to his holster. “Where?”

“Up at the top.”

Jones looked to where Donovan was pointing and saw a tunnel through the rubble. “Have a flashlight?”

Donovan produced one and handed it to Jones, who scrambled up the mound of rocky debris. Near the top, Jones drew his weapon, flicked on the flashlight and aimed both into the hole. It was roughly three feet around and at least twenty deep before opening up into a larger chamber.

“This is FBI, special investigator Jones,” Jones shouted into the hole. “Come out now. Hands on your—ahh!” Something large and black, like an arm, or a python, shot out of the tunnel, wrapped around Jones’s waist and turned him around before yanking him inside and folding him in half—backwards.

If not for the loud crack of Jones’s spine, Donovan might have remained rooted in place like a shocked deer. But that sound and the death it signified sent him running.

The chopper was just fifty yards away. The distance could be covered in seconds by a man in decent shape, but Double D was far from in shape and by the twenty-fifth yard, he was wheezing for air. He slowed and glanced back. There was no sign of Jones, or a pursuer, so he stood still for a moment and pitched forward, catching his breath. When he was sure that whatever took Jones wasn’t coming, he turned forward and stepped into a wall that sent him sprawling.

When he recovered from the fall and looked up, he found the silhouette of a man standing above him. But there was something off about the man. Not only was he large, but he was also oddly shaped...like he was wearing armor.

Was this the person who killed Jones?