Predator Island

by Douglas Cameron

  Predator Island

  By

  Douglas Ewan Cameron

  W & B Publishers

  USA

  Predator’s Island © 2018. All rights reserved by Douglas Ewan Cameron

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any informational storage retrieval system without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  W & B Publishers

  For information:

  W & B Publishers

  9001 Ridge Hill Street

  Kernersville, NC 27284

  www.a-argusbooks.com

  ISBN:9781635541359

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Book Cover designed by Dubya

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dediction

  To my daughter Laurel Gray Shurlow, without whom the idea of this book would never have crossed my mind.

  TO THE READER

  One of the questions an author is asked is “Where did you get the idea for this story?” In this case, I was walking through Wildlife Zoo & Aquarium in Phoenix, Arizona with my daughter Laurel and her husband Rex. We were between exhibit areas and there was nothing really to see. Nearby was an area with a train for kids to ride around an enclosure that had donkeys, flamingos and other non-threatening animals. I said, “They ought to put a predator in there and play musical train, stopping the train every so often.” My daughter laughed at the absurdity of it, but she and I started talking about the idea with predators, and when we got back to her house, I started writing.

  The result was Predator Island. I describe the book to people as a combination of The Hunger Games (the use of television and drones to watch the game, only here, the participants are animals – except for one), 2001: A Space Odyssey (because of the computer Hal); and a short story The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell (1893-1949). It wasn’t planned this way, but it is what happened. Some people suggest Jurassic Park and my answer is that my animals exist now without cloning.

  This story starts with an uninhabited, unimproved small island off the coast of Brazil and ends with the island having an infrastructure of dirt roads, electricity provided by solar panels, running water, a harbor for shallow draft boats, and a five-star headquarters inside a volcano. To get there it is necessary to tell some of the problems that were encountered in completing the infrastructure. In particular, there is the digging/drilling of a quarter mile long tunnel through the side of a volcano for access to the volcano’s crater floor. Many of these things are necessary because of the importance they play in the story of what happens when the infrastructure is complete – and that’s what the story is truly about. There may be times when the reading seems technical and unnecessary but when the story winds to a conclusion, I think you will agree that it was worthwhile. And everything done in this book has been done or is being done elsewhere in the world. So don’t give up. The “tough read” isn’t that much and in the end you’ll be glad you persevered.

  Douglas Ewan Cameron

  Spruce, Michigan

  Summer 2018

  Prologue

  “Good evening, America. Jamie Sherrod here with tonight’s edition of CBS National News.”

  On the television screen, viewers saw a petite pretty African American woman with medium length black curls, rosy pink lipstick, and otherwise flawless makeup. She was wearing a royal blue Calvin Klein dress with simple jewelry. The background behind her showed a rocky coastline with palm trees.

  “We start tonight with an interesting development in the wake of Hurricane Davido. You will remember that in a season of few tropical storms, Davido rose up traveling south of the usual hurricane path and smacked the small island of São Rochelle which lies one hundred miles east of the Bay of Olapoque which is where the Oyapok River empties. The Oyapok River forms the border between French Guiana and the Brazilian state of Amapa.”

  The view changed to a group of palm trees being battered by rain and winds with waves battering the beach in front of the trees. In the background was a modern building.

  “The island’s twenty-seven inhabitants had all fled the island before the hurricane. The population reached a maximum of eighty-two in 1898 but difficulties and the lure of broader horizons drew them away. This is a strange island in that its inhabitants had always retained their independence despite the territory being claimed by Brazil. Since it is of little value, the Brazilian government has let it alone.”

  The view switched to a ship’s tender near a shore with people wading out in the water and being helped aboard the tender. The short loop ran several times as Jamie talked.

  “The island has no tourist value as it has only one small port, if you can call it that, and the water is too shallow to permit boats of any size to land. Where one might find beaches as on most tropical islands, São Rochelle offers only a rocky coast: the west, northwest, north and northeast sectors of the island are rocky slopes, with the tallest slope on the boundary of the north and northwest sectors being fifty feet. The one access where a small boat could land is on the boundary of the northeast and eastern sector where the height of the northeast slope drops sharply down to near sea level. There cruise ships’ lifeboats – called ‘tenders’ when used to transport tourists from ship to land – could make a landing if some kind of pier was reestablished. The dock that had been laboriously constructed by the inhabitants to help them have access to the outer world was destroyed in the onslaught of Davido as was all the habitation that the natives had for centuries made to house themselves. Truthfully, once ashore, there is little of interest for tourists to see and there is little if any infrastructure. The island’s arable land had been hard to come by due to it’s rockiness, yet vegetation and trees have managed to find a foothold and the wildlife that exists is of a small nature. Of course, there are birds, none native to the island, and naturalists have made a study of the island’s animal population. The largest animal is a green monkey that apparently was brought to the island from the Old World at some point. The devastation of Davido made the inhabitants eager for an easier life and that is where the Billionaire Bundle came in.”

