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  Ted smiled, revealing two gold teeth. This was going to bring a whole new customer base to his vineyard. Quirky new names for wines swirled in his head. Ted was already serving one set of whackos from Portland, now he could profit off a whole other breed of crazy. He and Rita could take that cruise to the Galapagos they had been looking at. Finally, Ted Newberg was going to get what he deserved.

  A faint sizzling sound rose up from the ground. This time, the light turned to mist, rising until it filled Ted’s nostrils. He coughed at the strange, pungent odor and felt his eyes roll back into his skull. There was a pinch inside his head like a flashing migraine, and then a flood of cold as his saliva turned to ice on its way down to his stomach. The acid in his belly turned to a river of slush, gushing around his insides like a ship caught in a storm. His eyesight blurred and then stained green.

  In an instant the pain was gone and Ted Newberg collapsed to his knees, slipping on the loose soil and rolling end over end into the crater. The emerald mist dissipated into the morning rays of the rising sun. Ted Newberg lay unconscious six feet beneath the Earth.

  6

  0630 Hours – Day 2 – San Francisco – Financial District

  Detective Karen Hall scanned the pedestrians on Market Street in search of the missing patient from St. Mary’s Hospital. She maneuvered her beat up tan sedan through one of the rougher areas on the outskirts of the financial district. She brushed aside her blonde bangs, revealing cold, ice blue eyes. She’d just tried a new haircut that was shorter than shoulder length. Those bastards at the department were always saying she was the best policeman in homicide, emphasis on man. Ever since she was a kid she played with the boys. Her biggest letdown was only making it to five foot two and staying skinny as a rail, never filling out a shirt like her sisters. Still, she’d have given anything to play football in her high school with her guy friends.

  Despite her small stature, many of the guys in the department were too afraid of her to poke fun. Despite being one of the youngest members of Homicide Division, she’d had one of the most illustrious arrest records. Unfortunately, she also had the highest injury rate. She took bullets more than she was taken out on dates. To be clear, that would make four bullets and two dates.

  Karen fiddled with her police scanner. There had been no news of the suspect for almost an hour. The details she did have were scant, but security footage of an emaciated middle-aged man in a hospital gown and overcoat was floating around the monitors of every squad car in San Francisco. A quadruple homicide was exactly what she needed that morning, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit it. She got off on the thrill of catching a perp, especially the deranged ones. The only thing she liked more was a good mystery. Her radio sounded and her partner’s voice came through.

  “Detective Hall, Detective Markov, do you copy?”

  Markov had spent the night at the hospital waiting for Ramirez to get out of surgery. He woke her up after midnight rambling about an escaped prisoner; the guy who assaulted Ramirez. Regardless of the fact that Ramirez and Hall weren’t close, he was one of their own. Any bastard that would assault a cop like that deserved to be put away in Federal pound-me-in-the-ass Prison. As always, she would be delighted to be the one to put him there.

  Justice she could handle. She wasn’t so good at the sentimental crap. That’s why she asked to scour the streets for leads rather than join Markov at the hospital. Detective Hall wasn’t one to miss out on a murder scene, but the guy’s family was there and she hated to see people cry. Something about it made her deeply uncomfortable. She would usually try to find the nearest exit in those kinds of situations.

  Detective Hall squeezed the long button on her handheld radio.

  “Go ahead,” she replied.

  “Just talked with the staff at St. Mary’s and it looks like the Pathologist’s death is related to our suspect.”

  “Were there any signs of foul play?” Karen asked enthusiastically. “You know I love foul play.”

  “No,” Markov said with a sigh, “But when you get a chance you might want to come out here and take a look.”

  Karen turned onto Kearney Street, taking care to profile each of the homeless people on the sidewalk. So many had hospital bracelets it was going to be like looking for a needle in a stack of needles, or some other bullshit cliché.

  “Interesting cause of death?”

