The Devil Colony (Sigma Force 7)

He checked his watch.

Two hours left.

Not everyone would get clear in time, but he had to try. He had started the evacuation two hours ago as he left Flagstaff and raced north in a private jet to the small airport in western Montana, a few miles from the western entrance to the park. The helicopter ferried him the rest of the way to the rendezvous point.

A parking lot rose up below them. Two other helicopters already rested below in neighboring lots. It looked like Rafael’s team had beaten him to the place, but they had a head start, flying directly out of Salt Lake City. The two teams were to meet inside the Old Faithful Inn, a colossal landmark of the park, built in the early 1900s. The seven-story rustic hotel, with its steep roofs and heavy beams, was the largest log structure in the world, built from locally harvested pine and quarried stone.

It had been built here as the perfect vantage point from which to view its namesake.

As the skids of the helicopter touched down, the geyser lived up to its reputation. A vast flume of steam and boiling water jetted nearly two hundred feet into the air from the most famous of the valley’s geysers. Old Faithful’s eruptions occurred roughly every ninety minutes.

Painter prayed that the valley would still be around for the next scheduled show.

Beyond the geyser, the dark Firehole River wound across the upper basin, lined by more geysers, each with crazy names—Beehive, Spasmodic, Castle, Slurper, Little Squirt, Giantess, and many more—along with numerous vents, pools, and steaming springs.

The helicopter door cracked open, releasing Painter’s party into this blasted, wondrous world. But they weren’t here for sightseeing.

“Stinks,” Kowalski commented—but Painter didn’t know if he was referring to the air’s sulfurous taint or their dire situation. His partner stared sourly around, tugging his long duster more firmly over his shoulders.

Hank climbed out next, followed by his dog, who ran ahead to mark a lamppost. Jordan helped the professor out. Painter had tried to get the young man to remain behind at Flagstaff, but the kid offered a good argument.

If you fail, I die anyway. I’d rather go down fighting.

But Painter also knew what it was that drew Jordan north. The young man’s eyes stared toward the massive hotel. He wasn’t appreciating the architecture, but trying to spot any sign of Kai. Painter was anxious, too. The fate of the entire world was too large a notion to take to heart, too bulky a concept to fully grasp.

Instead, it came down to those you loved.

Jordan’s fear was simple to read, concern for the safety of a single terrified girl squeezed the young man’s heart into his throat. Likewise, Painter prayed he’d get to see Lisa again. Their last conversation on the phone had been necessarily brief, given that the fate of the world was hanging in the balance. Lisa had been strong, but he heard the tears behind her words.

“Let’s go,” Painter said, waving forward the last members of their group.

Ronald Chin followed, along with Major Ashley Ryan. Three other National Guard soldiers accompanied them, carrying large trunks. Ryan had collected the additional manpower at the Montana airport, teammates up from Utah, while Painter had ordered the trunks of equipment flown in.

According to the parley Painter had with Rafael prior to leaving Flagstaff, each team was restricted to the same number of members. Painter didn’t want this to become a pissing contest. They had work to do—and it had to be done fast, with a minimum of drama.

Reaching the hotel’s front entrance, Painter pushed through a huge set of plank doors, painted a fire-engine red and strapped and studded in black iron. As he stepped inside, the sight took his breath away. It was like entering a lamp-lit cavern made of logs. The sheer volume of the open four-story space drew his eyes upward. Balconies and staircases climbed toward the roof, all railed by twisted, contorted pine logs, stripped of their bark, glowing golden in the light. In the middle, dominating by sheer mass, rose a towering stone fireplace. It was the central pillar and hearth of the lobby.

The cavernous space seemed especially large because it was empty. Like the park, the hotel had been evacuated, except for a skeleton crew who’d volunteered to remain behind and protect this treasured place. It was a futile gesture. No one could protect anything against what was coming—they could only try to stop it.

To that end, upon spotting Rafael’s party, Painter crossed toward them. They had taken up residence amid a collection of Mission chairs, rockers, and coffee tables. A larger trestle table from the neighboring lobby restaurant had been carried over and turned into a makeshift computer lab. Miniservers, LCD screens, and other digital equipment were being rapidly assembled, overseen by a scrawny, nervous-eyed technician and a familiar-looking dark woman.

From that woman’s shadow, another familiar figure appeared.

“Uncle Crowe . . .” Kai stepped into view.

Jordan ran forward. “Kai!”

Her face brightened upon seeing him. She moved to greet him as he hurried toward her, raising one of her arms to hug him. But suddenly she was snagged to a stop by the larger woman’s grip on her wrist. A jangle of steel links drew Painter’s eye, correcting his assumption. The African wasn’t holding Kai—the two were handcuffed together.

Jordan drew to a stop, also noting the situation.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Painter asked, stepping forward.

“Merely insurance, Monsieur Crowe.” Rafael rose from one of the chairs, needing his cane to help him up. Small wrinkles of pain etched the corner of his eyes. Apparently the ride here had taxed his frail body.

“What do you mean, insurance? We had a deal.”

“Indeed. I am a man of my word. The agreement was that I’d safely return your niece once you revealed the location of the lost city.”

“Which I did.”

“Which you did not.” Rafael lifted his arm to encompass more than just this hotel. “Where is this lost city, then?”

Painter realized that the Frenchman was right. He stared into Kai’s forlorn and scared eyes. Her hand had found Jordan’s during his exchange with Rafe. He also noted the thickness of the cuff’s bracelet around Kai’s other wrist. A tiny red light was blinking.

Rafael noticed his attention. “An unfortunate necessity. The handcuffs are powered, creating a closed circuit, connecting the two bracelets. Break that circuit, and a small, but powerful charge will explode with enough force to take off your niece’s arm and likely a good portion of her torso.”