  The view switched to a lion attacking a gazelle. Then to a tiger chasing and catching a small deer. Again these film clips ran several times as Jamie continued.

  “Seven billionaires, as yet unidentified, purchased a 10-year lease on the island for fifty million dollars. But why, you might ask, just as we did? The answer came from a source which refuses to be identified. The plans are to stock the island with predators from all continents, except Antarctica of course, and see which one survives. It will be televised in a weekly series showing how battles for food ensue because there won’t be much there for big predators such as lions and tigers to eat. Our source says that they will turn against each other in a fight for survival until only one is left – the Deadliest Predator.”

  PART I

  CONCEPTION

  Chapter 1

  The building in which the meeting was held was being developed as a small boutique hotel in the host city. At the time of the meeting, the hotel had been vacant of guests for six months as renovations were being made. Entrance to the lobby was through two bulletproof glass doors which were opened when the card that was sent to the invitee – with other directions at the time of the invitee’s acceptance of the invitation – was detected by a scanner within the designated five-minute period. Unknown to the invitees was that all windows and doors on the first floor were bulletproof, and state-of-the-art electronics prevented any snoop
ing either visually or electronically.

  The meeting room was the hotel’s dining room off the lobby and an invitee was admitted after both a thorough electronic scan and a physical body search in the lobby. The only furniture in the dining room were the table and chairs. The round tabletop – reminiscent of the Round Table of King Arthur – was one solid piece of alternating one-inch strips of ebony and cherry, sanded and handfinished with wax. When it had been installed in the room, it had been covered with one piece of glass ostensibly to prevent any watermarks or senseless doodling. There was no concern with a doodling problem this day because no implements of any kind were permitted in the room. All participants had been told in advance, and no one had argued because of the subject matter. Still, everyone had been thoroughly searched and again no one had complained although one said, “I have never before had a search in which everybody part was touched. My only regret is that the searcher was a man.” Watermarks would have been a concern because everyone had a crystal glass with ice and a liquid of choice. The person who brought the glasses and refilled them was only permitted in the room before the meeting started and during the ten-minute break every hour, just like a classroom, except there was no teacher. The seven chairs were all wooden armchairs which reminded some of the Bundle of university chairs. The chairs were made like the table but with black leather cushions on the seats. On the table in front of each seat was a small plastic package containing an earbud with a short extension not more than an inch in length that was obviously a microphone and an antenna. An engraved card with the package told the person to put the earbud in when he/she sat down.

  The first man to enter the dining room was Harvey Gladstone. He had arrived at the door to the hotel at 7:59 a.m. and stuck his card into the slot. But nothing happened. His directions had been clear: “Use the enclosed key card to enter the hotel doors between 8:00:00 a.m. and 8:04:59 a.m.” He looked at his watch and waited. When it changed to 8:00:00 a.m., he stuck his card into the slot and the doors slid open quietly, and he entered. After clearing security, he had entered the meeting room through the double doors which opened automatically and then closed behind him. He was short – if five feet eight is short – and weighed two hundred fifty pounds. His friends called him “Stubby” because he looked like Stubby Kaye and his ringtone was “Sit Down You’re Rocking the Boat.” He was wearing a dark suit bought off the rack at XL & More Men’s Store. He had money enough to buy custom-made suits from anyone he wanted, but clothes were not important to him. As he said, “You put a Gucci suit on a snowman, it’s still a snowman.” He was a well-to-do real estate developer who was already wealthy when the 2005 recession hit. At the low point of the recession, he gambled and bought real estate for a quarter on the dollar. One of his buys was in north Phoenix, Arizona where he bought a large development intended for fifty million-dollar-homes, but only four lots of the hundred had been sold and houses built. He got the development rezoned, divided the lots in half, and sold them for the original price with homes going for $450,000 to $750,000. The owners of the four mansions in existence when he had purchased the remaining lots were not happy when the value of their investments was cut in half.

  Assessing the table setup, Harvey Gladstone chose the seat facing the door, so he could see his fellow invitees as they entered. No sooner had he settled himself, then the butler set down a crystal tumbler half filled with ice and then filled it three quarters full of Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Fire.

  “If you need anything else, Mr. Gladstone, my name is Stefaan Declercq.” He pronounced his name as DE•clerk. “People call me ‘Declercq.’”

  Gladstone picked up the glass and took a sip. “How did you …,” He began and then stopped when he realized that Declercq had already disappeared back into the kitchen through one of the doors on the left as Harvey sat. He sat alone for almost twenty-five minutes because invitees were admitted in twenty-minute intervals – a five-minute interval to present their invitation, ten minutes to pass security, and five minutes to spare. Harvey had been punctual presenting his card at ten seconds past eight o’clock and had entered the meeting room at 8:11 a.m. The next guest would not be able to enter the hotel until 8:20 a.m. and had until 8:24:59 a.m. or the front doors would not open.

