Wolff’s eyes widened as the man clumsily stripped off the violin’s protective wrapping and casually tossed the pads of desiccant to the ground. Then he did something that chilled the Nazi even more than the mishandling of his precious instrument. The Xavante tribesman looked up and smiled. There was something about his smile that brought with it an instantaneous sense of recognition.
I have seen it—practiced it in the mirror, Wolff thought, even as the Xavante extended his arm—holding out the violin as if bestowing a gift.
It is my smile.
Without thinking, Wolff took a step toward the violin, and immediately winced as the men who had been standing behind him each grabbed him roughly by an arm.
Still, he tried to pull free. “The humidity,” he cried. Then he turned his head from side to side as if to convince his captors. “The moisture will damage the violin!”
But the Xavante showed little interest in the strange musical instrument, or the even stranger, misplaced pleas of their captive. They were far more interested in one of their own brethren, a man kneeling on the opposite side of the fire.
And so Colonel Wolff watched as well.
He watched through the low flames and shimmering air as the man unwrapped something from a bound leather pouch.
He watched as the Xavante began to pass around pieces of obsidian.
He watched as his former guide tossed the Stradivarius into the flames.
He watched it burn.
CHAPTER 28
Watch the Skies
The bay trees in our country are all wither’d.
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven.
The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth—
And lean-looked prophets whisper fearful change.
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, Richard II
Nostromo Base was a smoking ruin, with bodies and parts of bodies strewn about, on the ground and in the trees.
MacCready and Thorne made sure to keep Yanni between them as they picked their way through the rubble. Both men carried their weapons at the ready.
Thorne spoke up: “Mac, do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Nothin’. This party’s over.”
The gunfire and the explosions had stopped but they still moved cautiously through the wreckage of the compound—perhaps even more cautiously.
“Yeah, could be,” MacCready replied. Maybe this is over, he thought. Wolff’s men have scattered. And why not? They’ve accomplished their mission.
Mac brought them to a halt at the remains of what had clearly been a laboratory. The roof was torn away and one of the walls was blown out, allowing them a clear view of the building’s interior. The signs of medical experimentation were immediately and horribly apparent.
“Look, we messed up back there—big time,” MacCready whispered to Thorne and Yanni. “But we can still come out of this shit pile with something important.”
“And what might that be, Mac?” asked Bob.
“We’ve gotta find the bats they’ve captured.”
“And please remind me again. What is so important about these bats?”
“One word,” MacCready replied. “Antidote.”
“Check.”
“Yanni, why don’t you wait outside,” MacCready said, eyeing a stainless steel table outfitted with leather restraints.
“Fat chance,” Yanni replied, shooting him a dirty look.
“I will stay and cover your backs,” Thorne said.
MacCready actually managed a smile. “Now that’s one I never thought I’d hear from you, Bob.”
While Thorne remained outside, MacCready and Yanni explored the ripped-up, blown-apart, and strewn-about medical equipment.
“Shit, no cages,” MacCready said.
“Mac,” Yanni called. “Take a gander at this.” Behind a row of overturned lab benches, a canvas document pouch had spilled its contents. Leafing through a leather-bound notebook filled with drawings and foreign script, Yanni asked, “You savvy Jap?”
“No, can’t read it. But let me see that,” he said, taking the book from her. Several photographs fell onto the floor.
Yanni picked one up and examined it. “What’s this, Mac?”
He squinted at the fuzzy black-and-white photo. “I don’t know, looks like pictures from space. Imagine that,” he said. Letting the photo drop to the ground, he turned to more important concerns.
After flipping through the first hundred pages of Kimura’s notebook, MacCready stopped suddenly, his eyes widening. He held the book open. “Look, Yanni, friends of yours.”
The pages showed a succession of beautifully rendered sketches, each displaying a different live pose and a different anatomical feature of a Desmodus draculae specimen. One series of drawings in particular sent a chill through him. The artist had expressed an inordinate interest in an oversize set of oral glands. Even more chilling, because at first it seemed so out of place, was the final sketch—a gardenia.
MacCready tucked the notebook into the canvas pack, along with the photographs. “Come on.” He pulled Yanni by the hand, leading her back outside.
Moving at a more determined pace, the trio quickly discovered the Nostromo, huge and incongruous in the shallow water. The deck and lower portion of the conning tower were partially obscured by mist but the boat seemed to be deserted. Mac thought this might have something to do with the fact that the sub appeared to be listing significantly to port.