The Island Project: A Thriller

by Taylor Buck

  THE ISLAND PROJECT

  By Taylor Buck

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Taylor Buck

  eBook Published 2013

  Email the author at taylor@taylorbuck.com, follow him on twitter @taylorbuck or visit his website at www.taylorbuck.com

  All rights reserved. With the exception of excerpts for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system.

  MACHINES WILL FOLLOW a path that mirrors the evolution of humans. Ultimately, however, self-aware, self-improving machines will evolve beyond humans’ ability to control or even understand them.

  - RAY KURZWEIL, 2010

  THE U.S. LEADS the world in nearly all aspects of AI technology, largely due to the years of patronage by the Department of Defense.

  - U.S. DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE, Public Document

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  PROLOGUE

  OKOLE VALLEY FARM

  14 OCTOBER, 6:55 A.M.

  Ed ducked under a few overgrown palm trees as he walked along the narrow pathway leading out to his fields. An old fence lined the path, bending in and out, straining to hold back the dense bamboo forest behind it. It was early morning and a white mist blanket covered the valley below, stretching from end to end. A few tall trees poked their branches through the fog canopy, sticking out like ancient figures along the horizon. The sun was beginning to rise. It slowly crept over the hillside and set the valley aglow.

  The island had awakened.

  The walk from Ed’s house to his pineapple fields was about a quarter mile. He faithfully made the walk every morning. The land he managed had been in his family for hundreds of years, and he had tended to it for the past sixty. He enjoyed greeting his crops as soon as morning broke. His ritualistic inspection had become second nature. He enjoyed watching the crops grow, and he took it upon himself to make sure everything was properly nurtured and cultivated. Ed relied on his crops to provide for him. He sold pineapples, papaya, bananas and mangos at the local market. Like other local farmers on the Big Island, he was content on keeping things small and manageable.

  He swung open the gate at the end of the pathway and closed it behind him. He made his way over to the rows of fruit planted evenly across the surface. The pineapple groves stuck up roughly two and a half feet into the air, amazingly symmetrical from row to row. Their broad, pointy leaves spread outward in all directions.

  The white mist gently hung over the long rows of pineapple plants. Ed walked along the rows slowly, inspecting the leaves. He checked them thoroughly to make sure unwanted insects weren’t invading the roots or leaves.

  Seeing everything in good order, he made his way over to the banana plants. As he turned the corner at the west end of the field, his peripheral vision caught some movement in the mist between one of the rows. Somewhere in the middle of the field, there was a quick flicker, appearing then disappearing as quickly as it came. Ed cast his gaze across the mist, but saw nothing…no further movement. Making nothing of it, he continued along the western edge of the grove checking the progress of the banana blossoms. A few birds scattered from a tree as he approached a group of plants. They chirped playfully then fluttered off into the sky in formation. He reached out and grabbed a small bunch of green bananas, inspecting them in his hands. He felt the rubbery texture of the fruit, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  A twig snapped behind him, grabbing his attention.

  Ed quickly turned around and faced the pineapple field. He squinted his eyes to focus in the soft morning light. In the mist, about twenty yards in front of him, a dark figure was standing in the pineapple grove, staring at him.

  As his eyes adjusted, he began to make out the figure. It was an animal, so he thought, roughly the size of a boar. At first, he thought it to be exactly that: a wild boar. Common to this island, Ed had accidentally hit a wild boar with his truck a week earlier while driving home. But upon further examination, he wrote off the possibility of a boar.

  This animal was too muscular, and far too quiet.

  Ed stood there staring into the mist, eyes fixed on the creature in front of him. It remained motionless, crouching among the pineapple leaves, staring straight back at him. A white layer of fog curled up around the body of the animal, hiding some of its features. It stood completely still, hovering in the fog—like a ghost.

  Ed’s curiosity soon slipped away as the realization of the situation soon crept over him. He didn’t know what this thing was. The animal was sizable, and Ed wasn’t a big man. It was standing quite close, and he had nowhere to go if it pursued him.

  Ed had a small pair of garden shears in his pocket. He fumbled them out and clenched them tightly in his right hand. His hand trembled as he gripped the plastic handle. It brought little comfort. He knew they would pose no serious threat to the beast before him.

  As Ed contemplated what to do, he sidestepped a few paces to the left, eyes still fixed on the animal. It responded with an eerie movement of its own. As if looking into a reflection, the animal mirrored Ed’s movements, moving swiftly to its right. Ed stopped dead in his tracks. The creature stopped too. He could see it more clearly now. It was definitely not a boar, although roughly the same size. It was closer to a panther or some kind of a large cat. It moved gracefully with its head down low—moving along a straight line as it glided sideways.

  Ed took another step, backwards this time. The animal followed suit, stepping forward, pausing only when Ed did.

