Robert Walker - Grave Instinct

Every port city and town along both banks of the Mississippi River was alerted to the description, call numbers and the name of the yacht, and asked to report any sighting.

Using her laptop, Jessica found a countertop where she could work on the cutter. Since Swantor was not responding to the Coast Guard via the radio, she wanted to try reaching him using what she suspected was his Squeals Loud E-mail address, which she had gotten from J.T. She taunted him, saying she knew that he was both Swift and Sweet as well as Swantor. She sent him a warning that he was being pursued, and that he should give himself up to authorities. She said if he cooperated, they would go lightly on him. That they wanted Selese Montoya released unharmed, and that they wanted Kenyon. She also wrote in their coordinates and added:

We're right behind you on the river. So far, you've just impeded our investigation. Don't make it any worse, Mr.

Swantor. The only response was a series of moving digital images. She and Sorrento watched this series of images displayed, images of a helpless woman chained to a bed by hand and foot, followed by a shot of a handheld bone cutter, the sort used in autopsies. It was held to the camera in a man's hand, the woman now in the background. There was only a muted audio, but the woman's screams were raised in volume.

This was followed by a new scene of Kenyon, one which displayed him shouting and racing toward someone-presumably Swantor-stopped only by the ankle chain. The prisoner was then shown the same bone saw as had been displayed to the woman. Again, the audio was silent save for Kenyon's shouts and screams, carefully edited, screening out any reference to Swantor, and not once did she hear the man's own voice.

Jessica replayed the tape, studying every detail, and her eyes went to the anguished eyes of the victim. It disturbed Jessica to know that this image was beaming across the globe, and to know that some people would copy it and replay it over and over, even enjoy it with popcorn.

Usually, Jessica dealt with the dead, but here lay the near dead, the soon-to-be dead, the soon-to-be-separated-from-her-brain dead. The anguish she felt, the helplessness of it all, ripped at Jessica's heart. “This… this is awful. He intends something awful for her.”

This was followed by a text message from SquealsLoud that read:

A brain is a terrible thing to waste… If he consumes six, then I consume him, I have the reward of seven, but if he consumes ten and I him, then I am rewarded by eleven.

Following this came reams of information on the brain, the brain's functions, and the relationship between mind and body, soul and brain. The history and evolution of the brain.

Jessica again imagined how many people were receiving these words and images throughout cyberspace at that moment. Swantor meant to take both Kenyon's and Cahil's places in a big way.

She then saw that she had an incoming message from John Thorpe at Quantico. J.T. had arranged for a private chat room for himself and Jessica on the website. J.T.'s message from Quantico was brief:

Open up to the Web page. Cahil's site is getting more images of the hostage and Kenyon. We've got another true Cahil disciple here, I think. And I fear this new message is all too horrifying to contemplate.

Jessica wrote back that they had just seen what Swantor had forwarded, telling J.T. of the latest developments in the case and how they were now on a chase to locate Dr. Swantor. She added:

Remember the shaky camera? It wasn't the camera shaking, it was the guy's yacht. From what I gather, watching the graphics, he intends on throwing the female hostage and the bone cutter to Kenyon. Then he plans to film the entire event. After that, I don't know what he may or may not do. He may attempt to bring Kenyon more people to feed on, so he can go on filming the cannibalism.

Jessica logged off. “We've got to locate that fucking yacht,” Jessica told Sorrento.

“ They've got every available boat in the Guard looking for it, along with the NOPD water police by now, I'm sure,” he replied. “Doctor, if it's out there, we'll find it.”

“ Why aren't we getting any aerial help from Coast Guard choppers, Captain?” she asked Captain Jon Quarels. “They're used to such conditions.”

“ Bad weather-related problems south in the Gulf. Everything's been diverted there for rescue operations. Looks like a hurricane on the way.”

She stepped away from Quarels and huddled with Sorrento. “Something doesn't feel right. Swantor's too smart for this,” she said. “He's got to be planning some sort of getaway that involves another vehicle. He's got to know how hot that boat is right now.”

“ Yeah, I've thought about that possibility myself,” re-plied Mike Sorrento. “But I don't think he'll abandon ship until he's finished his sick little game.”

“ Unless,” she replied.

He saw that her eyes had grown large. “Unless what?”

“ Unless he intends to go down with the ship.”

“ A double-murder and suicide. Not until after his last installment…” Sorrento softly said.

“ Can't we get any more speed out of this thing?” she asked the captain. “A woman's life is at stake.”

“ We're surveying the shore and every rock and island in the river, Dr. Coran. We don't want to miss anything,” replied the captain. “Nor do we want to run aground.”

“ What about that helicopter?”

“ They're trying to find us one, but I can make no promises.”

“ What kind of an outfit is this?” Jessica shouted. “Should I request one from the Army, the Navy?”

“ Take it easy, Jess,” cautioned Sorrento. “Let's go below, have a cup of coffee to settle our nerves,” he suggested, guiding her outside and on deck.

Jessica relented, knowing she needed settling. “Damn it, he's going to feed her to that mad dog if we don't locate him and stop him.” Why… What's Swantor getting out of all this?” he asked as they went down a flight of stairs.

“ I'd be guessing but… it seems like he's gone into competition with Kenyon, to outdo Kenyon's horror with his own.”

“ And to die at the top of his form?”

“ All this spawned from the mind of Daryl Thomas Cahil and his Internet lunacy.”

Jervis Swantor had pushed his craft to its limit and had burrowed in at the swamps that would eventually spill out near Grand Isle. To evade capture, he had used one of the old canals cut during the Civil War by black regiments for U. S. Grant. Few people knew of the canal and even fewer knew how to maneuver in the swamps. He had fed the woman and spent the rest of the evening racing from authorities and hiding. There were a thousand directions and waterways and islands in the swamp, but one place in particular where he could find refuge-his former home at Grand Isle, the boathouse there-and then he could introduce Kenyon to his ex-wife, Lara.

But for now it was time to feed Kenyon.

Darkness had descended over the swamp, along with another beautiful blue fog saying a long hello to Swantor where he stood on deck. He opened a small hatchway and looked down at Kenyon, who lay on his bed, his fists pounding at his sides. The camera never left Kenyon, and he had to know that by now.

Swantor opened a second small hatch and stared down at the woman named Selese. She had tried to work on his sympathies, giving him her name, where she lived, names of relatives, even her dog's name, Ronnie, but he had only listened dispassionately, never stepping before the cameras. His face and presence would only be felt after the great event was filmed. This was mere rehearsal, he kept telling Selese. Lara would be the real show.

Swantor went below and shut down the filming in Kenyon's room. He then entered with a key to Kenyon's shackle, tossing it to Kenyon. All the while, he held the gun on the other man, telling him, “Pick up your bone cutter and tool kit and go into the other room for your mind meal, Grant.”