Dutch climbs the ladder and watches the convoy of trucks towing the container into the island's interior. He opens the door and steps in. Inside, the room is just above being spartan. There is a single control panel with a couple of screens, standard keyboard and a secondary smaller panel that connects to the high-powered LED light on the top of the tower. "What's this about guests?"
Lawrence looks up from his phone's screen and shrugs, using his chin to point to the landline.
"You're a big fucking help," Dutch says as he goes over and picks up the receiver. "This is Dutch, patch me through to McTiernan." He looks at the philosophy major who is giggling at his phone. "What are you doing?"
"Watching YouTube. I love these imbeciles' takes on Nietzsche," Lawrence laughs as he lowers his legs off of the control panel. The gap between his teeth provides a comical little whistle on certain sounds and words which Johann has no problem with making fun of. Luckily being one of Harvard University's top philosophy students provides him with plenty of witty retorts that usually ends the back and forth quickly. "Do you know what annoys me the most about how Nietzsche has been used?"
Dutch shakes his head, trying with all his might not to engage with the man. Hurry up McTiernan, he thinks, hoping that the Head of Security will get to the phone soon.
He isn't that lucky.
"What gets my goat...God I love that expression. What gets me is that he is constantly being dragged all over the world, y'know? He goes from being this great intellectual thinker with all of these amazing and brilliant things to say about life and the harshness found within, then he appears in memes and bad motivational posts. Completely misquoted, mind you!"
Dutch holds up his free hand which silences the other man instantly. "McTiernan, the new assest is being transported to the Cage right now."
"Wonderful news!" McTiernan's voice has that sense of false happiness. "Once that's done would you and your team mind heading to your dorms? You've been working oh so hard and need a rest."
Dutch chuckles at the over the top act of civility. Since day one neither man have liked or accepted the other. They know why though; each one came from a different branch of the military. Sure, there is mutual respect but that's all. "That is so kind of you," Dutch answers with almost the same level of civility. "But perhaps you can answer me--"
"--Cut the shit," McTiernan lost the battle. "We've got guests inbound. Investors, which means..."
"Which means everything has got to act like it is the real deal."
"Good man," the voice on the other end of the phone sounds happy but is becoming increasingly distracted. "Is there anything else?"
Dutch sighs, "No. Tell the Big Man we'll keep out of the way."
There is no reply except for the abrupt and tell-tale click of the phone being hung up. Slowly, the large man puts it back into its cradle then stares out at the sea.
After a few seconds of silence, Lawrence speaks, "Should've stayed retired, eh?"
#
The trucks thunder along the newly asphalted road. The oversized tires grip the road tightly, minimizing the swaying of the humongous trailer. Periodically a deep rumbling is emitted which is quickly followed by a smaller growl.
"That's starting to annoy me." Roxie slams her fist into the metal back of the cab. Even over the roar of the three heavy duty engine blocks and the rolling of the tires, the sounds behind them cut over all other noises. She growls as she and Johann bounce and try desperately not to slam into each other.
"You don't say?" Johann smirks as he swerves, trying to miss a small rat scurrying across the road. "I thought it provided a nice refrain from the jungle sounds." His smile says it all before his attention returns to the road.
"A regular Mister Rogers you are."
"Oh yes, just blacker and with a much bigger cock."
Both laugh as the rumbling continues behind them. Apart from Dutch, Johann is the only one Roxie can really be herself around. "Stop being a drongo!"
"What the hell is a drongo? Speak English for fuck sake, or at least close enough, you Convict." Johann winces from the fast punch to his arm. He cries out and goes to rub it then quickly remembers the road, the trucks and the precious cargo. "Bitch."
