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

Militia or not, killer or not, Collins’s smile and radiant eyes are enough to bring peace to the Middle East. The man rubs his cheek again, this time with a flat hand. He taps his skin twice. Another hand signal, telling his buddies to hold off.

While this is a relief, it’s also disconcerting. Whoever he’s motioning to is close enough to see his signals, through the gate. Even worse, if the people on the other side of the gate were obeying his hand signals, and I have no reason to believe they weren’t, then they’re pros. Like Mr. Johnson, I’ve got pretty good ears, but I didn’t hear a thing. Not a rustle of leaves, a snap of a twig or a shift in the breeze. I’m still leaning toward a militia, but these guys aren’t just backwoods conspiracy theorists. They’re ex-military, possibly even ex-Special Forces.

He lowers the shotgun and my blood pressure lowers a tad. I give him a nod and a smile. “Thanks.”

“I’m going to assume you have a permit for that,” Collins says, motioning to the shotgun. “Just make sure I don’t get called out here for any kind of nonsense.”

She’s smart. Leaving without a warning would be decidedly too easy and the guy might think we’re just trying get away so we can come back with reinforcements, which is actually true. We can’t come back here without a small army. Maybe a large one. Thankfully, despite being the team leader of Fusion Center – P, I am still a fairly high ranking DHS agent, just not a very respected one. But I can easily find out if these guys are on anyone’s radar, and if not, put them there.

“In the meantime,” she says. “Put up some actual no trespassing signs. If it’s not posted, it’s not illegal for us or anyone else to be out here.”

She’s pushing it now, but he just nods and says, “Will do.”

Collins turns her back to him and starts away. I stay rooted in place for a moment, waiting to see if the guy will make any kind of threatening move. He turns toward me, clearly annoyed that I haven’t followed her. He motions toward Collins with the shotgun. “Go on, git.”

Git.

Kansas, I think, but keep the deduction to myself. Where he’s from has no bearing on who he is now or what’s going on out here. It just confirms that everything about him is a sham. No way a man from Kansas is an honest to goodness Sox fan. “You’re a baseball fan, who’s your pick this year? I’m partial to the Angels.” That last bit was just to let him know that I’m not a Red Sox fan, which is a lie, I am, but it gives him the freedom to answer honestly.

“Royals,” he says.

Thought so. “Huh,” I say.

He stares at me with eyes that say he’s losing his patience. I turn away with a wave and say, “Watch out for that bear. She’s a testy one.”

He doesn’t say a word as we make a casual retreat along the dirt road. Neither of us looks back. Neither of us speaks. She knows as well as I do that we were lucky to get away in one piece.

Five minutes into our walk, when I’m sure we can’t be seen, or heard, I speak softly. “What’s your assessment?”

“At least three of them,” she says. “One behind the fence, one behind us.”

This surprises me. I pride myself on my powers of observation, but that’s a detail I missed.

“The hand signals were for the guy behind the fence. Never saw him, but I’m sure he was there,” she explains. “Never saw the second guy, either, but he kept glancing past you like someone was there.”

“Anything else?”

“Best guess? Maybe a marijuana farm.”

“Good thinking.” And it was. I jumped right to militia, but there were probably a good number of other possibilities, none of them legal.

“Can you dig up the records on the land?” I ask. “Find out who owns it?”

“Already planning to,” she says.

“I’ll make some calls, see if there are any ongoing investigations, try to get some updated satellite images, and see about getting us some backup.”

“What about the whole Preternatural thing?” she asks. “Won’t they yank you from the case?”

“Paranormal,” I admit. “I was hoping you wouldn’t know what Preternatural meant. And yeah, they probably would try to yank me from the case, but the nearest Fusion Center is Boston, so it will take some time for them to get here and I intend on being so fully entrenched in this case by then that they won’t have any choice but to keep me on.”

“I can request it too, if it will help,” she says.

This gets a big fat grin from me. “Thanks.”

She shrugs like its nothing. But it’s something. Or maybe I just hope it’s something. I remind myself that I’ve only known Collins for about an hour. If I apply Occam’s Razor—the simplest explanation is usually the right one—then it’s most definitely nothing.

“Fuck you, Occam,” I mutter.

“What was that?” she says.

“Nothing,” I say quickly, then point up ahead. “Look, there’s Mr. Johnson.”

She turns forward and offers a wave to the man.

He doesn’t respond.