The Devil Colony

Chapter 8

May 30, 9:18 P.M.

Salt Lake City, Utah

"Did she at least leave a number?" Painter asked as he climbed into the passenger seat of a Chevy Tahoe with government plates. It sat on the tarmac near the private Gulfstream jet they'd flown from D.C.

Kowalski already sat behind the wheel, cranking the seat back to accommodate his large frame. Their third teammate, Chin, had transferred to a National Guard helicopter heading up to the blast site in the Rocky Mountains-but before Painter could direct his full attention to the anomalous explosion, he had another matter to address.

Kat's voice sounded tinny over the encrypted line. "That's all I could get out of your niece. But she sounded scared. And paranoid. She called from a disposable cell phone. But she did leave the cell's number and asked for you to call her immediately after you landed."

"Give me the number."

She did, but she had more news. "Commander Pierce also reported in." From the grimness of her tone, it didn't sound like good news. "He's with Seichan."

Painter's fingers tightened on the phone. "She's back in the U.S.?"

"Seems so."

Painter closed his eyes for a breath. He'd had no inkling that Seichan was back on American soil. But with her training and connections, he shouldn't have been surprised. Still, her sudden resurfacing suggested something major was afoot. "What's wrong?"

"She claims to have a lead on Echelon."

"What sort of lead?" He sat straighter in his seat as Kowalski kept the SUV idling. Echelon was the code name for the leaders of the shadowy terrorist organization called the Guild. He began to regret leaving D.C.

"Gray didn't elaborate. Only said that she needed his help to gain access to the National Archives. They're meeting with a museum curator this evening."

Painter scrunched his brow. Why was Seichan sniffing around the National Archives? The museum was a storehouse of America's historical manuscripts and documents. What could any of its contents have to do with the Guild? He checked his watch. It was half past nine, which meant it was after midnight in D.C. Late to be meeting with museum personnel.

"Gray said he'd call back if there was any breakthrough. I'll keep you informed."

"Do that. I'll see if I can't clear up this matter with my niece, then return to D.C. in the morning. Till then, keep holding down the fort."

Kat signed off, and Painter tapped in the phone number he'd memorized. It was answered on the first ring by a rushed voice.

"Uncle Crowe?"

"Kai, where are you?"

A silent moment stretched. He heard a gruff voice in the background, urging her to answer.

Still, her words came haltingly, balanced between tears and terror. "I'm... we're in Provo. On the campus of Brigham Young University. At the offices of Professor Henry Kanosh."

Painter squinted his eyes. Why did that name sound familiar? Then he remembered a report he'd read while en route from D.C. to Salt Lake City, a preliminary debriefing of the events up in the mountains. The professor had been a close associate of the anthropologist killed by the blast.

She gave him an office address, still sounding terrified.

He did his best to reassure her. "I can be in Provo in an hour." Painter waved for Kowalski to head out of the airport. "Stay put until I get there."

A new speaker replaced Kai on the phone. "Mr. Crowe, this is Hank Kanosh. You don't know me."

"You were a colleague of Margaret Grantham. You were at the site during the explosion." Painter shifted his briefcase up from the floorboard to his lap. He had a preliminary file on the man, along with files on many others who had witnessed the blast.

A pause indicated the professor's surprise at his knowledge, but the hitch in his voice suggested the hesitation was more than just surprise. "Maggie... she preferred to be called Maggie."

Painter softened his voice. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"I appreciate that, but you should know that your niece and I were attacked while escaping from the mountains. A helicopter bearing National Guard markings fired upon us."

"What?" He had heard no report from Kat about a sighting of the supposed terrorist, let alone someone shooting at her.

"But I don't think they were actually with the National Guard. They seemed more like a mercenary group, maybe bounty hunters who had access to a Guard chopper."

Painter wasn't buying that explanation, especially since the sighting and shooting hadn't been called in through proper channels. Someone else had tried to apprehend or eliminate the supposed terrorist. This raised a new fear. "Professor Kanosh, could you have been recognized by those hunters?"

Uncertainty wavered in his voice. "I... I don't believe so. We were mostly under tree cover, and I was wearing a hat. But if so, you think they might come looking for us here? I should've thought of that."

"No reason you should've." Paranoia is part and parcel of my business. "But as a precaution, is there someplace you and Kai can go that doesn't lead directly back to you?"

Painter could practically hear the gears turning in the professor's head; then he answered. "I wanted to check something over at the neighboring earth sciences building. We could meet there."

"Sounds good."

After getting all the information, Painter hung up. Kowalski already had them heading south on Interstate 15.

Kowalski commented around the chewed stub of unlit cigar. "Got about another forty miles to go to reach Provo."

Painter read the time estimate on the GPS. "Fifty-two minutes," he mumbled under his breath.

Kowalski rolled one eye toward his boss. "If need be, I can make that forty -two minutes." He gunned the engine and cocked a questioning eyebrow.

Painter sank deeper in his seat, his heart thudding harder as he considered the hunters already on Kai and the professor's trail. "How about making that thirty -two minutes."

Kowalski offered a crooked smile as he jammed the accelerator. "Always like a challenge."

Painter was thrown back as the SUV gained speed. While he should have been unnerved as the needle of the speedometer climbed toward the hundred mark, instead he was relieved that he'd come out to Utah. It was confirmation that his instincts hadn't grown stale during the time he'd been buried under the Smithsonian Castle.

Something major was afoot out here.

And maybe not just out here.

He remembered the call from Kat, reporting on Seichan's sudden appearance, coming to ground with a possible clue to the true leaders of the Guild. It was rare for any intelligence to leak out from the vaults of that organization. It would take something significant to get them to let their guard down.

Like this mysterious explosion.

He could be wrong, but Painter had little stomach for coincidences. And if he was right, he at least had one of his best men following those leads on the East Coast. Despite the late hour, he should be getting started.

That is, if the man could keep his focus.