  “This thing is…hunting me,” Ed thought to himself.

  The animal continued forward slowly. It was now walking straight toward him. Ed stayed still. He couldn’t think fast enough to do anything other than stare back. He felt his body become heavy. Perspiration formed around his temples and his back became hot.

  It was getting close.

  He noticed the movements of the animal. It moved fluidly, like a cat. There was something else, though, something unnatural about its movements. It was almost as if…

  The animal stopped.

  Ed stared straight into its black, glassy eyes. It cocked its head to the side. He noticed the animal had a slight rhythmic sway to its body, side to side. He looked closer at the fur, which seemed to be changing texture and pattern. In fact it seemed to blend in with the leaves around it in a fascinating way.

  As the animal started forward again Ed couldn’t stop staring at its fur. The pattern; changing—constantly moving. Blending in, then changing again.

  Run.

  Ed finally snapped out of the trance. He couldn’t believe how close it was now. He stumbled backward. He put his left arm down and barely caught himself. Pivoting his body around, he started running back toward the bamboo path.

  He didn’t dare look back. He broke into a sprint, moving his limbs as fast as he could. The muddy earth beneath him made it difficult to keep from sliding as he ran. His movements felt sluggish—dreamlike. He hoped this was a dream. The reality of the moment, however, came cra
shing down on him—forcefully. Brutally. It was a heavy, crushing blow.

  It happened quickly.

  Then it was dark.

  Jug•ger•naut

  A large lorry for transporting goods by road.

  A large, destructive force or object of war.

  Something that demands blind devotion or merciless sacrifice

  PART 1

  MARVEL

  CHAPTER 1

  DOWNTOWN HILO, HI

  14 OCTOBER, 8:55 A.M.

  Downtown Hilo was calm for a Friday. It was nice outside, a perfect 76 degrees. With a gentle breeze blowing through the streets, coming in from the shore. It was a good day for surfing, which was why it was quiet downtown. Many of the locals were out catching waves.

  Detective Jim Lee walked up to a taco stand nestled in an alleyway off the main strip downtown. He ordered three fish tacos and a bottle of water. Pulling up a chair at an empty table, he sat down under a giant orange umbrella to eat. He looked out over the shoreline watching the waves break perfectly on the sand. It was mornings like this that made life on the island an easy choice.

  Detective Jim Lee was forty-two years old and in solid shape. He attributed this to his daily runs on the beach. Lee was well built with a brick-shaped chin and short hair, giving him a jarhead appearance. Lee hadn’t served in the military, but everyone figured him for it. He carried himself like a soldier—stoic and honorable. He was hard-wired for life in law enforcement and had an impeccable track record to back it up. Despite his Chinese ancestry, Lee was kamaʻaina—which meant he grew up on the island and was accustomed to Hawaiian traditions. He was well educated too. Lee went to college and graduated from UCLA on the mainland then earned his stripes at the Hawaii Police Academy. He had been serving as a detective on the Big Island for the past eight years.

  Lee finished his tacos and sat under the umbrella sipping on his water. He noticed his reflection in the side of the taco stand; blue polo shirt, chino shorts and cross-trainers.

  His phone rang.

  Lee pulled his phone out of his pocket and answered.

  “This is Lee.”

  “Hey Jimmy.” Lee knew right away it was his chief, Terry Sullivan.

  “Where are you?” Sullivan inquired. Lee knew something was up. Terry was getting straight to the point.

  “I’m downtown catching lunch before I drive down to Keaukaha Park. I was going to follow up on the Keawe lead.”

  “Ok. Change of plans. I need you on something else. Over on the north end of the Hakalau Refuge…someone reported a possible homicide. Apparently a farmer was found dead a few miles away.”

  “Homicide? Did I hear you right, Ter?” Lee was genuinely shocked to hear it.

  “I don’t know the details yet, I just need you to go take a look. I want to get you there first before the other boys show up.”

  “You got it, I’m leaving now. I should be there in thirty,” Lee said.

  “Good. I’ll forward the brief to you.”

  Lee hung up his phone and slid it into his pocket. He got up from his table and made his way along the waterfront toward his jeep. Lee wasn’t accustomed to getting calls like this. Not homicide calls. The Big Island didn’t have much crime at all; in fact it is one of the safest places to live anywhere.

  Lee stepped into his jeep, made his way out of downtown and sped along the Hawaii beltline toward the farm.

  CHAPTER 2

  HAWAII BELT

  14 OCTOBER, 9:15 A.M.

  An expanse of black lava rock flashed past Detective Lee from the windows on both sides as he drove up the belt. White coral rock peppered the landscape along the highway and provided a sharp contrast from the blanket of black along the road. The locals use the white coral pieces as a means of temporary graffiti—lining their names and the names of their special someone along the road.

