by Nate Granzow
"Patient? You’re hedging your bets of survival on this?" Austin jabbed the air violently, pointing at the pile of phone parts.
"Calm down. What I meant to say was, rather than idly complain about our situation, why don’t we take a hard look at some of the questions that have arisen since we’ve arrived? Perhaps we’ll determine some answers that may help us. For instance, what is it that's waiting for us out there?"
"Well, Dr. Rouillard, you're the zoologist," Austin said sourly as he began picking broken shards of Brazil nut husk and twigs from between his boot treads.
The researcher thought for a moment before answering his own question. "The creatures looked humanoid in physiology, but they're unlike anything I've seen in my life. If I could get a longer look at one, I might be able to get a better sense of what they are."
"The one we saw looked white," Jeremy reminded, using his pocketknife to twist a screw on the assembly. "Some kind of albino ape with mange?"
Nudging his copilot, Austin pointed at the chaff he'd picked from his boot, now sitting on the tabletop, and made a flicking motion with his middle finger. The Brazilian cracked a smile and nodded.
"Very doubtful. Again, the carnivorous, openly aggressive nature of these beasts doesn't fit with an ape's typical modus operandi. And Christian raised an interesting point earlier about the color of the beast's eyes. Indeed, they glowed in a similar hue to the bones we found in the cage."
Austin let fly with the first piece of debris, the twig striking Henri in the small of his back. "You suppose they could be some kind of science experiment gone awry? You'd mentioned a fluorescent something or another in the capybara," Austin said, looking as innocent as he could muster. Jeremy suppressed a laugh.
"Oxidative fluorescent enzyme," Henri corrected, reaching a hand to his back, feeling for the offending projectile.
"Yeah, that one. So these creatures must have come from these laboratories in some form, or been exposed to the same treatment as that capybara. Could it have been a genetic mutation of an ape?" Austin asked, digging into his coat, retrieving his cigarettes and lighter, and attempting to ignite one. The cigarette had turned brown, the white paper stained as the nicotine and tobacco leached out in the rain.
"It seems a bit far-fetched, but I'm not willing to disregard any hypothesis at this point. Frankly, I'm at a complete loss," the Frenchman said.
"Okay, so on to question two." The Brit said from the corner of his mouth as the lighter refused to ignite. "Our company sent us into the jungle to find a plant that they'd been growing in their own laboratory. How is it that nobody mentioned this little piece of gen to us before we left? Senske made it sound like it was a flukey, random find."
"Good point. Why wouldn't they tell us about this place?" Olivia agreed. "They clearly didn't want us to know about it for some reason."
"But I'm sure they predicted sending us after a plant only found in this compound would lead us to it," Henri said.
"Doesn't make any sense," Jeremy said.
Austin flicked another piece, this one striking the back of the elder researcher's head.
"I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for it," Henri said, looking up at the ceiling with a bewildered expression. "Maybe they just didn't think it was relevant."
"And here's another question that needs answering," Austin said, carefully tucking the unlit cigarette into his coat pocket, giving up on his attempt to ignite it. "The logistics of building a compound like this so far from civilization are overwhelming. It must have cost tens of millions. Why do it? What tangible advantage could there have been to building out here?"
"Secrecy, maybe. With researchers isolated in the jungle, there'd be little chance of them being able to slip anything out," Henri said, shoving the papers before him to the floor. Glancing at the others as they stared at him, wondering what had spurred the sudden outburst from the typically reserved scientist, he explained, "These papers are rubbish."
"So that's a thing, huh?" Jeremy asked. "Researchers selling out to the competition?" He looked at Austin sternly as if to remind him of his suspicions about Christian's behavior.
"Oh, certainly. There are a series of protocols we're forced to follow to keep us from doing so, now. Hygeia guards its information very closely," Olivia said. "Even so, it's impossible to completely prevent leaks without taking extreme measures. Like building a giant research facility in the middle of the jungle, for instance."
Henri cleared his throat. "They would have put the outpost here for the sake of accessibility, too. If we did most of our work in a place like this one, so near to plant and animal samples, you and Mr. Barreto would be out of a job, Mr. Stewart."
A loud crackle filled the small space as the phone came alive. Jeremy quickly dialed the number for Denver's office.
Hearing the noise, Christian—who'd been scraping graffiti into the walls of a nearby room with a rock—entered and sat down beside Olivia. She made room for him, leaving generous space. He scooted uncomfortably close, anyway.
"Hygeia headquarters, how copy?"
A static hiss responded.
"Hygeia, do you copy?"
"Forget the voice procedure, mate. Just tell 'em where we are and that we need extraction," Austin said, dropping his lighter to the table and removing his hat expectantly.
"I don't even know if they're getting the message, man."
"Try it anyway."
"Hygeia, we are currently at—" Austin slid him the GPS across the tabletop. "North 3° decimal 2709, west 66° decimal 9524. We're in need of immediate extraction; an unidentified animal has killed our guide and we are currently trapped inside what appears to be an abandoned Hygeia facility. We'll wait at this location for 48 hours before attempting to return to the airstrip. We have found the plant sample." The radio popped loudly once more; then, a wisp of gray smoke rolled out of the receiver and the room went silent.