  “I’m not even sure how to explain it. I know you like weird, so I want you to take a look. The medical examiner is going to open him up a bit later and get an exact cause of death. Let’s just say I’ve never seen it before. Let the beat cops worry about the search, we need to build up a profile. Get to St. Mary’s on the double.”

  “Oh, don’t get bossy, Markov.”

  “Just do it, smartass.”

  Detective Hall reached onto her passenger seat and attached her light to her dashboard, flipping the switch and wincing as the siren blared. She quickly rolled down her window to let some of the sound dissipate and maneuvered around a Honda Civic to make a right onto Bush Street. She was too excited to argue with Markov; four homicides and a strange lab death in one location? Karen had enough adrenaline built up to last all day on that news.

  She pressed the gas and felt her engine rev up. Her car was going 10 over the speed limit when a man walked out into the street without looking. Karen slammed the brakes, stopping inches from the homeless man. She felt a rush of blood to her face, unsure if from rage or embarrassment. If Markov had seen that he wouldn’t have let up about women drivers for days.

  The homeless man wore a heavy wool overcoat and a polka dot patient gown underneath the jacket. His entire outfit was sprayed with blood, droplets soaking in across his chest and dripping down to his knees. She glanced at his skeletal wrist and saw a medical bracelet hanging down over emaciated hands. Her eyes traveled up to meet his gaze, which was a mixture of stunned and vengeful, if there was such a thing. For a fleeting moment she thought she saw his eyes flash, like a cat’s in the night. The man smirked and jetted across the street, weaving in and out of traffic without regard to his own safety.

  “Shit,” Karen cursed.

  She tore down the street in pursuit, fumbling with her radio until she found the push-to-talk button.

  “This is 5-Henry Unit 3; I have a 917, suspicious individual. Code 3. Request backup immediately. He’s traveling on foot South on Montgomery Street, suspected of multiple homicides.”

  Karen Hall’s beat up beige sedan caught up with the suspect near Market Street. The emaciated man darted down the stairway to the BART to evade her. She slammed the brakes and slid her car up onto the curb. She flipped the switch on her siren to the center position, cutting the noise but retaining the revolving red light. She keyed her radio once more.

  “5-Henry Unit 3, pursuing suspect on foot. Send additional units to BART station at Market and Montgomery. Consider suspect armed and dangerous. Approach with caution.”

  Karen tossed the radio on the passenger seat, unhooked her seatbelt and got out in pursuit. She didn’t understand how someone as gaunt as him could run the way he did. Then again, she thought, marathon runners were rail-thin. When she reached the stairs she grasped the railing and pulled herself forward, descending the stairs a little faster than she’d meant to.

  At the bottom of the stairs she flashed her badge to the attendant in the glass cashier’s booth and hopped the turnstile. Sometimes it was the little things. At that hour there weren’t many people in the BART station, though in twenty minutes the place would probably be bursting at the seams. She had to wrap this up quickly to avoid collateral damage.

  The transient was only 30 yards in front of her now and he clutched his side as he ran. Her report didn’t say anything about an injury, but it was possible he sustained it since his escape from St. Mary’s. Karen was quickly gaining on him as the suspect tripped over himself. He stumbled into the brick wall of the BART station, pressing his hand against it to recover his balance. Karen pulled out her pistol as
she ran. There wasn’t anyone else nearby and she needed to bring him in quickly.

  Two things happened at once, neither of which was on Karen’s bucket list. She caught a glance at his eyes as his head turned around. Behind his disheveled hair and beard she noticed his glowing green eyes. Not emerald or some natural shade of the color. It was radioactive. In the same instant, a flash of green light shot out from the domed ceiling in front of her. For a tenth of a second it appeared to vanish, leading Karen to believe she had imagined it. An object the size of a baseball crashed through the ceiling and into the BART platform between Detective Hall and the suspect.

