Hopefully, most of them came from his clothing and not his lungs, because some of them were definitely fish. Silvery, flapping little things, about seven inches long. To McKenna, with the ichthyological knowledge of a farmboy, they looked like . . . fish. And a little thing with tentacles. All of the critters were very much alive.
The two medics worked fast. One kept up the artificial respiration. The other tied a tourniquet onto the remainder of the NSC man’s leg. He then cut away the rest of the trouser leg, exposing a triple crescent of sluggishly bleeding wounds.
Jim McKenna’s eyes went very wide. Whatever it was that had a mouth that big and teeth that size, he didn’t want to meet it.
Tremelo calmly bent over, stuck a finger into the bloody water, and tasted it. “Salty. Sea water.”
Then with perfect aplomb, the scientist picked up one of the fish, a piece of the brown ribbony stuff and then the little thing with the tentacles. He dropped them calmly into his pocket. “Okay, soldier. I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.” McKenna noticed the pocket dripped black liquid. The scientist either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
* * *
Sergeant Anibal Cruz watched them go. Then he turned to look at the man the paramedics were working on. Cruz flexed a burly forearm. He’d never seen a real shark bite before. But it sure looked like the pictures. And the little fish sure looked just like anchovies . . . he’d seen them whole and salted often enough. But these fish were just too big. So what the hell was going on?
6
So get me a fisherman!
Back at the command post, McKenna saw that Colonel McNamara had arrived, along with a lot more men. It was very apparent that Lieutenant Salinas had been getting on his nerves already, in the way that a first-class ass-kisser can do to someone who neither wants nor appreciates the fawning attention.
“So the NSC wants us to find Mr. Harkness. He’ll probably be returned dead—like the Blackhawk copilot,” snapped the colonel. “The Regenstein is a heap of rubble. The area where you last saw him is full of pyramid.”
“Colonel,” interjected Tremolo. “He was certainly consumed by the pyramid. I saw that. If you like, I’ll tell them they’re wasting your time.”
The colonel looked at the oddly attired professor. “Who the hell are you, mister?” The tone was less abrasive than the words.
“Professor Miguel Tremelo.”
A wintry smile lit the colonel’s face. “I’ve had the MPs out looking for you. I’ve got orders from on high to find you and get you here. The President wanted to know what the hell was going on and somebody gave him your name. We’re supposed to render all possible assistance.”
Tremelo smiled back. He stuck a hand in his pocket. And pulled out a fish and the thing with tentacles, which clung to his hand. “First assistance I want is a marine biologist. Preferably one who knows something about sharks.”
“Sure. We’ve got some helicopters on standby, Professor. We’ll take you wherever you need to go.”
Tremelo shook his head. “No.” He looked at Lieutenant Salinas, who was staring at Tremelo with an entirely new vision. “I need to stay near the artifact.” The scientist turned slightly away from Salinas and McKenna saw the wink to Colonel McNamara. “I’m sure I could trust the lieutenant to fetch me a suitable man.”
“You can count on me!” said Salinas crisply.
McKenna decided that if the opportunity ever arose, he’d never play poker with his colonel. “I’m sure he can,” said the colonel, with near-perfect sincerity.
McKenna wasn’t delighted when he found himself detailed to accompany the policeman to one of the university buildings on the north end of the quad, right across the street from the library. The MPs, assisting Chicago patrolmen and university policemen, were just in the throes of attempting to evacuate a building full of biologists. As librarians are to their books, so too are biologists to their animals, alive or in jars. McKenna would have been amused if the whole situation wasn’t so tense.
As he and Salinas charged up the ramp leading to the entrance of the building, they passed two Chicago PD patrolmen. McKenna saw one of the men glance at Salinas, scowl, and whisper something to the other. McKenna wasn’t positive, but he thought the cop had said: Just what we need—Lootenant Zorro.