Z. Raptor

by Steve Cole

  STORIES SHARED

  For Adam, it seemed as though the night’s chill had blown inside the conference room. So it’s starting again, he thought bleakly. The monsters. The fear.

  Mr. Adlar asked for the message to be played through again. Chen worked the remote, but this time Adam looked away. He pictured Sam Josephs—black and bright, plain and petite. Nothing like the image of your typical evil mastermind. She looked so ordinary, yet was an exceptional thinker; she’d worked her way into countless high-tech firms, stolen their secrets and fed them to Geneflow to speed its work along.

  As the second viewing reached its chilling conclusion, Adam saw Chen’s eyes flick between him and his father. “Well, well,” the agent murmured. “From the looks on your faces, anyone would think you really believe that crazy story the woman and her pet dinosaur are selling.”

  “And so do you.” Mr. Adlar took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Or else you’d hardly have bothered to abduct us in order to get a second opinion. That is why we’re here, right?”

  “Very astute, Mr. Adlar.”

  “Bill.”

  “In your statement, Bill, you claim experience of ‘hyperevolved reptile mutations,’” said Marrs, quoting from a printout on the table in front of him. “Agent Chen first contacted me a month ago, asking me if I could help with some inquiries he was making into the Geneflow organization. Naturally I remembered your anonymous statement—”

  “And the details tallied with intelligence I’d gathered myself,” said Chen.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Adam demanded, fear and dismay giving way to anger. “We just saw people dying, and that poor woman and a . . . a Z. raptor or something, and you’re just sitting there waving bits of paper like nothing’s happened.”

  “Easy, Adam.” Mr. Adlar reached out a hand to place on Adam’s shoulder.

  “Easy?” Adam shrugged the fingers away. “Geneflow have . . . I mean, they’ve . . .” He felt himself turning red as his voice began to choke on tears. “Dad, they’ve started everything all over again.”

  “We’re not in this alone anymore. Right?” Mr. Adlar licked his lips. “It’s okay.”

  Adam took some deep breaths, glaring at Marrs and Chen. “Is it?”

  “I assure you, we’re taking this matter extremely seriously.” Marrs was as smooth and soothing as a practiced politician. “Agent Chen has been checking all leads—including your good selves. When he informed me he was ready to collect you both, I flew here from London on the next flight to discuss the matter further.” He paused, loosened his scarf a little as he turned to Mr. Adlar. “I was aware Hayden’s research company was dabbling in cell-regeneration techniques, but is it truly possible for them to have created some sort of mutated reptile with the power of speech?”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Adlar simply. “Geneflow accelerated the evolution of the original genetic pattern of a Tyrannosaurus rex in a very controlled way.”

  “Right. They evolved ol’ Rex all the way froma T to a Z, right?” Chen stretched. “The project was codenamed Z. rex. . . .”

  I called him Zed, thought Adam.

  “Josephs and Hayden tried to force me to help them control the Z. rex’s thoughts and actions,” said Mr. Adlar, “using a system I’d actually designed for a new kind of video game—”

  “Ultra-Reality,” Adam put in. “It’s like you feel the game. It turns your thoughts into computer code and translates code back into brain waves. You’re right in there.”

  “Intense,” drawled Chen without much enthusiasm.

  “They held me prisoner for weeks,” said Mr. Adlar. “And to buy my obedience, they threatened to kill my son.”

  “Assuming what you say is true, Bill,” said Chen, “why in the world would they choose prehistoric wildlife to work with? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “On the contrary,” Marrs said, “I imagine it was the only viable option.” He leaned forward in his chair. “We know certain species of dinosaur were the ancestors of modern birds. With cells from both animals available for study, you would have a start point and an end point. With enough computers to do the number crunching, it ought to be possible to map out sixty-six million years of genetic evolution. With that information available, experts could divert the natural evolution of the dinosaur along unnatural pathways, developing the physical makeup of the original species in whatever way they desired.” He nodded to himself. “As a scientific achievement, it’s incredible.”

  “It’s wrong,” Adam said quietly. “We weren’t meant to play with evolution like that.”