  She was blown backward, shielding her head with both arms as tiles and bits of concrete cascaded down on her. She was pushed back to her bottom, where the last of the debris caused numerous nicks and cuts down her face and arms. For an object so small, it created one hell of a crater. Through the plume of dust she could see the suspect fleeing down the BART tunnel, still clutching his side and using the wall for support. Karen pulled out her cell phone and dialed her partner.

  “Yeah, it’s Hall,” Karen said, brushing tiny bits of concrete from her hair. “I think I found your creep.”

  7

  0730 Hours – Day 2 – Market Street BART Station

  “Tell me again what happened,” Detective Markov asked impatiently, “And this time keep it PG, hotshot.”

  Detective Karen Hall brushed aside her long blond bangs so Markov could see her fiery glare. Her partner irritated the hell out of her sometimes. Ten years on the force and she was still treated like a rookie. She wouldn’t have had that problem if she didn’t have breasts. Regardless of the thickness of her sports bra she would never completely pass for ‘one of the guys,’ despite what some of the guys said around the department.

  She looked around her uncomfortably as technicians from the crime lab scurried back and forth near the crater and an attractive young medic dabbed a cotton swab on the cut on her forehead. She wondered where they found those EMTs. Most of them looked like they’d be more comfortable on the fireman’s annual calendar. Karen looked up at Markov with a petulant stare.

  “After I spotted him on the street I chased him down the stairs and through this corridor,” she said while pointing down the long underground platform in the direction of the crater. “I was gaining on him until that thing crashed through the roof.”

  “And that’s when you lost him,” Detective Markov remarked.

  Karen ground her teeth, and then said, “Piss off, Markov.”

  Markov couldn’t hold back his big dumb smile. He loved to push her buttons and he always knew right where to press. Her partner was a pretty big guy. Not fat per se, but big. He used to be a bodybuilder in his twenties, but after he got a hernia he couldn’t lift the same way anymore. As a result, he had some extra skin and flab that hung off his six-foot frame. Karen could tell his face used to be somewhat handsome, but after years of late nights pursuing murderers and crooks he had bags under his eyes that begged for a good night’s sleep. He barely fit in his chintzy brown blazer and khaki slacks. Whatever the guys in the department said about him, they said behind his back, because he was still one powerful guy.

  “Did you take a look at it yet?” Markov asked, grinning.

  Karen hesitated, and replied, “No, I was waiting for the techs to show up. I suppose we should see what the fuss is about.”

  Detective Hall batted away the handsome medic’s hand and strode confidently up to the edge of the crater. The dome must have absorbed most of the impact, but a jagged rock the size of a baseball remained partially visible in the center of the hole. A thick smell of iron drifted up, reminding Karen of the scent of blood. What she didn’t tell Markov is that the rock had glowed green for almost a minute after it fell. Would he have believed her? Hell, she didn’t even know if she believed it herself. What freaked her out even more was the mist that followed.

  Markov tapped a stocky, bespectacled technician on the shoulder and asked, “What do you think we’ve got here?”

  “It appears to be a meteorite, but it’s so intact,” the crime tech mused while pushing up his glasses with the back of a gloved hand. “What’s fascinating is that this thing should have burned up in the atmosphere or at least disintegrated after hitting the ground. I suppose the composition could be—”

  “Spare me the geek talk,” Markov interrupted, “What’s the bottom line?”

  The crime tech seemed to deflate a little. Karen felt bad for him. It was his time to shine and Markov might as well have kicked him in the balls in front of his prom date.

  The sound of an approaching light rail train filled the station. In a few moments, it blew right past them. No one would be stopping there for a while. With the amount of debris that filled the brick platform, it was going to take at least a month to clean the place up.

  Karen gingerly felt the cut on her head with her fingers. It stopped bleeding but it was getting puffy and was starting to pulsate along with the rhythm of her heartbeat. Markov glanced her way and she quickly crossed her arms, hoping he didn’t see her moment of vulnerability. He’d never let her hear the end of it.

