Micro - Michael Crichton [39]
“That’s fine because we all have to help, anyway. To open the cage.”
“Open the cage.” The top of the krait cage was a double piece of glass; one slid over the other. “I don’t know, Karen, that means shifting the glass piece.”
“Just an inch or so. Just enough—”
“To lower the tube.”
“Right.”
“Peter, are you following this?” Amar said.
“I am, and it sounds impossible.”
“I don’t see an alternative,” Karen said. “We have only one shot at this, and you can’t miss.”
Amar had opened up a plastic case, which he’d had in his pocket, and he was already uncoiling his sticky silk from an armature in the case. He lowered the silk over the edge, and hooked the plastic tube. It was surprisingly light. Amar and Rick Hutter were able to raise it easily.
They tried sliding the glass plate to get it open, but that proved to be a much greater challenge. “We have to be coordinated,” Karen said. “Everybody on the count of three, one…two…three!” The glass moved, just a few millimeters, but it moved. “Okay, again! Hurry!”
And the krait was becoming more active. Whether from seeing all the little people walking around on top, or because the volatile was wearing off, the snake began twisting and coiling, moving toward Peter, getting ready to try another approach.
“Get that thing down here,” Peter said. His voice was tremulous.
“Lowering it now,” Amar said.
The thread scraped over the glass edge, making a strange squeaking sound.
“That going to be okay?” Karen said. “Will it hold?”
“It’s strong,” Amar said.
“Come lower, a little lower,” Peter said. “Okay…Hold it there.” The tube was chest-high. He stood behind it, holding it in position with both hands at the back. But his hands were sweating, slippery. His grip unsure.
The snake was moving. Hissing through the leaves and sawdust.
“What if it strikes from the side?” Peter said.
“Adjust,” Karen said. “ ’Cause it looks like—”
“Yeah, it is—”
“Here it comes, damn it—”
“Oh shit,” Peter said. The snake struck with blinding speed—unimaginable speed—unthinking, he swung the tube to meet it—the full impact of the krait’s head slammed against his chest—the silk snapped, and Peter fell backward, with the krait on top of him, writhing and coiling angrily, pinning Peter’s body down. But the krait’s head was lodged tightly inside the tube, and it would be difficult for him to get free.
“How did you do that?” Karen said, her voice full of admiration. “The snake was so fast.”
“I don’t know,” Peter said. “I just…reacted.” It had all happened faster than thought. Now, Peter struggled to push the snake away. So close to him, the smell of the animal was nauseating. Finally he kicked free, and staggered to his feet.
The snake stared up at him with baleful eyes. It shook the tube hard, and banged it repeatedly against the glass, but did not dislodge it. Its furious hiss was magnified, reverberating inside the tube.
“That’s great,” Rick said. “But we better get you out of there.”
Vin Drake gritted his teeth. Mirasol, the receptionist, was beautiful but she was an idiot. The muscular man in the blue uniform standing before him was not a cop but a Coast Guard ensign; and what he wanted was information about ownership of Eric’s Boston Whaler, because the boat yard wanted to move it to another location, and they needed permission of the owner to do that.
“I thought the police were still inspecting the boat,” Vin said irritably. He might as well try to get some information from this numbskull.
“I wouldn’t know about that,” the ensign said. The police hadn’t come to see him, he explained; it was the boat-yard owner.
“I heard they were looking for a phone.”
“Not that I’m aware. I think the police have finished their investigation.”
Drake closed his eyes, gave a long sigh. “Christ.”
“At least,” the ensign said, “as soon as they complete their inspection of his office.”
Drake’s eyes snapped open. “Whose office?”
“Jansen’s office. His office here, in this building. He was vice president of this company, right? I know they went to Jansen’s apartment today,