Douglas Preston - Brimstone

"So Bullard's letting the rep of the place handle security for him," D'Agosta said. "Clever."

"It's a clever deterrent, at least for the locals. Nevertheless, there will be security, and probably quite sophisticated security at that. I can only speculate as to its nature-my inquiries, as you know, have not been fruitful. But I have a few tools that should aid us."

Pendergast removed a haversack from his bag and slung it over one shoulder. Reaching back into the bag, he removed several pieces of aluminum tubing and fitted them together, affixing a small disc to one end. He approached the fence, slowly moving the device back and forth. Reaching the fence, he bent down, sweeping the ground before him carefully. A small red light glowed faintly on the small disc.

Pendergast rose, stepped back. "As I suspected. There is a sixty-hertz alternating electromagnetic field, indicating electric current."

"You're saying that fence is electrified?" D'Agosta asked. "That old thing?"

"Not the fence itself. A pair of sensor wires are buried just inside to alert security if anyone passes over them."

"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.

"Loose dogs are a thing of the past. They're unpredictable, noisy, and often end up attacking the wrong person. Dogs are now only used for tracking. What we have to watch out for will be far more subtle."

They crossed the expanse of concrete. Nocturnal animals rustled in the foliage as they passed. At the far end of the courtyard was a grassy alley between two rows of ruined buildings, the heaps of masonry covered with ivy that, in the darkness, looked like spreading stains. Pendergast proceeded more cautiously now, using a small, hooded flashlight to illuminate their way. Halfway along the alley he paused, knelt, and examined the ground. Then he picked up a branch and gave a little poke to the grass ahead. He prodded harder, and the stick suddenly broke through into space.

"A pit," he said. "Notice that, with these ruins flanking either side, this alley is the only way to proceed."

"A booby trap?"

"Undoubtedly. But disguised to look like some part of the old factory, so that when the intruder falls in and is killed, nobody would be blamed."

"How did you spot it?"

"Lack of boar tracks." Pendergast carefully withdrew the stick and turned. "We shall have to make our way through one of these ruined laboratories. Take care: there may still be the odd bottle of nitroglycerin around, strategically placed to snag the unwary. We should consider this the next ring of security, Vincent; we must be both quiet and vigilant."

They entered a dark doorway and Pendergast flashed his hooded light around. The floor was covered with broken glass, rusty pieces of metal, broken tile, and bricks. Pendergast paused, then signaled to D'Agosta to back out.

Two minutes later they were in the concrete courtyard.

"What was wrong?" D'Agosta asked.

"Too much broken glass, too evenly spread, and the glass was too modern to be from the original factory. A noise trap, with sensors ready to pick up the telltale crunch of human feet. Motion sensors, too, I expect."

In the greenish glow of his lantern, Pendergast's face seemed troubled.