TWENTY-ONE
Powering down the conference room's large flat-screen monitor, Denver ended a two-hour webcam meeting with the Hygeia board of directors. Predictably, all they could talk about was the projected spike in stock value should Taxus bromelieaceae prove to work as predicted. How they could market it on the world stage. How they could position Hygeia for the most advantage to their public perception. Like excitable schoolchildren talking about how they planned to spend their allowances.
Dollar signs: That's what this was about. The medicinal research field, particularly in this part of the world, was a relatively untapped market. Though a quarter of all Western pharmaceuticals were derived from species found in the rainforest, only one percent of the jungle's plant life had been tested for its medicinal usefulness. It didn't take a statistician or accountant to determine that the jungle had more to offer the pharmaceutical business.
When Dr. J.G. Armstrong discovered the Madagascar periwinkle plant in the 1950s, he never could have predicted that it would become one of the foremost mitotic inhibitors used for slowing cancer growth. To him, that was probably enough—the knowledge that his discovery had prolonged the lives of thousands of people, giving them hope that at least something could be done to improve their odds. But for the company that marketed the drug, it had nothing to do with helping the sick, and everything to do with the sudden windfall it represented for its bottom line.
Though the researchers working for her still believed in the inherent good of their efforts the way Armstrong did, Denver saw the larger picture, and knew it was all just a game: a perpetual jockeying to look good for those men in tailored suits two promotions above her. She was damn good at playing it, too.
But that didn't mean she enjoyed listening to bloated corporate businessmen without the faintest wisp of medical sense discussing her branch's findings and how best to use them.
Stuffing a few folders into her briefcase, she pulled out a jar of moisturizer from her desk and applied the cream to the dark bags beneath her eyes. She decided she'd leave for the day. Perhaps spend the afternoon by th
e pool. The sky looked cloudless; it would be a good day for that.
Her phone rang.
"Denver speaking."
A sharp crackling noise poured from the phone's receiver. Just as she prepared to hang up, thinking it a bad connection or wrong number, she heard the words,
"…trapped inside abandoned Hygeia facility…wait at this location…found the plant…"
The expedition had found the compound. Denver's eyes widened as she realized the threat she'd originally dismissed had just been realized. The expedition had stumbled upon the research facility where so many of the company's embarrassing secrets resided. How much had they learned? Whatever they'd found, it was too much. The line went dead.
Denver slammed the phone down in its cradle; then, hurled the machine across the office.
"That son of a bitch," she cursed, knowing it was Austin who was responsible. Only he would be so bold, so thoughtless, as to ignore her explicit orders.
Retrieve the damn plant; bring it back.
She would burn for this. A scandal of this magnitude would ruin her.
Unless.
Unless she ensured they didn't make it out of the jungle.
Withdrawing her personal cell phone, Denver scrolled through her contact list until she found the number she was looking for. She'd only seldom needed to enlist this man's services, and he'd made the past problems go away with great expedience and discretion. It had been expensive, but it was worth it then, and it would be worth it now. He just might be able to save her career.
*******
Thaddeus Clayton grunted as he completed his final rep on the bench press, letting the steel bar clang against the rack. Sitting up and massaging the callouses on his palms, he admired himself in the mirror—flexing his developed muscles until they writhed beneath his coal-colored skin like entwined snakes. His phone buzzed. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he slid his finger across the screen and set the phone to speaker.
"Yeah?"
"Thaddeus? Denver Senske."
Shit. His head dropped and his shoulders slumped.
Senske. Of all his clients, she was the only one who he loathed hearing from. Others came to him looking for solutions to uncomfortable problems. That was what he did—mercenary, gun-for-hire, fixer, whatever was needed. Since most of his clients didn't know the first thing about what they were doing, he became the man who took care of their problems. A consummate, discreet professional. There was respect in that, and sincere appreciation when the job was completed. But never from Senske. She carried herself with a conceited air and looked down at him with obvious disdain, even when he would singlehandedly bail her out of dire situations. That rubbed him wrong.
That, and she was the only one who insisted on calling him Thaddeus. He hated that name.
"How can I help you today, Ms. Senske?"
"Get your men together. I need you to take care of a problem for me as soon as possible."
That was another thing. She never asked for help, she just gave out orders.
"My men? Plural? How big a job did you have in mind?"
"Sensitive information related to my company has been exposed to some employees. They’re currently on an expedition in the jungle to retrieve a valuable plant needed for research. I need them out of the picture and the plant returned."
"How many are there?"
"Five or six members."
"This isn’t an estimation game, lady. How many are there?"
"Six, assuming their guide hasn't abandoned them."
"Armed?"
"Not heavily, if at all. They’re not expecting trouble."
"Women or children?"
"A man in your line of work shouldn’t have so many scruples."
"Yeah, but I do. Please answer my question."
"No. No women or children."
He could tell by the slight hesitation preceding her response that she was lying.
"Given the nature of the situation and their location, it’ll cost you 20 K per individual, and I'll need the use of a chopper and pilot. You pay half up front, half upon completion. You know the deal."