  “What really worries me,” said Mr. Adlar, “is that the Z. rex was only the prototype of a living terror weapon. Geneflow were aiming to breed a whole army of them as part of a plan to create a new world order, or something.” Mr. Adlar shook his head. “It sounds crazy, like science fiction, I know. But Samantha Josephs certainly spoke of performing other experiments, of developing other types of highly evolved dinosaurs.” He looked at Chen. “And you don’t disbelieve me, do you? However much you might want to.”

  “You said you’d gathered ‘intelligence’ yourself,” Adam recalled. “What did you mean?”

  “I’ve been investigating Josephs too,” Chen admitted, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. “For instance—Bill, did you know that she used to work for your current employers, Mindcorp?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Adlar admitted. “She spent a couple of months with them last year. I knew that.”

  Adam looked at his dad in surprise. “You did?”

  “That’s partly why I applied for a position there,” he said. “Josephs specializes in stealing secret research from her employers. I wanted to know what she might have taken from Mindcorp, in case it cast light on Geneflow’s other plans.”

  “And does it?”

  “Not that I can see.” Mr. Adlar shrugged. “The team at Mindcorp are creating the most detailed and accurate computer model of the human brain in existence. It’ll help us understand the way the brain stores data and memory, how best to treat diseases that target the mind.... Nothing to do with genetic evolution.” He looked at Chen suspiciously. “What’s the FBI’s angle on this investigation?”

  Chen sucked in his cheeks. “I work out of the field office in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Back in August, we received reports of a big explosion in the Fort Ponil region.”

  I was there, thought Adam with a nervous glance at his dad. Geneflow blew up their own base, trying to cover their tracks when they relocated to Edinburgh.

  “Our first thought was that this was some kind of terrorist activity,” Chen went on. “An accident in a bomb-making factory, maybe. We looked into it . . . started excavating the site. By October we’d uncovered a secret laboratory complex built right into the mountainside. The place was a wreck, but it was pretty clear we hadn’t found ourselves a typical terrorist setup. There were corpses—mostly thugs-for-hire and mercenaries, but some scientists too.” He swallowed hard, seemingly shaken by the memory. “Some bodies had been crushed by an incredible pressure. Others were chewed on like beef jerky, as if by some massive animal. Forensics thought we were playing a joke. . . .”

  No joke, thought Adam. That was Zed, striking back at his creators.

  “Anyway, no leads on the next of kin for those bodies we could identify,” Chen went on. “And most of the computers had been smashed or had all data wiped. But the forensics guys managed to scrape out a few names for investigation—Geneflow’s, yours and Adam’s, the Science and Ethics Association, Sam Josephs, this Z. rex thing—and a few notes about something called the Alta-Vita Unit.” He looked from one Adlar to the other. “That name mean anything to you?”

  Mr. Adlar shrugged. “Never heard it before. Vita is Latin for ‘life,’ isn’t it?”

  “And alta means ‘high,’” Marrs broke in. “Ad alta, for example, in Latin, would mean ‘to the summit.’”

  “The summit of life?” mused Mr. Adlar.

  “Well, anyway, I cross
-referenced the names on the central database, and your anonymous report came up,” said Chen. “Aside from Dr. Marrs’s ethics committee, you’re the only person linked to the Z. rex project I’ve been able to trace.” He shook his head wearily. “As an organization, it looks like Geneflow keeps itself and its employees well concealed.”

  And everything else, Adam thought.

  “Then this video gets sent,” Chen said. “A new lead.”

  “Who sent the e-mail?” asked Mr. Adlar.

  “The sender was ‘LisaBee1972,’” said Chen. “That e-mail account was set up six years ago by Lisa Brannigan, thirty-eight years old, resident of North Carolina. Barmaid in some spit-’n’-sawdust joint. No kids or close family. She had a husband, but he was executed by lethal injection in September of this year after eight years on death row.” He paused. “Seems Lisa disappeared from home around the time of his execution. She’s on the missing persons list. No one knows where she went, and no one’s heard from her since.”

  “Apart from me,” said Marrs, polishing his glasses on his scarf. “Because it seems the woman in the video is Lisa Brannigan.”

