As far as Coop knew, the others in the group had made it into the woods. The nearest Quetzalcoatlus that almost got them had turned and stepped over toward Ron. It was the most unusual sight he had ever witnessed—watching the pterosaur walk on land like a four legged beast. The Quetzalcoatlus who split the group went into the tree line where Suge, Natasha, and Meat entered. It was unfortunate the trees weren’t thick enough to prevent the reptile from pursuing, but at least the natural blockade would slow it down and give his companions a chance.
“Ron! Run away!” Coop yelled, knowing the warning was useless. There was no way Ron would abandon his brother. He also doubted that Ron’s bravery had anything to do with the knowledge that dying in Patagonia was only a temporary condition.
The Quetzalcoatlus shrieked at the one holding Don, an apparent claim to the other human between them.
Ron twisted his body abruptly about, and the Quetzalcoatlus’ beak closed across his chest. “Roll Tide!” he screamed in horrific pain.
Not willing to share in the spoils of battle, the Quetzalcoatlus holding Don leaned its head down and held onto Ron’s legs.
The two flying reptiles played tug-of-war as the unfortunate man howled in agony. The Quetzalcoatlus holding onto the chest had the advantage, and eventually pulled Ron away from the other.
The loser threw its head back and screeched.
The other ignored it and began feeding on the spoils of victory.
The pandemonium gave way to eerie silence. Don must have died sometime during the battle—perhaps from having all that weight on him and not being able to breathe.
The two giant reptiles enjoyed their meal without any further conflict.
Alex turned to Coop, and said, “What do we do now?”
Chapter 6
“Ben, these guys are serious. Don’t do anything to provoke them,” Matt said. It was ironic how moments before salvation seemed so close. Now he, Logan, and Ben found themselves in a tight spot where the only law was held by those with the most effective weapons.
“Alvarez, Santos, pesquisar o Warthog,” Diaz commanded two of his men. He turned to Matt, and said, “If you are hiding any contraband, you need to tell me now.”
The two men filed out and headed to inspect the Warthog.
“Contraband? You mean souvenirs from Patagonia? We didn’t bring anything with us except some grass and rock samples—and not much of that, because the trip was cut short. We do have a lot of pictures.” Matt thought the question was ridiculous to begin with. “We’re scientists. We didn’t go to plunder a pristine environment.” In his mind, he could see Ben wearing a shirt imprinted with: I Went To Patagonia And All I Got Was This T-Shirt. Funny how you could be around another so much that they affect the way you think, he thought.
“We’re particularly interested in minerals. Do any of the rock samples contain anything that look like gemstones?” Diaz asked.
“No. Nothing like that. Coop said there was nothing special about the few rock samples we have. There’s nothing of value,” Matt said.
“Why do you ask? Were you expecting to find gemstones in Patagonia?” Logan asked. “Are those the mysterious commodities Coop mention to us? The real reason Ace Corp wanted to go to Patagonia?”
“I ask the questions, Senhor Logan,” Diaz said.
“As a matter of fact, it was,” Henry Lear said. “Diamonds, of the red variety. Some of the rarest gemstones on the planet. Having those diamonds that we knew about was going to triple my worth. I need that money to secure my control over the resources Patagonia has to offer. Ace Corporation will handle the business investments with the local governments from all the other investors in the world. Scientists backed by big corporations will be elated to study living specimens of dinosaurs. Pharmaceutical outfits will be beating down the doors looking for the next miracle cures found in the plants and trees. Who knows? Maybe the Fountain of Youth does exist in Patagonia. Every country in the world will want their own dinosaur zoo. At some point I’ll build a resort, once we get some heavy equipment in to tunnel through the mountains. I’ll make that Atlantis resort in the Bahamas look like an ant hill. The ground where you’re standing will become an airport.”
“You may have some difficulties making your dreams come true. Patagonia is nothing like you may think. The Troodon attack…you can’t imagine the savagery I witnessed. You might have to kill most of the dinosaurs before you set up one permanent camp,” Matt said, trying to beat the memories of the slaughter back down. “But none of that is any of my business or any of my concern, right now.”