"That’s acceptable. But timeliness is key, here. I expect you to take care of this within the next 48 hours. I’ve emailed the marks’ dossiers and their current location to you so you’ll know who to look for. I'll have your helicopter prepared immediately."
"I’ll see what I can do." He ended the call. "Bitch."
It wasn’t his place to ask how the people in question had offended his client, but knocking off so many targets at once was unorthodox. That kind of heavy lifting attracted attention. One person goes missing in the jungle, and it's an average day in Venezuela. Six of them? That meant six times the likelihood of a family member or friend raising a stink. Contrary to what most of the developed world thought of South America, it wasn't completely lawless. It'd be pretty hard to spend the money the hit would bring if he were locked in a crusty prison cell for the remainder of his days.
Grabbing a towel on his way up the stairs, he dialed his second-in-command. A handful of unarmed civilians wouldn't pose much of a threat, and the fewer men he brought on board, the more the payout would be for each of them. A four-man team would be more than enough to do the job. In fact, it was probably overkill. But he didn't trust Senske, and if it meant taking a pay cut to bring an abundance of firepower, he'd do it.
"Alex? Grab two of the guys. My place in an hour."
TWENTY-TWO
Without fresh clothes to change into, Olivia decided the next best thing would be a sponge bath. It felt especially damp and humid inside the compound, the still, torrid jungle air magnified in the tight space, and with all the chaos of the past twenty-four hours, all she wanted was a few minutes alone and to feel clean again.
Borrowing a canteen of fresh water and Austin's spare shirt to use as a washcloth, she left the group and set out, venturing into the complex to find a secluded space.
Reaching what had once been a dormitory at the end of the main hallway, she closed the door, placed her glow stick on the rusted steel frame of a bunk bed, and stripped down to her underwear. Noticing a drawstring hanging from a light bulb in the room's ceiling, she smiled and tugged it—unsurprised when nothing happened. At one time, this facility must have been quite the affair, she thought as she eyed the stainless steel toilet and sink in the room’s corner, both overgrown with mold.
Approaching the cracked mirror above the sink, she took notice of the photographs taped to its edges. Though aged and difficult to make out in the low light, Olivia smiled. They were family photographs of the researchers and their loved ones. Assigned to a place such as this, the researchers likely spent weeks or months away from civilization at a time—hell on a family.
She knew how that separation felt.
Moistening the shirt, Olivia began gently wiping the layers of grime and dried sweat from her skin. Thinking about the researchers and their families, and then about her husband, her mind wandered to the way Terry used to touch her. The last time they'd made love. The way he'd run the tips of his fingers down her arms until she'd shiver, her skin covered in goose bumps.
It had been a long time since anyone had touched her like that.
She let her hand drift down her abdomen, her fingernails sliding along the elastic band of her panties.
The door opened behind her and she jumped.
Christian entered.
"What are you doing here?" she exclaimed, trying to cover herself. "Look away, please."
"Olivia, I…" he said, his voice trembling. "You and I…we have a connection. I've seen it, felt it. I know you feel it, too."
He'd obviously rehearsed what he'd wanted to say before entering, but upon seeing Olivia's impeccable proportions in unprecedented explicitness, had apparently forgotten every word.
"This isn't the time or place for this, Christian. You're a nice guy, and I do care about you, but not like this. I'm a decade older than you, for Christ's sake," Olivia said coldly, sighin
g. She knew this had been bound to happen eventually. She had hoped to be clothed when it did, though.
Swallowing and taking on a resolute expression, the young man stepped close and touched her arm. "Love doesn't care about age."
That, she hadn't expected.
Shoving him back, she said, "Don't. Don’t touch me, Christian. This is inappropriate behavior. We work together. We're friends. But that's where it ends."
"So I'm not good enough for you? Is that it?" Christian asked, frustrated tears welling in his eyes. "You don’t have any problem with that British prick, Austin. I treat you with way more respect than he does, but you want him more than me?"
"Christian, it’s unacceptable for you to come in here like this. Please leave," she said firmly, wondering if her cries for help would be heard through the concrete walls.
"What if I told you I won't leave?" he challenged, his hands shaking as they formed fists.
"I'd tell you you're mistaken," Austin said from behind him, his frame filling the doorway. "You heard the lady. Piss off."
After sizing up his chances of fighting the grizzled pilot and deciding against it, Christian aimed a bitter glance back at Olivia, and reluctantly left the room.
"Are you okay? He didn't hurt you did he?" Austin asked, slipping his long-sleeved shirt off and offering it to her as a means to cover herself.
"No, I'm fine," she said, declining the shirt and proceeding to wash. Now that everyone had seen her in her underwear, she indignantly set out to at least get clean before redressing.
Closing the door, but respectfully looking away from the barely clad doctor, Austin said, "I should put a bullet in that little blighter right now."
"No, he's not a bad person, Austin. He's just…confused."
"Didn't look too confused to me. I think he knew exactly what he was doing. I would suggest telling someone when and where you're going to venture off to from this point forward. I'll do what I can to keep an eye on the—"