He shifted into a slightly less uncomfortable position. To his right, close enough to touch, the corrugated metal of a Quonset hut arched up and out of sight. Directly ahead of him, past a red dirt runway, metal hangars, and an unkempt field, a tall chain-link-and-concertina fence seemed to mark the compound's boundaries. Beyond it, a lush jungle rode steep green hills to a crest of red-rock cliffs. Around him lay more Quonsets and fields, one bearing a flagpole, bent and rusted.
He'd seen it all before; it was the old air base on the video he'd viewed on Julia's computer. Somewhere was a labyrinth of hallways, made that much grungier looking by the proximity of sterile laboratories. Considering what else that memory chip revealed, this backwater arrangement of old barracks and hangars hid secrets that could very well affect the planet's entire population.
The fragrances that hung in the humid atmosphere affirmed the vitality of the jungle on the other side of the fence. They were sweet and woodsy and wet. He could smell the earth, and it smelled somehow different from the earth of Tennessee, more ancient.
He noticed the birds now, their caws and calls, chirps and whistles. The musical sound reinforced Allen's already overwhelmed sense of surrealism. He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. Exhaustion and anxiety swirled like colored oils through his confused brain. Countless questions presented themselves—
He must have dozed off; he came sharply awake when something struck the cage. Crouched beside the cage, looking at him through the bars, was a man who appeared to be in his midfifties, handsome and regal looking despite his clothes. He was wearing a camouflage jumpsuit covered with pockets and a matching beret.
The man smiled. "You look battle-worn, my friend." His voice was gruff and laced with Teutonic sharpness. When Allen did not respond, he rapped an object against the bars; it made the sound that had awakened him.
Allen saw it was the gauntlet Julia had given him to deliver. His stomach tumbled at the thought of the tracking device wedged into one of the fingers. Would rescuers be able to find him if it were destroyed or turned off? Would his captors punish him for bringing it? He didn't know the answers and didn't want to find out. He glared into the man's piercing eyes.
The man laughed, which became a cough, a phlegmy, painful sound. "I have found that when people are caged, either they fight and scream and lunge at the bars, or like you they become sullen."
"Would fighting get me out of here?" Allen asked, more quietly than he had intended. His parched throat was uncooperative.
"Not at all, but it does provide some entertainment."
The man balanced the gauntlet on his lap and pulled a PDA from a holster on his belt, similar to the Palm Pilot Allen used. He tapped the screen a couple of times with a fingertip. "Now let's see . . ."
He looked around, up at the sky. "Slight breeze, wouldn't you say? Not much, though." Tap, tap, tap. "Okay. And I'll just put we spoke for two minutes, but I think it was less." More taps.
He replaced the device, positioned the gauntlet under one arm, and stood. He sniffed and used the back of his hand to wipe his nose.
"What's your name?" Allen asked. He didn't know why it mattered, but it did. Maybe it was something human he could connect to.
The man gazed down at him. He rummaged through a pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He extracted one and stuck it in the corner of his mouth and lit it with a lighter he had pulled from another pocket. "Gregor," he answered. The word came out in a plume of smoke.
"Care to share?" Allen indicated the pack of cigarettes.
"They're German. Perhaps not to your taste."
"I'll take anything right now."
Gregor shook one out and handed it to Allen, who put it in his mouth and brought his face close to the bars. Gregor lit the cigarette. It smelled like burning manure.
Allen filled his lungs with the bitter, biting smoke. He coughed it out raggedly. "You're right," he hacked. "This is wretched stuff." He took another drag, wiping a tear from his eye.
Gregor nodded at something. Allen followed his gaze to the Cessna at the far end of the runway.
"He is quite extraordinary, yes?" Gregor sucked on the cigarette and let the smoke drift lazily out of his mouth and nostrils. "He said he needed sleep, but we talked for ten minutes. Fascinating man."
"One in a million."