Vincent Valdez was on the line from DARPA's L.A. office with General "Buzz" Turpin conferenced in from D.C. When nobody spoke, Pettis continued:

"This is the same DU that took out the computer thief in San Francisco. He's right here in the van with us. Captain Silver says he's good to go."

"If you use a Development Unit, make sure he has on the abort-destruct vest," General Turpin said. "If it goes wrong I don't want anything left. And Vince…"

"Yes, sir."

"If you use the DU, make sure it doesn't go nuts and start shredding corpses again. Be sure you two sanitize the crime scene before clearing out this time."

"Roger that." Pettis clicked off the transmission. "Okay. Just Strockmire and Toshiabi are in there-maid's day off. No fuck-ups."

Captain Silver opened the cage, then led the chimera to the front of the van. Pan jumped up on the seat and sat looking out of the windshield. Seeing his intelligent gray eyes, Pettis thought Pan's face and ears were uncannily human, but the rest of him seemed more like a standard chimpanzee. Except for the hands. He had hands exactly like a grown man. On his forehead was a new satellite-transmitter camera unit the size of a quarter, mounted on a white tennis headband.

"Two people this time," Captain Silver instructed as he picked up the file photo of Herman Strockmire and showed it to the Chimera. Pan reached out, took the photo, then held it up and studied it. Pettis watched, thinking how strange Pan was. Half man, half beast.

Captain Silver grabbed Sandy Toshiabi's DL picture that had just come off the sat-link, then handed it to Pan. The chimera looked at it and cocked his head.

"No shredding and no urinating," Silver said. "We've practiced this stuff. You know how to do it, right?"

Pan reached down onto his aim and typed on the small computer strapped there.

"Pan understands," the mechanical voice responded from his vest speakers.

"Good."

"Get him in the other vest," Pettis said.

"Is that really necessary?" Captain Silver protested.

"Direct order from the general. You heard."

Norman Pettis grabbed the abort-destruct vest and handed it to Pan's trainer, glad that Captain Silver was in the van, because he hated to touch these strange animals. He watched as Dave Silver unbuckled the normal computer clothing, removed it, then put on the slightly bulkier abort vest.

"Pan, I'm going to give you the knife," Captain Silver said. "You kill these people with the knife. I will also give you a Particle Beam-99. Do not use the PB-99 unless you must. It is only to help you get away if you are trapped."

Pan fingered his armband, hitting several keys. "Pan understands."

Silver then handed one of the particle-beam weapons to Pan, who dropped it into a webbed holster on his vest. Silver put leather gloves on Pan's hands so he could run on all fours, and handed him a knife. Pettis had once witnessed Pan kill a vicious, attacking Doberman in less than three seconds with the combat knife. He opened the door and let the chimera out of the van.

The men watched as Pan ran on all fours, streaking across the street, easily vaulting over the alarmed wall and disappearing onto Barbra Streisand's property.

Where could he have gone?" Susan was standing inthe main salon of the boat, panic washing over her.

"If I know Herm, he's not going to quit on this," Jack said. "So where'd he go?"

"Zimmy sent that gene map to Dad's computer, and the computer is at the beach house."

"Nah… come on, he wouldn't go over there. Your dad's smarter than that."

"He's…" she stopped. "He's… well, I think…"

"Streisand's house? You can't be serious. We used her car in Montrose. They'll run the plate and have the beach house completely staked out. Herman might be a tad mistake-prone, but is he a complete bonehead?"

She glowered at him. "Damn it, Jack, if he needs that gene map to file his lawsuit, then he'll go and get it. That's the way he is."

"How can he file a lawsuit?"

"Knowing him, he'll come up with something. A temporary restraining order… use the gene map as proof of the chimera's existence. That's probably gonna be hard to get in as evidence, but Dad is resourceful, and the evidentiary rules are more lax for a TRO. He'll charge that these chimps are having their DNA illegally messed with, then try and get a restraining order to prevent it."

"What's his cell number?" Jack asked. "I hate calling it, but we gotta stop him from going there."

"Won't help. I've got his phone." She pulled it out of her purse and showed it to him.

Jack went to the phone in the salon, picked it up, and pulled out the business card Susan had given him two days ago. He dialed Streisand's number, but got Herman's answering machine in the guest house. "You've reached the temporary L.A. office of the Institute for Planetary Justice," Herman's tired voice announced. "We are off creating havoc for world polluters and environmental criminals, so leave a message and we'll take it from there." BEEP.

"Herman, it's Jack. Pick up that chimera file and get the hell out of that house. It's not safe. Don't stop to call me until you're out of Malibu. I'm at 949-555-1242." He hung up and looked into Susan's worried expression. "He's out creating havoc for world polluters."

She nodded. Both of them sat there brooding, trying to figure out what to do next.

"I think we should try to head him off," she finally said, her face a mask of apprehension.

"If he left right after we went to dinner, we'll never make it in time."

Paul Nichols was doing a line of kickass Poluo Blanco when his computer's incoming mail feature beeped. He wiped the residue off his nose, went to the screen, and read the transcription of Jack Wirta's phone message. Octopus had picked up the keyword, Chimera, and located the point of origin in area code 949. He punched out a code on his keyboard, accessing a GPS map and a stored record of the call to Streisand's house along with the precise longitude and latitude of the caller, which was displayed on the electronic map. The call had originated from the third-to-last boat slip at the end of Lido Island. He tried to still his cocaine rush as he dialed the command room at DARPA headquarters in L.A.

Jack felt a slight sway from the stern of the boat. He reached over, flipped off the lights, and whispered, "Somebody just came aboard."

"Dad?"

He felt the boat rock again as two more people came aboard. " 'Fraid not," he whispered.

Earlier Jack had seen a spear fishing locker located in the forward bulkhead across from where they were now standing. He opened it, grabbed three spear guns along with a handful of shafts, then led Susan into the master stateroom, closed the door, and locked it. Then he'd guided her into the master bath where he remembered seeing an overhead fire hatch in the shower.

He heard footsteps outside in the companionway.

Jack pushed open the fire hatch, then helped Susan scale the ladder. Once she was out on the foredeck he handed up the three spearguns and spears. She looked puzzled and started to say something, but Jack put a finger to his lips, then followed her through the hatch and closed it.

They knelt on the wide teak bow of the Bertram Sport-fisher while Jack loaded and cocked all of the guns one at a time, pulling the spear shafts back, straining the rubber tubing until the triggers clicked and they locked in place.

"Why those?" she whispered.

"No noise. Pick 'em off one at a time," he whispered.

"Kill them?" She was appalled.

"Susan, we're down to basics here. We can do the dying, or they can. How do you want it?"