immediately turned on the video camera they carried as standard equipment in their beach jeep. Adjusting the camera's zoom lens, they zeroed in on the object, hoping to get a better look.
What they saw astonished them.
67
Now, Jones sat with Yaz in his Pentagon office, replaying the segment of tape over and over on his VCR.
"I just can't believe this . . ." Yaz repeated just about as many times as Jones played the three seconds of tape. "What could it be?"
Jones was as baffled as he. The tape was of poor quality-the camera the militiamen had used was old and prone to static, plus the weather and the late-afternoon hour combined to make the image look out of focus. Yet, what could be seen looked like the head of some enormous sea creature ever so briefly rising up out of the rough seas before stiffly splashing back down into them.
"The goddamn thing looks like every artist's conception I've ever seen of the Loch Ness monster," Jones grumbled, "I just never believed for a minute that the damn thing actually existed."
"In the old days, we could have had this videotape analyzed a thousand times over," Yaz said. "You know, to make sure that it's not an optical illusion or whatever."
Jones paused a moment to light his pipe, then he replayed the three seconds of tape.
"That's no illusion," he said, freezing a crucial frame which best showed the object's horselike head, flared nostrils, and scaly mane. "Monster or not, there's something definitely out there."
Jones finally switched off the tape and turned on the office lights.
Yaz was still shaking his head. "God, first the massacre up in Nova Scotia, and now this!" he said.
At that moment, Fitzgerald walked in. He had had an earlier showing of the strange video, so his worried expression had nothing to do with sea monsters.
Rather, it had to do with the telex he was holding.
"Just got this off the scramble wire," he told Jones, referring to the single sheet of yellow paper. "It's from the Nova Scotia Provincial Army commander.
They've recovered three hundred and eleven bodies from the massacre."
Jones shook his head in disgust. "We've still got a long 68
way to go before civilizing this continent."
"I agree," Fitz said through his thick Irish brogue. "But there's something else. That village had more than five hundred people in it-there's almost two hundred people unaccounted for . . ."
Both Jones and Yaz felt a chill run through them.
"Christ, were there that many bodies burned into dust?" Yaz exclaimed.
Fitz slowly shook his head. "Undoubtably some were," he said. "But not such a high number. But there's more: According to the Army commander, apparently all of the people missing are women."
"Women?" Jones asked.
Fitz shrugged. "That's right: all the males-of all ages-in the village were killed," he said, referring once again to the telex. "And there were some women killed, too. But at least one hundred and eighty-seven people-all of them women between the ages of fourteen and thirty-six-are missing. Gone.
Vanished."
"Good God," Jones whispered bitterly. "What the hell happened up there?"
Fitz could only shake his head. "Either the raiders grouped all these women together and killed them somewhere else and their bodies just haven't been found. Or..."
"Or what?" Yaz wanted to know.
"Or. . ." Jones answered the question soberly. "The bastards took them all with them."
69
Chapter Fourteen
Nauset Heights, Three days later
"More chowder, Yaz?"
Yaz leaned back in his chair and briefly squeezed his expanding waistline.
"Maybe just a little," he replied, caving in without much of a fight. "It's so damn good, it's hard to resist . . ."
Dominique ladled out two heaping spoonfuls of the fish stew, then handed the pot to Hunter who doled out a third helping of his own.
Yaz reached for a hot roll and slapped a pat of butter on it. "God, I haven't eaten this good in years," he said.
"Neither have I," Hunter mumbled through a mouthful of the fish
What they saw astonished them.
67
Now, Jones sat with Yaz in his Pentagon office, replaying the segment of tape over and over on his VCR.
"I just can't believe this . . ." Yaz repeated just about as many times as Jones played the three seconds of tape. "What could it be?"
Jones was as baffled as he. The tape was of poor quality-the camera the militiamen had used was old and prone to static, plus the weather and the late-afternoon hour combined to make the image look out of focus. Yet, what could be seen looked like the head of some enormous sea creature ever so briefly rising up out of the rough seas before stiffly splashing back down into them.
"The goddamn thing looks like every artist's conception I've ever seen of the Loch Ness monster," Jones grumbled, "I just never believed for a minute that the damn thing actually existed."
"In the old days, we could have had this videotape analyzed a thousand times over," Yaz said. "You know, to make sure that it's not an optical illusion or whatever."
Jones paused a moment to light his pipe, then he replayed the three seconds of tape.
"That's no illusion," he said, freezing a crucial frame which best showed the object's horselike head, flared nostrils, and scaly mane. "Monster or not, there's something definitely out there."
Jones finally switched off the tape and turned on the office lights.
Yaz was still shaking his head. "God, first the massacre up in Nova Scotia, and now this!" he said.
At that moment, Fitzgerald walked in. He had had an earlier showing of the strange video, so his worried expression had nothing to do with sea monsters.
Rather, it had to do with the telex he was holding.
"Just got this off the scramble wire," he told Jones, referring to the single sheet of yellow paper. "It's from the Nova Scotia Provincial Army commander.
They've recovered three hundred and eleven bodies from the massacre."
Jones shook his head in disgust. "We've still got a long 68
way to go before civilizing this continent."
"I agree," Fitz said through his thick Irish brogue. "But there's something else. That village had more than five hundred people in it-there's almost two hundred people unaccounted for . . ."
Both Jones and Yaz felt a chill run through them.
"Christ, were there that many bodies burned into dust?" Yaz exclaimed.
Fitz slowly shook his head. "Undoubtably some were," he said. "But not such a high number. But there's more: According to the Army commander, apparently all of the people missing are women."
"Women?" Jones asked.
Fitz shrugged. "That's right: all the males-of all ages-in the village were killed," he said, referring once again to the telex. "And there were some women killed, too. But at least one hundred and eighty-seven people-all of them women between the ages of fourteen and thirty-six-are missing. Gone.
Vanished."
"Good God," Jones whispered bitterly. "What the hell happened up there?"
Fitz could only shake his head. "Either the raiders grouped all these women together and killed them somewhere else and their bodies just haven't been found. Or..."
"Or what?" Yaz wanted to know.
"Or. . ." Jones answered the question soberly. "The bastards took them all with them."
69
Chapter Fourteen
Nauset Heights, Three days later
"More chowder, Yaz?"
Yaz leaned back in his chair and briefly squeezed his expanding waistline.
"Maybe just a little," he replied, caving in without much of a fight. "It's so damn good, it's hard to resist . . ."
Dominique ladled out two heaping spoonfuls of the fish stew, then handed the pot to Hunter who doled out a third helping of his own.
Yaz reached for a hot roll and slapped a pat of butter on it. "God, I haven't eaten this good in years," he said.
"Neither have I," Hunter mumbled through a mouthful of the fish
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