  Monica Bartlett was the second to arrive. She was twenty-three and was the newest rock sensation from England. She had won Britain Has Music in a landslide with her original song “The Slag Has Heart.” Four record companies vied for her contract with Detroit’s Soul Mate Records hocking its soul to give her a $350,000,000 signing bonus. They made it back quickly with The Slag Has Heart hitting platinum in a week, and her next two I’m No Slut and He’s My Cocksman following the platinum ride. Her video for I’m No Slut” featured her in a skintight silver mesh dress which left nothing to one’s imagination, especially the fact that she was a true redhead. Her first U.S. tour was a sellout at all sites within minutes. The crowds, while enthusiastic, were well behaved after an incident at the first stop in Yankee Stadium when a fan tried to get on the stage after disrobing revealed body paint saying “Slut Mutt” on his back. Once he had been secured and removed to the cheers and jeers of the crowd, Monica had said, “Any more uncivilized displays and I’m leaving, and I won’t come back.” She opened her next show in Cleveland two days later with the debut of Act Nice or I Won’t Be Back which rocketed to #1 and platinum in record time.

  She didn’t belong in the group that was assembling in the room mainly because of her age, but she hoped that she had sense enough to keep her mouth shut and just listen. Expressing her youth and status, she wore cherry red leather pants, black crocodile knee high boots, and a black leather jacket over a skin-tight black tank top.

  Entering the room, she evaluated the situation and chose a seat at what she thought was the eight o’clock position assuming that Gladstone was at twelve o’clock. She observed Declercq dressed in a black tuxedo and wearing white gloves emerging from one of the kitchen’s doors with a silver tray bearing two crystal glasses. Her eyes followed him, and he circled the table and stopped behind her. Soon his arm and hand appeared on her right side and placed a crystal champagne glass filled with champagne in front of her as he introduced himself as he had to Harvey Gladstone. The arm and hand vanished and then reappeared with a crystal tumbler full of ice and water. The arm was withdrawn, and she watched as he reappeared on her left and walked back to the kitchen disappearing through the other door.

  “Is that what you wanted to drink?” Harvey asked.

  “Well, I don’t usually drink alcohol in the morning,” Monica replied, “but I think I will make an exception today.”

  She picked up her champagne glass and took a sip.

  “Fantastic,” she said and proceeded to tell Mr. Gladstone the vintage.

  As she did so, Declercq reappeared from the kitchen bearing a single glass on his silver tray. He approached Harvey’s seat from behind, picked up the glass from the tray and placed it on the table on Harvey right side. Stepping to the left, he removed the first glass which Harvey had drained, placed it on the tray and headed for the kitchen.

  “Could I have some water, please Declercq?,” Harvey asked after him. There was no sign of acknowledgement from Declercq, but shortly after disappearing into the kitchen he reappeared with a single glass on the tray. Shortly he set down a tumbler-sized glass of water and ice, and then, as silently as before, disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Sometimes I wonder if he can speak,” Harvey said, and Monica giggled.

  “You don’t go to high class restaurants, do you?” Monica said after taking another sip of champagne.

  “No need,” Harvey said. “I can get the food I want at a tenth of the price and enjoy it more.”

  This elicited another giggle from Monica.

  “What do you do that got you invited to this meeting?” Harvey asked.

  Monica looked at him in amazement.

  “You don’t know who I am?” she said.

  “I am
afraid not,” Harvey Gladstone said, “Any more that than you know who I am. By the way, I am Harvey Gladstone and I deal in real estate.”

  “Glad to meet you, Harvey Gladstone. I’m Monica Bartlett and I won Britain Has Music this year.”

  “Sorry,” Harvey said. “I am not a music buff. Especially this modern stuff. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Monica said and the two were silent awaiting the arrival of the next invitee.

  Chapter 2

  Issaack Kincaid was the third of the “Billionaire Bundle” – as they would become known – to enter the room. If the two already in the room had been watching the time and had known the time interval being used by their host, they would have known that he entered the meeting room at 8:57 a.m. with only three minutes left in the allotted twenty. He was dressed in a black denim three-piece suit which looked like it had been designed by Burberry and it had. The material had been dyed to match his hair. Under the vest he wore only a silk white t-shirt. Black glasses with round lenses made him look like an owl, which his green eyes only accented. He wasn’t much older than Monica. He qualified for the group when his fledgling Foto-Grotto social page went from infancy to full blown viral sensation with its ability to upload images and film clips at unprecedented speed, combined with a censoring ability that stopped 99% of anti-social blogs, murders, and eroticism. Anything hinting at unlawful content was sent to the FBI and CIA for proper handling. Google tried to buy him out, but he wouldn’t sell until Microsoft and Apple entered the bidding for not only the dot com but for Issaack’s forte - programming. However, he wasn’t willing to sell himself, only his progeny. With the sale consummated, he walked away with his next project ready to launch, but there was no hint in the media as to what it was.