Chromosome 6 by Robin Cook. Chapter 22, 23

one hand, he was an accomplished marksman. In quick succession he pulled

off three rounds and three of the empty wine bottles on the windowsill

of the army post burst into shards of glass. But the music did not

falter.

Gripping the gun tightly in his good hand, Siegfried went over to the

army-post window and looked in. The cassette player was on the desk with

its volume pegged at max. The four soldiers were passed out either on

the floor or slouched in the rickety furniture.

Siegfried raised the gun. He pulled the trigger and the cassette player

flew off the desk. In an instant, the scene was thrust into a painful

silence.

Siegfried went back to Cameron. ‘Call the colonel of the garrison. Tell

him what has happened. Tell him I want these men court-martialed. Tell

him to get a contingent of soldiers here immediately with a vehicle.’

‘Yes, sir!’ Cameron intoned.

Siegfried stepped beneath the arcade and looked at the bars that had

been pulled from the jail-cell windows. They were hand forged. Looking

at the openings, he could tell why they’d come out so easily. The mortar

between the bricks under the stucco had turned to sand.

To get himself under control, Siegfried walked all the way around the

town hall. By the time he rounded the final corner, headlights were

coming along the road. They turned into the parking lot. With screeching

tires the security patrol car came to a halt next to Cameron’s car, and

the duty officer jumped out.

Siegfried cursed under his breath as he approached. With Kevin and the

women plus the Americans missing, the bonobo project was in serious

jeopardy. They had to be found.

‘Mr. Spallek,’ Cameron said. ‘I have some information. Officer O’Leary

thinks he saw Kevin Marshall’s car ten minutes ago. Of course, we can

quickly confirm it if it is still there.’

‘Where?’ Siegfried asked.

‘In the lot by the Chickee Hut Bar,’ O’Leary said. ‘I noticed it on my

last tour.’

‘Did you see any people?’

‘No, sir! Not a soul.’

‘There’s supposed to be a guard down there,’ Siegfried said. ‘Did you

see him?’

‘Not really, sir,’ O’Leary said.

‘What do you mean `not really’?’ Siegfried growled. He was fed up with

incompetence.

‘We don’t make it a point to pay much attention to the soldiers,’

O’Leary said.

Siegfried looked off in the distance. In a further attempt to control

his anger, he forced himself to notice how the moonlight reflected off

the vegetation. The beauty calmed him to a degree, and he reluctantly

admitted that he didn’t pay much attention to the soldiers, either.

Rather than serving any truly utilitarian purpose, they were just there;

one of the costs of doing business with the Equatoguinean government.

But why would Kevin’s car be at the Chickee Hut Bar? Then it dawned on

him.

‘Cameron, was it determined how the Americans got into town?’ Siegfried

asked.

‘I’m afraid not,’ Cameron said.

‘Was a boat searched for?’ Siegfried asked.

Cameron looked at O’Leary, who reluctantly replied. ‘I didn’t know

anything about looking for a boat.’

‘What about when you relieved Hansen at eleven?’ Cameron asked. ‘When he

briefed you, did he mention he’d looked for a boat?’

‘Not a word, sir,’ O’Leary said.

Cameron swallowed. He turned to Siegfried. ‘I’ll just have to follow up

on this and get back to you later.’

‘In other words, no one looked for a goddamn boat!’ Siegfried snapped.

‘This is a comedy around here, but I’m not laughing.’

‘I gave specific orders for a search for a boat,’ Cameron said.

‘Obviously, orders are not enough, you lunkhead,’ Siegfried spat. ‘You

are supposed to be in charge. You are responsible.’

Siegfried closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He’d lost both groups.

All he could do at this point was have the colonel call the army post in

Acalayong in the unlikely event the escapees might land there. But

Siegfried was far from optimistic. He knew that if the tables were

turned and he’d been the one fleeing, he’d go to Gabon.

All of a sudden, Siegfried’s eyes popped open. Another thought occurred

to him: a more worrisome thought.

‘Is there a guard out at Isla Francesca?’ he asked.

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