“Fine, fine, Mr. King,” Lear said. “If you just step this way,” Lear fanned his hand holding the cigar toward a large tent used as the mess hall from their previous stay, “we’ll start the debriefing.”
Matt turned to Ben, who bit his bottom lip and shook his head. Looking over at Logan, he saw uncertainty and a hint of fear in his eyes. But what were they to do? They were at a complete disadvantage. “We’ll answer all of your questions and tell you everything we know.”
“That you will, Mr. King. That, I’m sure of,” Lear said.
***
Inside the tent where they had first met the Redwater crew over a week ago, three chairs sat in the middle of the room next to each other, with a table and two chairs opposite. The table had a handheld propane torch set by the edge.
A table once used to heat pans of food had a cloth hand towel and a gallon jug on one end and two unbuckled straps across the middle. One end of the table was noticeably higher than the other.
Another table on the other side of the room had a revolver, a fish tank with a snake in it marked with bands of red, black, and yellow, and a fish tank with something furry looking inside—about a foot in length and roundish in shape. The lighting wasn’t bright enough for Matt to see if the snake was a milk snake or a coral snake—the two most likely candidates. Matt found himself momentarily confused how to identify the two. Was it red touch yellow, kills a fellow or red touch black, kills Jack?
Lear walked with purpose past the chairs and sat behind the desk. His hand slipped under his jacket over his tie and lingered long enough for Matt to fear Lear was going to pull out a gun. Instead, a Churchill sized Maduro wrapped cigar eased out. Lear’s left hand went into his coat pocket and came back with a guillotine cutter. One snip of the cutter cleanly severed the cigar’s cap. The cap fell to the table, and Lear brushed it to the floor. Next, he picked up the propane torch and cracked open the valve allowing fuel to the nozzle. A couple of pushes to the igniter, and a cone-shaped, blue and orange flame, brightened the nozzle’s end. Lear brought the cigar’s foot to the flame and gently puffed on the other end. The foot glowed like hot embers, and aromatic gray smoke huffed from Lear’s mouth.
This is all a production, Matt thought. He, Logan, and Ben were held in check behind the chairs by three of the mercenaries. Diaz had remained by the door. The whole tent looked like it had been staged for the three to look curiously about and question just what the debriefing was going to entail. A table had a cloth and a jug on it. What was in the jug? Another table had a snake, a revolver, and something large and furry—what was their purpose? Lear had meticulously cut the end of the cigar with a cutter. What was similar in size and thickness to a cigar? A finger. Lear was a man who enjoyed the finer things in life. Lighting a cigar with a gas torch is something a plumber might do, not a CEO of a major corporation. It wouldn’t take long for the torch to make soft flesh smoke like rolled tobacco. The pit in Matt’s stomach sank deeper.
“Before we begin, please relieve yourself of anything on your possession,” Lear said.
Matt nodded and removed his satellite phone given to him by Ace Corporation for the mission. The phones only connected to the phones issued to the other explorers and Ace Corporation. It had been a shame he couldn’t connect with the outside world.
Ben and Logan both unclipped the phones from their belts and handed them to the mercenaries, who put them on the table i
n front of Lear.
“That’s it? Only phones? There’s nothing hidden in your pockets…or anywhere else?” Lear asked.
“That’s all I have,” Matt said.
“Me too,” Logan said.
“Phones were the only thing of value in the jungle,” Ben said. “It’s not like we needed change for bus fare.”
Ben is gonna ‘Ben’ no matter what, Matt thought. The situation would be so much better if Ben had laryngitis instead of a twisted ankle.
Lear offered no reaction to the injured man’s comment. “If you don’t mind, my friends here will give you a gentle pat down. Please raise your arms…” he waited as the three complied, “and spread your legs.”
Matt felt a hand roughly explore his collar, under his arms, between his legs, and down to his ankles. There was nothing gentle to this bodily invasion. He heard Logan utter ouch two different times and knew he wasn’t getting any better treatment. At least Ben managed to keep his discomfort to himself.
Lear patiently waited for the three mercenaries to finish, and then called out, “Captain Diaz, you may proceed.”
