Altar Of Eden

She stared at the screen, picturing the net of denser tissue that spanned the pentagram. It reminded her of something. But what? She cupped out her hand, splaying her five fingers wide. Then it dawned on her. She rotated her hand back and forth.

“A satellite dish,” she mumbled.

“What?” Zoë asked.

“The structure in the animal’s brain. What if it’s acting like a small transmitting dish? Emitting an ultralow frequency signal that the others pick up and somehow triggers this synchronization.”

Zoë frowned, caught between disbelief and possibility.

“Are you talking about some form of telepathy?” Kyle asked, eye-balling the parrot with suspicion.

“No.” Lorna spoke faster. “At least not exactly. For the EEGs to match, something has to be triggering it. It can’t be hormonal or pheromonal. They’re different species.”

“Plus the reaction time is too fast,” Zoë added, her disbelief fading.

Lorna nodded. “But a weak electrical signal could trigger it. Just enough to flip a switch in the brains of all four animals.”

“But what could be powering it all?” Jack asked. “I don’t see any battery.”

Zoë answered him. “No battery is needed. The brain’s an electrical organ, producing energy known as action potentials by pumping chemicals into and out of neurons. The average brain produces a continuous ten to twelve watts of electricity. Morning, noon, and night. Enough to power a flashlight.”

“And certainly enough to transmit a low-grade signal.” Lorna stared at the MRI model and swallowed.

A new voice spoke by the doorway. “Which, of course, begs another question, my dear.”

Lorna turned to find her boss, Carlton Metoyer, leaning in the doorway. How long had he been listening in on their conversation?

“What question is that?” Zoë asked.

He stepped into the room, wearing a crisply pressed lab jacket, ever the southern gentleman, even when up all night. “Dr. Polk has just offered us an intriguing solution as to how these brains are linking up. Which raises an even more dynamic question.”

Lorna understood and asked that question aloud. “Why?”

Why were these animals linking up?

Chapter 26

Duncan sat alone in a truck parked outside the entry road to ACRES. He had the window rolled down and listened to the nighttime chorus of frogs and crickets. Off to the left, the Mississippi River whispered muddily as it swept alongside the levee road. A soft wind stirred the thick humid air, making it almost breathable.

With his night-vision scope fixed to his face, he studied the facility on the far side of the levee. The place was dark, except for a few lighted windows on the first floor. His earpiece registered the call signs of his team as they reached their various positions around the building. While waiting, Duncan kept watch on the one road into and out of the facility.

He didn’t want any surprises.

His second-in-command finally reported the all-ready. “On your signal.”

“Have you confirmed the number and identity of the civilians?”

“Seven. One is a Border Patrol agent, and we should assume he’s armed.”

“Make him a high-priority target. Remember, we need one of the scientists to interrogate off-site.”

“Understood, sir.”

They needed to gauge how much the researchers had learned about the Babylon Project-and more important, if any word had spread. After that, the subject would be eliminated and the body disposed of. There were plenty of hungry sharks in the Caribbean.

Duncan studied the facility one last time. His team had the place surrounded and locked down. Incendiary charges would cover their tracks afterward. At first light, an animal rights terrorist group would e-mail and claim responsibility for the attack. Nothing would be traced back to Ironcreek Industries.

With everything ready, he lifted the radio to give the order to move in-when suddenly lights flared behind his truck. The flash stung through his night-vision scopes. He tore off the goggles and glanced to the rearview mirror.

A truck rumbled around a far bend in the river road. Its headlights swept around the corner and speared Duncan’s parked truck. He lowered his radio and waited.

Suspicion rankled through him.

At this hour and in these remote parts, he had not expected any traffic.

While he watched the vehicle approach he popped another Life Savers in his mouth. Pineapple. He grimaced at the flavor. Not his favorite. Still, he sucked on the candy. As he waited he judged the threat level and recalibrated his plans.

Once the truck was close enough, he saw that it appeared to be a beat-up Chevy, held together mostly with rust and old gray primer. It sidled toward his position.

Keep moving he willed it.

As if obeying him, the Chevy swung wide, preparing to pass around, but a flare of crimson bloomed from the rear as the truck began to brake. The vehicle slowed and settled to a stop beside Duncan’s truck with a wheezy sigh of its engine. The driver leaned toward the open passenger window and pushed up the brim of a ball cap. He wore a hunting vest over a stained T-shirt.

“Need a hand, buddy?” he called out. His accent was thickly Cajun, just a swamp rat out late.

Duncan shifted the pistol on his lap and inwardly grimaced.

The jackass just had to stop…

Duncan tilted toward the window. The driver flinched at the sight of his scarred face, one not easy to forget. There could be no witnesses. He lifted his gun to the window-

– but a black-and-tan hound suddenly lunged up from the truck’s rear bed. It bayed loudly at him, like an angry bullhorn.

Startled, Duncan jerked back with a strangled gasp. Old terror crackled through his ribs. He flashed back to another time a beast had caught him by surprise.

The driver turned and hollered at the dog. “Burt, shut your piehole! I can hardly hear myself think.”

Duncan’s heart pounded in his throat.

Oblivious of his reaction, the driver swung back toward him. “Mister, you don’t happen to know if there’s some zoo place out here, do ya? My fool of a brother was heading over-”

Terror turned to fury. Angered at being caught off guard, Duncan yanked up his pistol and thrust it through the window. As he pulled the trigger the dog launched out of the truck straight at him.

He flinched as the gun went off. Blood splattered against the other windshield. The driver grabbed the side of his head, yelling a loud “Fuck!,” and dropped out of view.

Duncan swung toward the attacking dog, but the hound twisted in midair, struck the side of his truck, and fell between the two vehicles.