She shook her head in the darkness. "Father hates animals. I never forgave him for stomping on a small bird with a broken wing I was trying to nurse back to health."
"Old Art certainly creates an image of barbarity and viciousness," said Giordino. "Does he do cannibalism, too?"
"He's capable of anything, as you very well found out," said Maeve.
Pitt stared at the gate thoughtfully, carefully gauging visible activity by the guards. They seemed content to stay inside and monitor the security systems. Finally, he rose to his feet, rumpled his uniform and turned to Giordino.
"I'm going to bluff my way inside. Hang loose until I open the gate."
He slung the assault rifle over his shoulder and pulled his Swiss army knife from a pocket. Extending a small blade he made a small cut in one thumb, squeezed out the blood and smeared it over his face.
When he reached the gate, Pitt dropped to his knees and gripped the bars in both hands. Then he began to shout in a low moaning tone, as if in pain.
"Help me. I need help!"
A face appeared around the door, then disappeared. Seconds later, both guards ran out of the security office and opened the gate. Pitt fell forward into their waiting arms.
"What happened?" demanded a guard. "Who did this to you?"
"A gang of Chinese tunneled out of the camp. I was coming up the road from the dock when they jumped me from behind. I think I killed two of them before I got away."
"We'd better alert the main security compound," blurted one of the guards.
"Help me inside first," Pitt groaned. "I think they fractured my skull."
The guards lifted Pitt to his feet and slung his arms over their shoulders. They half carried, half dragged him into the security office. Slowly, Pitt moved his arms inward until the guards' necks were in the crooks of his elbows. As they pressed together to pass through the doorway, he took a convulsive step backwards, hooked the guards' necks in a tight grip and exerted every bit of strength in his biceps and shoulder muscles. The sound of their bared heads colliding was an audible thud. They both crashed to the floor, unconscious for at least the next two hours.
Safe from detection, Giordino and Maeve hurried through the opened gate and joined Pitt inside the office. Giordino picked up the guards as if they were straw scarecrows and sat them in chairs around a table facing a row of video monitors. "To anyone walking by," he said, "it'll look like they fell asleep during the movie."
A quick scan of the security system, and Pitt closed down the alarms, while Giordino bound the guards with their own ties and belts. Then Pitt looked at Maeve. "Where's Ferguson's quarters?"
"There are two guest houses in a grove of trees behind the manor. He lives in one of them."
"I don't suppose you know which one?"
She shrugged. "This is the first time I've returned to the island since I ran away to Melbourne and the university. If I remember correctly, he lives in the one nearest the manor."
"Time to repeat our breakin act," said Pitt. "Let's hope we haven't lost our touch."
They moved up the driveway at a steady, unhurried pace. They were too weakened from an inadequate diet and the hardships of the past weeks to run. They reached what Maeve believed was the living quarters of Jack Ferguson, superintendent of Dorsett's mines on Gladiator Island.
The sky was beginning to lighten in the east as they approached the front door. The search was taking too long. With the coming of dawn, their presence would most certainly be discovered. They had to move fast if they wanted to find the boys, reach the yacht and escape in Arthur Dorsett's private helicopter before the remaining darkness was lost.
There was no stealth this time, no slinking quietly into the house. Pitt walked up to the front door, kicked it in with a splintering crunch and walked inside. A quick look around with the flashlight taken from the guards at the cliff told him all he needed to know. Ferguson lived there all right. There was a stack of mail on a desk that was addressed to him and a calendar with notations. Inside a closet, Pitt found neatly pressed men's pants and coats.
"Nobody home," he said. "Jack Ferguson has gone. No sign of suitcases, and half the hangers in the closet are empty."
"He's got to be here," said Maeve in confusion.
"According to dates he's marked on his calendar, Ferguson is on a tour of your father's other mining properties"
She stared at the vacant room in futility and growing despair. "My boys are gone. We're too late. Oh God, we're too late. They're dead."
Pitt put his arm around her. "They're as alive as you and I"
"But John Merchant--"
Giordino stood in the doorway. "Never trust a man with beady eyes."