A noise like a stretching balloon came from behind. Matt turned his gaze and saw Diaz pull the cuff of a latex glove down by his right wrist, fitting the glove tight around the fingers. He let the cuff go, and the latex snapped against his wrist.
“Please unbuckle your belts and drop your pants,” Lear said, his tone as casual as if offering the three men a seat at a conference table.
“Hey! I don’t see the rea—” Matt checked his protest when the rifle barrel of the nearest mercenary moved under the left side of his chin.
The mercenary behind Logan racked a bullet in his rifle to let everyone know he was ready for business too.
Matt wasn’t sure what was going on with Ben and was too afraid to turn his head and see for himself.
“This isn’t a discussion, Mr. King. You and your friends just need to do as you’re told,” Lear said.
With shaky hands, Matt reached for his belt buckle and pulled the tongue away from the pin, loosening it, and then slid his pants and underwear to his knees.
Logan’s buckle rattled, signaling he, too, had complied.
Silence from Ben’s end could mean only one thing and it wasn’t good. Without any warning, a rifle stock crashed down on the back of Ben’s head. The athletic man toppled against the chair in front of him, knocking it to the side, his crutches falling next to him.
“Ben!” Logan cried.
“Stay where you are, Senhor Logan,” Diaz said. “Your fate may not be as fortunate.”
Matt heard Diaz’s steps approach and felt the Captain’s hand on his back. Matt submitted to a gentle push and leaned over, the latex covered fingers penetrated his rectum and explored. As Matt brought his gaze up, he saw Lear stare him in the eyes, not showing the least bit of compassion or gloating in victory in anyway. Why was Lear subjecting them to this? What was the man’s game?
The pressure was so intense at one point, Matt thought he could feel pain up to his throat. On the finger’s exit, blood rushed from his face, and his colon spasmed as if it might dump its contents.
The latex glove cried as it stretched and snapped off Diaz’s hands. “You may dress, Senhor Matt.” He tossed the glove in a small bucket and replaced it with another. It was Logan’s turn to be probed.
The mercenary no longer had the rifle barrel pressed against Matt’s throat, but it was still a couple of feet away and pointed at him. He looked over and saw Ben’s caretaker had taken the liberty to unbuckle the man’s belt and had pulled his pants down. Ben was out cold.
After Logan passed inspection, Diaz told him to dress. A new glove went on, and Matt and Logan watched powerless as Diaz performed his orders on Ben.
“They are not hiding anything, Senhor Lear,” Diaz said.
“Pity, I was so hoping to find more of the rare jewels. At least these are men true to their word. I admire that,” Lear said. “Mr. King, you may help your friend off the floor.”
Logan immediately followed Matt over to Ben’s side. He ran his hand over the back of Ben’s head. “There’s a pretty big knot here.”
Ben moaned a little and then began to blink.
“You okay, buddy?” Matt asked.
With some obvious effort, Ben said, “Yeah. I think so…but…what happened?”
“Cavity search…they didn’t find any diamonds,” Logan said, and patted his friend on the shoulder.
“No shit…well, that might be a poor choice of words. I guess I should feel lucky. When I woke, I first thought something much worse had happened to my ass while I was out.”
The two helped Ben from his undignified position and soon had his pants up, and sitting in a chair.
“Please, join your friend here.” Lear waved the air with his cigar toward the two empty chairs in front of him. “It’s time for your debriefing.”
“Honestly, Mr. Lear. I don’t know what we could tell you that you don’t already know. I’m sure you’ve heard all the conversations that went over the phone. With the satellites you have tracking us, you must have some confirmation to our report. The Mule had made it to the cave. It must still be there. All the evidence, all the video the Warthog uploaded, you must know we aren’t hiding anything,” Matt said.
Lear brought his elbows on the table and pressed his fingertips together. “The interrogation is not for information, Mr. King.”
“Then what?” Matt asked.
“It’s for my entertainment,” Lear said.
A cold blade with a sharp edge bit into Matt’s throat right below his Adam’s apple. Each of the three mercenaries had taken position behind them with knives in hand, threatening Logan and Ben in the same fashion.