"You love me," she says with a big grin. Roxie looks out the window and the smile fades slowly. Whenever she sees the trees rushing by and feels the wind in her hair and smells water close by, her mind, for some reason, instinctively goes to her old job. The one she used to have in Australia, which was the reason Dutch and Mister Pryke hired her. Growing up in the Outback of Australia doesn't give a girl many chances in life. So when she found a job in the swamps of the Northern Territory that made some of the best money in the entire country, a young Roxie went to work for the country's largest crocodile leather farms. The job was surprisingly easy but with a certain element of danger; two men teams would go out into the swamps then they would go up in a helicopter and search for a nest. Once they had located it, Roxie would be lowered into the muck and her job was to distract and lure the very big, very strong and very angry mother croc away. While she was being chased, the other would lower himself down and collect the eggs. If the prehistoric monster got to her, then it was game over. If not, her partner would swing round and literally pick her up. It was a fun exciting job that taught her a lot. Four years is how long she lasted until the day she saw a man get mauled by the beast, he had tripped and landed in a pool and as everyone knows crocodiles are faster in water than on land. The poor bastard didn't stand a chance...Didn't stand a chance, she thinks.
"Hey! Hey! You listening to me?"
She blinks and turns to see Johann looking her at curiously.
"What?"
"Listen."
It takes a second for her to realize that they have stopped moving. Quickly, Roxie tilts her head and lets the outside world invade her ears; trees rustling in the breeze, birds chirping and the occasional small animal disturbing the undergrowth. She has no idea what to listen for. "What--"
"--Behind us."
Roxie's breath catches as she understands the problem. There is no rumbling from the cargo! What could have happened to make it go quiet? Since getting the job and joining Dutch's team she has seen some truly frightening shit, but absolute silence terrifies her to the bone. "I'll go check."
Johann shakes his head, "Too risky. You stay here and call for backup."
"What about you?"
He shrugs happily, "Maybe this will be my time."
Before she can say anything, the door is open and the man scrambles down, whistling a merry tune. The door swings back and forth slightly when it is caught by the breeze. Roxie doesn't waste any time and grabs the radio, "This is A.R.T. One, come in Cage. Come in."
"Roxie?"
"Dwayne! Is everything ready for our new guest? We're close but Johann thinks there might be a problem."
She waits anxiously as the static screams at her. They have never brought in a Category 5 and none of them want to find out what sort of destruction it can do. The predictions say that it would be worse than every nuke going off at once. "Yeah, Doctor Ikari is waiting for you. Do you need backup?"
"Nah," Johann says after grabbing the radio from Roxie.
The truck roars to life and they continue on. The radio rattles since the man didn't put it back properly. Roughly, Roxie reattaches it then glares out the window. "So..." he says after a moment, "Want to know why it went quiet?"
She shakes her head with a grunt.
"Would you believe," he says anyway, "that it was asleep?"
"Suppose even those things need to sleep at some point."
Johann nods as the guard towers of the Cage come into view. Even though they call it 'The Cage', in reality it is the containment area for everything that the Asset Recruitment Team that Dutch runs bring in. Roxie hates it due to the fact that Doctor Mako Ikari has to run tests on each and every one of the subjects before it can be out into a paddock. "Let me out here. You've got this."
H
e pretends not to hear her as they pass through the security gate. "Fuck you," she snarls.
"Such language! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
As he manoeuvres the load, carefully backing it into the loading bay, he cries out from the rapid punches that connect with his shoulder. "Sorry," he says realizing the faux pa he just made.
Roxie doesn't answer as she leaps from the cab and stalks away, heading for the walkway that connects the Cage to the rest of the facility. Johann watches the Cage crew hook the container up to a chain line and slowly drag it into the multi-layered subterranean building. As it vanishes into the darkness, a snarling rumbling roar similar to the sound of a building collapsing, surrounds him. In the years that he has done this Johann cannot remember a single time he truly felt afraid. He shakes his head as he mutters, "They ain't paying us enough."
CHAPTER THREE
The two hundred and fifty foot superyacht, the S.S. Cooper, rises and falls with the waves. She has an impressive look, gliding through the sea; the sleek design helps her to cut through the waves at a cruising speed of sixteen knots. Including this and her buoyancy makes the continuous rolling feel gentle.
