The Island of the Skull
Page 21
But he noticed the smudge on one corner. At first it didn’t look like more than some stray black marks, circular. But when he turned the material around, he saw a face, of an ape or a gorilla of some kind.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if the man knew.”
Denham touched the image then.
And he said the word himself: “Kong…”
Now, walking beside the dock, the waters flowing out to the Asia, Europe, Africa, and beyond.
Denham had the map, the location. But there was much he had to do before he could leave. Preparations, because—even if the man had been crazy—Denham had seen the claw.
So there would be weapons.
Anything and everything he needed.
Destiny, he thought, had just delivered him the key to what would be the adventure of his life.
It would be hours before he could go to sleep, and with the next day he’d leave and the planning could really begin.
Robertson walked around the specimen.
They stood in the basement of the American Museum of Natural History, in a room used to assemble the museum’s largest specimens of creatures long gone.
Mlodinow had been met by a truck, which took him from the Graf Zeppelin and the Lakehurst docking station directly to the museum.
While they met, Robertson asked the museum director if he could meet with Mlodinow by himself.
“How long would you say it is?”
Mlodinow looked down at the bones of the sea creature spread out on the massive table. “Forty…maybe fifty feet. The head alone is five—”
“Yes, I see. Gigantic.” Robertson reached out and let his hand trail along the row of razor-sharp teeth. “Frightening.”
“Yes. Which is why—”
Robertson looked up, and interrupted. “Who else knows about this?”
“I’ve only communicated with the White House, you, sir, and of course the museum.”
Robertson nodded. “I’ve already spoken to the director. So that’s not a worry—”
“I don’t understand. Worry?”
“We—and I speak for the president—don’t think that this information is something that would be good for the public to hear. At least right now.”
Mlodinow’s eyes went wide. “But, sir—this creature. The fact that it exists, that—”
Robertson picked up a stack of papers near the head of the creature.
“Right. I see all your tests here. You’re sure that there’s no mistake?”
“No.”
“That it is a plesiosaur, a creature extinct for sixty million years, that its bones are less than…five years old. That it died less than five years ago?”
“Yes, it’s all there. I tested many times. The creature was alive five years ago. And that’s why—”
Robertson walked up to Mlodinow.
“Why…what?”
“If this was alive, if there’s a place where prehistoric creatures somehow survived, then we need to find that place, protect that place—”
Robertson shook his head. “Do you understand what’s going on in this country? The people out of work, the Depression? There’s no money to go hunting for this place, even if it did exist, even if this thing wasn’t alone.”
“It couldn’t be alone; the whole niche from the Jurassic period had to—”
“I know. It couldn’t live in isolation. Listen, Dr. Mlodinow…I will speak to the museum director. I will arrange for you to stay in the United States. But nothing can be done now, and for now—nothing should be said…about this.”
Again his hands touched the skull of the sea creature.
“Until?”
“Who knows. But for now, your prehistoric skeleton just won’t get the attention of the U.S. government. I doubt I could get anyone very excited about a bunch of bones; take more than that.” Robertson took a breath. “Do you understand?”
Mlodinow nodded.
Nothing could be done for now.
“Good. I must go back now. But I will be in touch.”
He shook hands with Mlodinow, then turned and left the cavernous room.
Leaving Mlodinow with his specimen. Thinking, Could it be one of a kind, a fluke, some anomaly of nature?
Or is there someplace out there where time had stopped sixty million years ago?
Would he ever get an answer to that question?
Somehow, standing alone in the basement room with this prehistoric monster from the sea, somehow he thought…
Oh, yes…that question will be answered.
And when he finally walked out of the castlelike museum building, it was a crisp dawn, with a deep cloudless sky and the sun just beginning to warm the sleepy streets of New York City.
About the Author
MATTHEW COSTELLO’s innovative work includes groundbreaking and award-winning novels, games, and television shows. His latest novel, Missing Monday, was published in 2004 and was recently optioned for television. His novel Beneath Still Waters has been filmed for Lions Gate and Filmax for worldwide release in 2006. Costello has also scripted dozens of bestselling games, including the critically acclaimed The 7th Guest and Doom 3, of which Time magazine said, “To play Doom 3 is to feel your skin prickle with atavistic fear. The story is delivered with unusual art.” He lives in New York.