“You see,” Lear said, “when I’m disappointed, I need something to lift my spirits. I enjoy rare excitement. Once you’re my age and are jaded to the opulent life, stimulation is achieved through divergent measures.” Lear nodded toward Diaz.
The Captain moved over to the fish tank housing the snake. He reached behind it and came back with a set of tongs. The tongs went down into the tank and came back gripping the snake behind the head. A few steps over had him by Ben’s side. Diaz pulled the neck of Ben’s shirt away from his chest and dropped in the serpent.
The room was dead silent, and then Matt heard Ben breathing harder. One errant move and the mercenary would slice Ben’s throat. Maybe that was the best way out of this mess—a quick cut across the jugular, and then bleeding out on the floor. How long would it take before the loss of blood ushered in the gift of unconsciousness? Surely less time than enduring the pain of the snake bite. The venom creeping like wildfire through the veins toward the heart. The swelling so bad that skin around the bite would split like a sausage casing on a hot grill. The dizziness, the nausea, and finally the numbness leading to death.
“The coral snake will appreciate the warmth, being a cold blooded reptile. Although if there’s something about your smell that it finds the least threatening, I’m sure it’s prepared to defend itself,” Lear said.
Diaz wasted no time returning to the table and came back with the large brown furry creature in the other fish tank. He had scooped it out on a wooden spatula of sorts.
Matt had originally speculated the creature to be a rodent of some type. He couldn’t have been more wrong. The spider was so huge it didn’t look real. In fact, it was too large to look fake. It looked like a ridiculous joke found at a party supply store.
The spider stepped off the spatula and onto Logan’s lap. Its legs looked like Chewbacca’s fingers, thick with long hairs. Its jaws resembled industrial pliers capable of cracking walnuts. Two large fangs big enough to be wolf’s canine teeth radiated an eerie green.
“It’s looking for a soft spot, Mr. Sandler. When it finds an area that suits it, it will puncture your flesh with its fangs, and inject an enzyme into your body. This will liquefy your insides so that the spider can later suck the remains through the hairs on i
ts mouth. The enzyme is also a neurotoxin and will paralyze you. Just think, you’ll be able to watch it feed and not feel a thing.”
Logan gasped lightly as he breathed. He held his hands by his sides and moved his fingers about as if he didn’t know what to do with them. His body began to shake as the spider slowly crawled up his thigh and raised one arm up to his stomach.
“And now for you, Mr. King,” Lear said. “I will give you the key to end this now and go free.”
Diaz stepped over to the table and took a seat next to Lear—sliding a revolver in front of the CEO.
Lear picked up the revolver, pulled a bullet from his coat pocket, and placed it in the cylinder. “You, Mr. King, can save yourself and one of your companions. I suggest that you make your decision quickly or else chance may decide for you. If that happens, Mr. King, I’ll use the bullet on you, and I’ll enjoy watching both of your mates die. So, who will it be? Mr. Wilson or Mr. Sandler?”
Only a madman would make that sort of demand, Matt thought. He’d have to be mad himself to make such a choice. There was no way he could do that. He’d be responsible for one of his friend’s death. “Me. Kill me, and let them both go.”
“Matt, no!” Logan eked out in a fear-fill voice. “I’ll do it. Shoot me. Do it now before this thing bites me.”
“No, take me,” Ben said in a whisper loud enough for all to hear.
“My, chivalry is not dead. I’m sorry, but the decision is Mr. King’s alone,” Lear said. “Time’s wasting, and you don’t want to ruin the chance of two of you surviving, so I’m going to give you a little push. Have you ever been waterboarded, Mr. King? Don’t bother answering, it was a rhetorical question. I have, and let me say, every horror you’ve heard about it is true. It’s one of the most effective ways to trick your mind that death is imminent. Waterboarding will reduce the strongest man into a blubbering coward in seconds.”
Diaz rose from the table as the mercenary behind Matt grabbed his hair with the other hand, and with knife still held firmly on the throat, escorted his captive to the table, and forced him to lie down. The captain buckled one strap around Matt’s chest, securing his arms by his side. The other strap went around Matt’s legs.
Lost World II: Savage Patagonia Page 7