  Chen pushed a photocopied picture across the table. It showed a pale, friendly looking woman behind a bar. Adam felt a chill as he remembered the same face in the video, terror etched bone-deep on sunburned skin.

  “What are you going to do?” he said simply.

  “That is still to be decided,” Marr said. “But our priority is to build our case against Geneflow.”

  “I’ll say.” Chen looked down at the table. “The sooner I know what’s going down with Josephs and Geneflow and their messing with wildlife, the sooner I’ll start sleeping nights again.”

  I wouldn’t be so sure. Adam thought of the red monstrosity rasping at the camera and shuddered. I wouldn’t bank on sleeping ever, ever again.

  5

  SURPRISE VISITORS

  Adam stood in the dark room, his heart crawling slowly up his throat, listening to the pound of giant footsteps. He’s coming. Any moment now . . .

  With a splintering crash, the walls were torn apart, and a huge, dark green monster stood illuminated in the glare of sudden, sweeping spotlights. Its jaws creaked open and choked up a syllable:

  “Zed,” came the guttural grunt.

  Adam took in the beast’s appearance in scaly snatches. Legs as big as a man. Questing claws raking the air. A brute, massive head on a writhing neck, balancing the long tail that tapered behind. The monster opened its mouth and roared. Adam could actually feel the hot wetness of its stinking breath, saw the dark stains on its teeth and claws. He held still as the head pushed forward and back, unblinking eyes swept over him. Then he reached out a hand and gingerly pressed it against the side of the creature’s cold, dry cheek. It felt hard and lifeless.

  “Zed,” the monster growled again.

  Almost, thought Adam. It’s Dad’s most impressive Ultra-Reality rendering yet. But it could never be as real as Zed was.

  “Quit,” he said out loud.

  The dinosaur before him paused in the spotlights, flickering a fraction. “Are you sure?” came a synthetic female voice inside his head.

  “Quit,” Adam said impatiently.

  With a chime, the image faded from his eyes and he was back in his dad’s room in the hotel, pulling the U-R headset from his face. He listened to his shaky breathing for a while, and the distant thrum of the traffic so many stories below. He was back.

  After a detailed discussion of their experiences with Geneflow, Adam and his dad had finally left the UN building close to eleven. Chen had driven them to the hotel in his cab. And although they were in the city that never slept, the pizza plans had been shelved. Neither Adam nor his dad had felt hungry.

  To escape the cold knot of fear pulling tighter in his belly, Adam had tried to immerse himself in the worlds of the prototype Ultra-Reality console. Slowly now, he peeled one of the system’s sensor pads from his forehead; as he did so, he smudged a tear against his wrist.

  The Think-Send system had been based on Adam’s own brain waves, and as a result, Zed had picked up something of the way Adam thought and felt. That—and the things they’d lived through—had created a bond between them. For as long as he lived, Adam would never forget the exhilarating fear of flying over the Atlantic while gripping the dinosaur’s scaly skin or the sickening horror of watching Zed battle his enemies to the death. The whole scenario could have been taken from some amazing game; no wonder his dad was trying to create a virtual Zed as a demo for U-R. But right now, the only thing that felt real for Adam was the cold, clammy question that refused to leave his head:

  What’s going to happen?

  “Hey.” His dad came into the room, trying to act breezy. “How’s my supergamer doing? Find any more glitches in the Zed demo?”

  Adam shook his head and forced a smile. “It’s looking great, Dad.”

  Mr. Adlar sat down on the bed beside him. “I’m surprised you want to spend any time close to dinosaurs right now.”

  “I wouldn’t mind having Zed here as a guard dog,” said Adam.

  “Housekeeping might object,” said Mr. Adlar wryly.

  Adam didn’t smile. “I just want to feel safe again.”

  “That won’t happen until Geneflow is put out of business for good,” Mr. Adlar reminded him. “And maybe now we’re getting a little closer to that.”

  “Maybe.” Adam crossed to the window—not for the view of skyscrapers, shop fronts and water towers opposite, but for the Advent calendar he’d balanced on the sill. He opened a cardboard flap and pried out the cheap chocolate within. “I keep thinking of that poor woman Lisa, trapped on an island with a whole load of those raptor things.”