  Joe + Malia, was written inside a large coral heart shape. ALOHA K + W, done neatly in large letters.

  Lee pulled off the highway and drove inland another ten miles along a jeep access road. The bumpy path bordered the northern perimeter of the Hilo Forest Reserve and ended at Mana Rd. Lee turned right on Mana and followed it a few miles until he spotted a gated entryway snaking back into farmland.

  He pulled onto the dirt driveway and parked his jeep next to an ambulance in front of the house. He stepped out and looked around. No press vans had arrived yet, just the ambulance and a few other cars—most likely family members. Lee noticed a heavily trafficked trail of footprints, freshly pressed into the mud. It led down a winding path. He followed the path down until it opened into some fruit fields. As he approached the bottom of the path he came across what was the obvious scene of the crime. There was a large taped-off area on the ground, zoned by the medics who had arrived first. A man’s body lay facedown in the mud, arms out to the side, and legs slightly bent outward. It appeared to be an older man. The first thing Lee noticed was how far the body was pressed into the ground—deep enough to create large folds of displaced mud around the entire body, similar to how a crater forms a mountainous range along its perimeter. Whatever had compressed the body into the ground had to have been heavy.

  Lee snapped some photos making sure to detail the scene as it was. He laid out a small platform, which acted as a bridge to the body. It was a raised, foldable walkway with legs that reached down into the mud, stabilizing the bridge and suspending it above the ground. This contraption allowed for the body to be inspected without disturbing the surrounding terrain. Lee walked out and bent down to get a closer look.

  The body was half submerged into the ground. Mud curled up around all sides of the body obstructing any view of the man’s face. It looked as if he had fallen from a high distance and embedded himself into the soft earth. A moment later Lee spotted a young paramedic walking by and flagged him over.

  “Was this body moved?” Lee asked.

  “No, we didn’t touch him. He was dead when we got here. We called it at ten thirty. Looks to have happened early morning, though,” the medic responded.

  Lee moved in closer to the man’s mud-caked face. “And he was facedown when you found him? Just like this?” he asked.

  The young medic nodded.

  Lee snapped more photos—a close-up of the face plus some detailed shots of the positioning of the man’s limbs. Lee pulled out a ballpoint pen from his pocket and gently pulled back the collar of the man’s shirt. The skin revealed a round bruise between the man’s shoulders, along the spine. He lifted the shirt further and saw additional bruising.

  “That’s an odd bruising pattern,” the medic observed.

  Lee used his pen to pull up the backside of the man’s muddy shirt. The dark skin beneath the shirt revealed four round bruises—roughly three inches in diameter, about the size of silver dollars. The bruising was concentrated to the areas of impact but each one was accompanied by a dark ring, spreading outward. The pattern was fairly symmetrical leading Lee to believe that the impact happened all at once as opposed to resulting from multiple blows. His spine appeared to be crushed as well.

  Lee scanned the body, his mind running through possible scenarios as to what could’ve caused the scene before him. The bruises indicated that he had received topical trauma, which had pressed him into the ground. That likely ruled out him falling from the sky. It was clear that forced impact had killed him. There were no signs of a struggle—which meant he was likely dead as soon as he hit the ground, if not before.

  What could cause that kind of impact, though? It looked as if he had been run over by a car. However, Lee saw no visible tire tread marks of any kind around the body.

  Lee stood up and began to look around. He scanned along the tree line and out over the rows of plants in the field. He walked along the direction from which the man had come, being careful to
stay outside of the scene. The man’s footprints were still visible in the mud. The spacing between the footprints indicated long strides.

  He was running—the man was chased.

  Lee bent over close to the ground to get a better look at the prints. That’s when it stood out to him—right in front of his eyes. Clearly displayed in the mud along the man’s footprints was another set of prints. An arrangement of holes in a repeating configuration accompanied the man’s footprints, leading up from the pineapple fields.

  Holes—about the same size as the bruises on the man’s back.

  Something that ran on all fours had chased the man.

  Lee studied the oval-shaped prints. He couldn’t immediately identify them. He wasn’t an expert on animal tracks but he could point out the difference between the obvious ones. The first thing that came to mind was a boar. Boar hooves made holes. However each track was typically split into two distinct ovals, making up the hoof shape. This was a single oval. Like the shape a staff or post would make in the earth.

  Something else didn’t add up. The stride was far too long and the pattern of holes didn’t match a boar’s step.

  Cause of death was becoming clear, though. This man was chased, attacked and killed by a predator of some sort.

  Lee knew he needed to call it in. He snatched his phone from his pocket and dialed Chief Sullivan’s number. He heard the receiver pick up on the other end.

  “What have we got?” Sullivan’s voice came through the line.