Ixchel and I cast glances around. Looking for another way out.
A white-haired old man comes ambling in. He’s dressed in a loose white guayabera shirt and wears a tatty straw hat. He stops next to the stork, staring at the two of us as he puffs on a cigar.
“Enjoying the mini-zoo?” he asks, in lilting Spanish.
“We just got here,” I tell him. I’m still a little out of breath.
The old gent shakes his head regretfully. “Doesn’t seem like a good idea to me. There’s a young fella in the house, just got here. A priest. Looks innocent enough, oh yes. But he’s no priest—he’s a bad ’un; I can tell. I can sniff ’em out, see. Trapping animals gives you a nose for the wrong ’uns. I’d sooner tackle one of my crocodiles than one like him. And crocodiles can be mighty tricky.”
My hand unconsciously goes to my jeans, where I’ve stashed the Adapter. The old man’s beady eyes don’t miss a thing. He glances down at my hand and says, “You’ve got what he’s come for? Or is it you he’s after?”
Then he leans forward and whispers, “The back door is open.” He nods his head. Barely visible behind a tangle of vines is a white door. “It leads to the riverbank. A few houses to the right, there’s a boat. Now go!”
We bolt toward the door. But it’s too late.
“Okay, far enough,” comes Madison’s voice. In cold horror, I gaze over the old man’s shoulder to see Madison emerging from the house.
Pointing a gun.
“Move aside, Pops. You don’t want to take a bullet for this loser, I guarantee it.”
The old man doesn’t budge. Instead he whispers, “He’s right behind me, yes?” I nod. Then, without warning, the old man gives a loud cry like a bird’s caw.
“Justiiiiiicio!”
Madison is too astounded to react when the monstrous golden eagle swoops down on him. Wings beating wildly, it pecks at his face. Madison has no time to shoot, not when he needs both arms to protect his eyes.
We’re through the door within seconds and onto the deck outside. And we’re running along decks between the houses and the river, leaping fences and gates, eyes scouring the backs of the houses for the only thing that can save us—the boat.
A few houses ahead, I spot an elegant mansion—modern, all glass and gray brick, with a magnificent green lawn. Bobbing on the river next to it is a small speedboat. To even get to the house, we’ll have to jump across a channel of water between the mansion and the neighboring house.
And then I hear him. Madison smashes through the white picket fence near the mini-zoo. He’s yelling with rage. If running in a flowing habit slows him down, it’s hard to tell. As we get closer to the gap between the houses, I shout to Ixchel, “Jump!” I leap into the air, sail across the gap. Ixchel follows. She lands squarely on the lawn.
“Start up the boat!” I yell, panting.
She moves swiftly. I limber up as Madison hurtles toward me, preparing his jump. I’m getting ready to spill him into the water the second he lands on my side. Then he makes a movement that roots me to the spot.
Still running, he reaches under his cloak and pulls a pistol from a shoulder holster.
I throw a glance over my shoulder at Ixchel—she’s sitting in the speedboat, but I don’t hear a peep from the engine.
Madison trundles to a stop on the opposite bank. He’s grinning, shaking his head and waving the gun.
“Jeez, man, you should learn when to quit. Now throw the Adapter over here.”
It strikes me for a second that Madison doesn’t know that the Adapter is safely wrapped in plastic.
Yet he shows no sign of being afraid of touching the Adapter or breathing in the gas.
“You can touch it,” I blurt.
“Way to go, dumbass.”
“You have the Bakab gene?”
Madison gives a slow nod. “You got it, kid. Not so special now, huh?”
I’m completely thrown. “But … back in the jungle … you wouldn’t touch the codex …”
“First-time nerves.”
“It was the same for me—but I did it.”
Madison pulls himself up straight. His eyes grow cold. “You calling me a coward?”
“Me? I’m the one with a gun pointed at me.”
Livid with rage, he spits his words. “Throw. Me. The. Adapter.”
“Or what?”
Madison cocks the gun, slips off the safety. Lightly, he says, “Or this.”
“They want me alive, though, don’t they? Your bosses—I heard them say so.”
This confuses him, for just a second. Behind me, I hear the engine explode into action. I give the pistol one more glance, and then spin on my heel, make a dash down the jetty for the boat. Shots ring out from Madison’s gun; bullets whiz past my ankles.