  “I’ve been looking up raptors online,” Mr. Adlar said, “trying to see which species Geneflow have taken. The one on the video looked kind of like a velociraptor, but the originals were not much bigger than a turkey. There were larger species, but—”

  “Does it matter?” Adam shot back. “We’re talking about a Z. raptor. Josephs probably pumped it up to make it nastier.” He stared out over the city. “And now it’s being hunted down by Geneflow, just like Zed was.”

  “Sounds as though this Loner can speak more easily than Zed could.” Mr. Adlar shook his head. “It makes me sick to think that Geneflow have used my technology to fill its brain. I wish to God I’d never met Sam Josephs.”

  Adam regarded his father. “Why didn’t you tell me that she used to work at Mindcorp on that giant brain project? You’re always saying how important it is that we’re honest with each other.”

  “I know, Adam. But you’re my son, and my instinct is to protect you. You’re only thirteen—”

  “I’m not only anything,” Adam snapped, then took a deep breath. “But I am kind of glad you didn’t uproot us from Scotland all over again just ’cause you fancied Christmas in New York.”

  Mr. Adlar shook his head. “I never wanted any of this.”

  “Can’t you wave a magic wand or something? Make everything better?”

  His dad considered. “I could maybe wave the phone and have room service make us a late-night burger before bedtime. How would that be?”

  Adam forced a smile and nodded. “I suppose I could manage something.”

  A sudden thumping on the suite’s front door made them both jump.

  “Wow, good room service,” Adam joked.

  But Mr. Adlar shushed him. “Who knows we’re here?” he whispered.

  Adam felt an ice-cold chill rivet him to the spot.

  “Bill?” came a familiar drawl through the door. “It’s okay, it’s only me. John Chen.”

  With a noisy puff of relief, Mr. Adlar exited into the suite’s living room to let him in, Adam just behind him. The door swung open to reveal Chen, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black raincoat.

  “What’s up, Agent Chen?” said Mr. Adlar coolly. “I thought we were reconvening tomorrow?”

  “That’s right.
” Chen smiled tightly. “We just wanted a word in private.”

  “We?” Adam echoed. Then he saw a tall, gaunt man follow Chen inside, a gray cap sitting on his head.

  “I asked Doug to join us,” Chen explained, sitting on the couch without waiting to be asked. “He’s helping me out on this case. Doug Shanks, this is Bill Adlar. Adam you know already.”

  “Uh-huh.” Doug shook hands with Mr. Adlar and smiled at Adam. “You gave me quite a workout.”

  Adam looked down at his feet and said nothing. Doug took a seat in an armchair.

  “I just got through talking with Doc Marrs again on the phone,” said Chen. “He wants to play things his way, but I’m getting kinda worried about the timescale, you know?”

  “How do you mean?” asked Mr. Adlar.

  “Well, he’s set on digging up as much background information on Geneflow as possible, then he wants to present his findings to the UN Peacekeeping Operations Office of Military Affairs. They’ll discuss the whole case to death over who knows how many weeks, and before they can send an international military force to the island, it will have to be agreed upon by the General Assembly—”

  Adam spoke up worriedly. “And all the time, Geneflow will still be doing whatever they’re doing.”

  “Smart kid,” said Chen. “Plus, how do we know your pal Hayden was the only Geneflow big cheese involved with the Ethics Association? If these guys find out that the UN is on to them—”

  “They could go deeper into hiding, or bring their plans forward, or anything.” Mr. Adlar sat down heavily in an armchair. “So, what does the FBI plan to do?”

  Chen smiled. “I plan to let the doc get on with doing his thing. But in the meantime, we launch a reconnaissance mission. Try to find this island and Lisa Brannigan and get some hard proof of this dinosaur stuff. We’ve got a couple of good leads on which island LisaBee was talking about—a rough distance south of Hawaii . . . a crumbling tower visible from the sea—”

  “Plus, I’ve got a contact in Honolulu who runs long-distance boat tours around the big islands,” Doug put in. “For an old pal and a couple of drinks, he might be able to point us in the right direction.”