“So how do we deactivate it?”
“We don’t. Follow me.”
Stowing their bags in the thicket, they crept along the fence until they reached a weak spot, where several large holes had been crudely patched with baling wire. Pendergast knelt and, with a few deft twists, unwired the largest. Then, carefully extending the detector through the hole, he scanned the ground inside the fence. Numbers glowed from a tiny LED screen on the disc.
He withdrew the device and, reaching for a stick, carefully scraped away the leaves and dirt, exposing a pair of wires. Then he repeated the process at another spot a few feet away, exposing more wires. Reaching into his haversack, he retrieved a pair of alligator clips mated to tiny electronic devices. He attached one of these clips to each end of the wire.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m using these clip-and-capacitor components to reduce our electromagnetic signature to that of a seventy-kilogram wild boar and its mate. They are common in this area, and no doubt Bullard’s night security detail is plagued by boars roaming the fence line. Now, quickly.”
They crawled through the hole, Pendergast swiftly wiring up the opening and removing the clips. Then, with another stick, he filled the holes and covered them with dead leaves. Finally, he pulled a small spritzer bottle and misted the disturbed ground. An acrid smell reached D’Agosta.
“Diluted boar urine. Follow me.”
The two ran parallel to the fence for a few hundred yards, crouching low, until they reached a heavy thicket. As quietly as possible, they crawled deep inside.
“Now we wait for security to investigate. It will be a while. Regulate your breathing and stay calm. They’ll be coming in with night vision and infrared, no doubt, so stay low and don’t move. Since they’re already assuming it’s a boar, their search will not be long.”
Silence fell. It was utterly black in the dense thicket. D’Agosta waited. To his left, Pendergast remained so motionless, so silent, that he seemed to disappear completely. The only noise was the faint rustle of wind, the occasional call of a night bird. Three minutes passed, then five.
D’Agosta felt an ant moving on his ankle. He reached down to flick it away.
“No,” whispered Pendergast.
D’Agosta left the ant alone.
Soon he could feel it crawling over his shin, exploring with short, herky-jerky movements. It worked its way down to his shoe, where it began trying to dig into his sock. When he tried to think about something else, he realized his nose had begun to tickle. How long had they been still? Ten minutes? Jesus, remaining motionless like this was harder than running a marathon. D’Agosta could see absolutely nothing. A cramp had come up in his leg. He should have taken more care to seat himself comfortably. He longed to move. His nose was itching fiercely now, all the worse for his not being able to scratch it. More ants, emboldened by the investigations of their scout, began to crawl over his skin. The cramp in his leg grew worse, and he could feel his calf muscle twitching involuntarily.
Then came the faint sound of voices. D’Agosta held his breath. He could see the distant gleam of a light, almost obscured by leaves. More voices; a burst of static from a walkie-talkie; some desultory conversation in English. Then silence returned.
D’Agosta expected Pendergast to give the all-clear, but the FBI agent said nothing. Now all of his muscles were screaming with pain. One of his legs had gone to sleep, and the ants were all over him.
“All right.” Pendergast rose and D’Agosta followed, hugely grateful, shaking out his legs, rubbing his nose, slapping away the ants.
Pendergast glanced at him. “Someday, Vincent, I will teach you a useful meditation technique, perfect for situations such as that.”
“I could use it. Talk about agony.”
“Now that we’ve bypassed the first layer of security, on to the second. Keep directly behind me and stay in my tracks as much as possible.”
They moved through the woods, Pendergast still scanning with his device. The trees thinned and they emerged into an overgrown field. Beyond stood a row of ruined buildings, enormous brick warehouses with peaked roofs and vacant doors. Vines crawled up the sides, sprouting off in dark heads that nodded and swayed in the heavy air.
Pendergast consulted a small map, and they moved toward the first warehouse. Inside it smelled of mold and dry rot; their footsteps, even with the silent shoes, seemed to echo. They passed through a far door into a gigantic square surrounded by buildings. The cement of the square was riddled with cracks, through which thrust dark vegetation.
“What if they have dogs?” D’Agosta whispered.