He was sure he heard the riposte correctly. Who was that masked asshole?
The sign on the building announced it to be the location of the Department of Ecology and Evolution. Once inside, McKenna followed Salinas as the police lieutenant wandered through the corridors. It became clear almost immediately that Salinas hadn’t the faintest idea whom he was looking for or where to find them.
McKenna shook his head. The Army prepares you as widely as possible, for as many things as possible. The idea is to make the training worse than the reality will be. It works pretty well. Mostly.
But the training schools had certainlyleft out aliens landing in Central Chicago, for one. For another—this one almost did have him laughing—they’d left out how to prevent a little gray-haired five-foot-two-inch biddy from bullying a beefy six-foot-tall MP armed with an M16. Corporal McKenna was almost sorry not to be able to stay and watch. She already had the soldier carrying a bag of fish. But Salinas hurried ahead, demanding to speak to the head of this facility.
There were two people in the department chair’s office. One was a tiny, white-haired old gent, with bifocals. The other was a big woman somewhere in her early thirties. Despite her advanced years—practically “middle-aged,” to the 21-year-old corporal—McKenna’s interest was aroused. The woman was a bit hefty, but not fat. Very buxom. She wasn’t really even that big—except compared to the old dude. It was just the square and solid way she stood. Five foot seven, he estimated. Hundred and forty pounds, give or take a few. Big shoulders for a girl. She needed those shoulders, in order to heft those big—
“You want to look at my teeth too, troepie?” She snapped. It wasn’t an American accent. She sounded vaguely German or Dutch, which went with the blond hair, he supposed. She was very suntanned, though, which didn’t fit his image of North Europeans.
“Now, now, Dr. De Beer,” reproved the old man in a reedy voice. “Calm down. We’ll sort all this out after the evacuation. I’ve just got some papers to get together and a few boxes of microslides . . . ”
“I’m Lieutenant John Salinas. If you are the head of this department, I’m afraid we have been sent to co-opt you. The colonel—the government, I should say—wants a marine biologist.”
The little man tilted his head forward to peer thoughtfully through the tops of his bifocals. “I’m a freshwater limnologist, young man. I have some knowledge of aquatic microfauna, and some small expertise with ostracods and various copepods. Has the city been overwhelmed by mutant plankton?”
This was obviously rather over Salinas’ head. McKenna hadn’t the faintest idea what the old guy was talking about either. The woman obviously found it funny, though.
Salinas frowned and tightened his heavy jaws. “We need an expert on shark attacks.”
The little man gave a reedy, asthmatic chuckle. “Most of my work involves SEM—scanning electron microscopy. Are these really really small sharks? The bites are micrometers in diameter perhaps?” He shook his head. “No, gentlemen. I’d be quite willing to help you. But it doesn’t sound as if you have any idea who you are looking for. Besides I’ve got responsibilities here. Go away.” The old man continued to grub in his desk, ignoring the lieutenant.
Salinas stepped forward. “I am empowered to use force if necessary . . . ”
“Oh, leave him alone!” the woman snapped. “I’ll go with you. I’m a marine biologist. And I’ve worked on sharks.”
Salinas stared at her. His thoughts were obvious. McKenna was tempted to stir the pot a bit more by whispering: “The colonel said a man, sir.” But he managed to stifle the impulse easily enough. From the scowl on her face, he suspected the woman would belt him with that heavy bag she was carrying.
The moment passed. The female marine biologist brushed past Salinas and McKenna and began stalking down the corridor toward the entrance.
“Come on!” she barked. “Let’s go and see what your problems are.” She led the way, swinging her tatty leather shoulder bag like an offensive weapon.
7
Hold the anchovies.
The guy Liz squatted beside on the stretcher in the aid station was a mess. She thought he’d live, but . . . probably without a leg. And the other leg would carry some really impressive scars. At the moment he wasn’t conscious. Looking at that bite she could only be glad for him.
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