On deck, that is.
Below in one of the nine luxuriously appointed cabins, the five men all grip the oak table as if their lives depend on it. It doesn't matter that this yacht, built by Icon, has all of the most advanced safety features available to the most financially sound buyer, they are still unimpressed with the situation. Each one silently curses himself for even agreeing to the trip.
"Why didn't we take the cunt helicopter?" Emmerich asks, his German accent showing itself again. Big and burly, the others know better than to get into a fight with him. A fact that has made him think that he is the Alpha, and as such he acts accordingly.
"Because," Crichton says with his usual calm demeanour, "our host said those magic words: 'cost effective'. Hence..."
Emmerich snorts and then looks at his phone. At least the yacht has access to a satellite which provides some of the best internet speeds available on the seas. Each of the other men decides to follow suit, hoping to distract themselves from the buffeting of the waves. "At least he isn't like Drummond. That whole 'spare no expense' spiel, always hated it," Beacham laughs at the memory.
They had been lucky; originally their firm had been approached by the noted industrialist, Sean Drummond. He wanted them to invest in his little theme park but after performing a thorough risk analysis the five partners decided no.
"At least with him," Tull sighs, "we'd be in the Caribbean."
Some of the others nod in agreement. Only Beacham and Emmerich remain quiet.
It was one of the greatest PR disasters in the history of PR problems. Drummond had always been in competition with Pryke and cut corners to get his park open first, the only extreme family theme park. Drummond used the phrase 'the first truly immersive wildlife reserve', when in actual fact it was a zoo for genetic monstrosities. Dino Park opened to great acclaim and high box office, but when a hurricane hit the park and power was lost, the genetically engineered dinosaurs escaped and attacked. Three hundred and fifty guests and employees were killed or seriously injured. And Drummond vanished into the justice system.
Emmerich laughs that bark of his, "Yes and also bankrupt."
"Or worse. Eaten," Beacham adds.
The only one who hasn't spoken yet is Winston. The most senior of them all, his size hides his speed. And like every other aspect of his life, the boulder of a man does not waste his words. "Delvin," he rumbles, his teeth barely parting.
The other four men stare at the giant. After twenty years, one would think they could follow the single word ideas. Winston says nothing as his hands fondle the large heavy crystal whisky glass.
"I'm sure that makes perfect sense," Tull sneers. "But for the rest of us mere mortals, care to elaborate?"
"This should be good," Emmerich mutters.
The smile that creeps across the heavily lined face is unnerving. "You're right. Drummond would've been a good bet. That park of his easily should have brought in at least billions of dollars per year. And that is the problem with you young fucks." He continues talking over the protests, "Because of the internet, all of you are used to instant gratification. Which means that-- Be quiet!"
His roar stuns the four men. They have never heard him raise his voice before. Emmerich and Tull try not to giggle at the sight; Winston's face is a bright crimson, his eyes bulging and at any second now will pop out, as will the veins on his neck, thick and pumping with blood. "Let me remind you," he says trying to calm himself. "That if it had not been for me, all of you right now would be in the exact same place as Devlin. Working at McDonalds. So, show some fucking gratitude."
Winston's eyes scan the room, locking with each of his younger partners. It helps him, every now and then, to re-establish his dominance. Each man looks away except for Crichton. He and Winston have an uneasy alliance, for how long neither man can say.
"So," Crichton begins. "What is the point?"
A deep chuckling fills the luxurious cabin. Winston heaves himself up to his feet and makes his way to the bar. He moves with the motion of the waves easily and as he carefully peruses the selection, he speaks. "It's simple. Return of Investment; how much we put in compared to what we get back. Drummond looked like a sure bet. His books proved that. But he was bullshitting like there was no tomorrow. I can't abide that."
"Okay," Emmerich cuts in. "What makes Gideon Pryke such an angel?"