  “It’s not made of any material I’m familiar with,” the technician said, voice cracking nervously, then added, “But I need to get it to the lab to be able to tell you more.”

  “Useless,” Markov grumbled, turning his back and taking a few steps toward the tracks.

  Karen could hear the crime tech talking to someone excitedly about his Alien Watch Group. She gave a mental eye roll. They spend all of their time worrying about what’s in the sky and none at all on the world in front of them. Detective Hall knew the type. Perhaps if they took an interest in the real world they’d be able to find girlfriends. Karen chewed on the inside of her cheek. Despite her efforts she couldn’t get a boyfriend, so she didn’t really have room to talk. She turned to follow Markov. It was better to focus on the task at hand.

  “What do you think this means?” Karen asked him. “Do you think there’s a connection somehow?”

  “Between a random meteorite and a psychopath?” Markov spat sarcastically. “I’ll call the Times, tell them we’ve got a breaking story on our hands. Little green men are attacking Earth with rocks. Will our playgrounds ever be safe again?”

  Karen glared at him. Here it goes again.

  From behind Markov, Detective Hall saw two men in suits quickly approaching. She was going to kill the rookies watching the cordon. She’d seen dozens of Feds from various agencies during her time with Homicide Division. The men approaching weren’t familiar to her at all. Karen had thought she’d seen them all, but perhaps not.

  “Heads up,” Karen mumbled to Markov.

  The two men flashed their badges and then returned them to their pockets. Karen knew exactly what was happening. Every time she stumbled on an interesting case someone tried to snatch it out of her grasp. Well not this time. She hoped Markov would stake their claim. They were already involved in this investigation and no one was going to take it from her.

  One of the agents was well over six-foot tall with an intimidating build and a close cropped haircut that had to have been military issue. He wore sunglasses despite being indoors. Karen wondered who the hell that guy thought he was. The much shorter, thin man greeted them cordially. He had a five o’clock shadow and it wasn’t even noon, Karen noted. His hairline had begun to recede. All classic signs of a guy with too much testosterone and not enough brain power. This was the best the Federal Government could send?

  “Detectives,” the short man said, “I am Agent Shaw and this is Agent Brown with the Department of Homeland Security. While we appreciate your efforts, we’ll take it from here.”

  “I don’t think so,” Markov barked.

  “Over my dead body,” Karen growled.

  Agent Shaw checked his watch as though bored and a moment later Markov’s cell phone rang. Karen watched his end of the conversation as the expression on his face turned dangerous and
his color became shaded with purple. Markov loosened his tie and unclipped the top button of his shirt. Markov pressed the red ‘end’ button on the phone and returned it to his pocket. Agent Shaw rocked back on his heels and gave Markov a smug smirk.

  Markov yelled, “Pack it up! Everything! Five minutes, let’s go people.”

  “We would appreciate if your people leave everything as it was,” Agent Shaw said jovially. “We wouldn’t want a contaminated crime scene.”

  Something about the way he said contaminated disturbed Karen. She shared eye contact with Agent Shaw that lasted a few seconds longer than was comfortable. His deep brown eyes engulfed her and made her lose her train of thought. That bastard was eyeing her like he had a shot. Karen didn’t date losers who flaunted their power. Shaw seemed like one of those guys who was a control freak. That was Detective Hall’s area of expertise. Rule number one, she was number one.

  “Karen,” Markov said.

  She snapped out of her stupor and said, “What?” in an overly course tone.

  “Go home. Get some rest. I don’t want any crap from the union.”

  “Gee, thanks partner.”

  “Oh, don’t get sensitive on me,” Markov said with a snicker, and then continued, “I’ll keep you up to date, but I expect to see you first thing in the morning bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

  “Fine,” Karen said in a tone that indicated it was anything but fine. “What about the body at St. Mary’s.”

  “Sanchez can take a look.”

  “Sanchez is a joke,” she objected. “We’d be better off watching Channel 6 News for leads.”