Crichton is the one to answer, "He isn't. But, he has been open and--"
A gentle tapping on the wooden double doors stops him talking. All eyes go straight to it as one of the handles clicks and the door glides open. A very pretty woman sticks her head in. "Forgive the intrusion," her voice has just the slightest tinge of a Japanese accent. "We have arrived and Mister Gideon Pryke welcomes you."
#
"Don't do anything till I'm there," Mako Ikari orders into the cell phone. Her heels clack loudly on the linoleum floor and the sound grates on her ears. Always has, always will, she thinks as she turns a corner and pushes past a pair of low-level techies.
"But Professor, Mister Pryke wants the asset prepped and ready for the guests," the nervous voice on the other end says. It is slightly familiar to her but definitely a new guy. She wants to say it belongs to Preston...Yeah it is Lathrop Preston, Mako is positive of it. "Professor?" Preston's voice brings her back to the here and now.
Mako rolls her eyes and stops. She is in front of a large security door, one of the many that separates the various departments of the facility. This one leads into the labyrinthine corridors that connect Control and the Visitor Centre with Security, Containment, Medical and the living quarters for the staff. Quickly she scans her ID badge, presses her thumb to the bio-reader and then waits. "With all due respect to Mister Pryke," she says, fighting her strict Japanese upbringing to be constantly polite. "But he can 'ask' for anything he wants. That's what being an eccentric billionaire means. So, let me ask you something. Who gave you the job?"
The door hisses as it slides open slowly and Preston says, "You did Professor Ikari."
Mako takes off at a full run and as her feet pound the floor, she fist pumps the air, "Good. So, what will you do now?"
"Follow the protocol set down by you and not worry about Mister Pryke's schedule," even though the techie says the words there is a distinct lack of conviction to the quivering voice.
"Excellent!" Mako says turning a corner and wishing that Pryke had ordered the Segways he originally promised. "You'll be a fine biologist one day."
Preston sighs, "Gee thanks. Ummm how are we going to scan it? We've never had to deal with an 'adult' before."
"No. Don't use those stupid nicknames that A.R.T. gave them. You must treat them with the respect and deference they deserve. We are not going to fall into the same trap as Drummond and Dino Park. So, use their categories, please," Mako's voice is the same as a mother ch
iding a child. "I'll be there soon."
Before Preston can answer, Mako hangs up and then quickly scans her screen, checking the notifications and hoping that nothing major or more important has come up. There is no way that Mako Ikari would let someone else perform the initial scans, tests and diagnostics on the first Category 5 in the short history of the planet. Luckily there isn't anything that relates to her or her crew.
Mako's eyes scan the signs and markings, making sure that she is heading in the right direction. That's the last thing she needs, to be late and letting the techies do it. One hundred meters or so, she thinks as the klaxons close to Containment begin sounding off.
Both of her shoes, practical not fashionable no matter what Gideon Pryke tells her, smack the floor and the echo keeps pushing her. Ever since she was a child, Mako has used the sounds of her feet in an empty space to go faster. She imagines herself being chased by some giant monster with one single intention: to kill and eat her. Luckily, working for Pryke has put her in close proximity to the very same monsters of her nightmares so the imagination isn't that hard to pull from.
She spots the security doors that lead into the personnel scanners that then pass into the decontamination chamber. Mako hates the whole process, having to strip down and be sprayed with a noxious mixture of cleansers and bacterial killers. But, that is the way things have to be done. Once the asset is scanned, probed and given the all clear it will then be given a paddock on the island and set free, able to roam its area and then be transported when needed for the guests.
As she waits for the spray, her mind wanders to the idea of Pryke's endeavour and how, to her at least, the entire idea is one that reminds Mako of the old sideshows and penny gaffs her father told her about. Why not tell him about your worries? she thinks. But, the answer is always the same. Gideon Pryke never listens to anyone other than himself, except when it comes to technology or expertise.
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