Gargantua Page 12

  Jack saw where this was going. “Same as on Jimmy and Dak?”

  “Not quite the same—bigger. A lot bigger. Plus, he’s been mumbling about a monster.”

  “He must’ve gotten wind of our amphibian.” Jack scratched his chin. “If Paul can salvage any of the film from his camera, we might get a clue what he was up to.”

  Alyson nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’ll get the camera.”

  Within minutes, after Alyson had retrieved the camera and left instructions for the nurse, they went to the Malau Weekly News office. Paul had just come out of the darkroom when they arrived, so he took the camera and went back in.

  After what seemed to Jack like an appallingly long time, he came back out. “I’ll have prints in about five minutes,” Paul said.

  “You could salvage it?” Jack asked. Given how much salt water the camera had taken in, he and Paul had both been half-convinced that the film would be ruined.

  “Luck of the stupid. Only five exposures had been made, then the guy must’ve hit the rewind button at some point. The camera’s wrecked, but the film was all rolled up, so it was spared the worst of it. Back in a minute.”

  He went back in, then came out a few minutes later with an eight-by-ten print.

  Jack looked down at what the image showed. Holy shit.

  “I don’t believe it,” Alyson muttered. “Though it would explain the claw marks.”

  Tearing his gaze away from the photo, Jack looked at the reporter. “Paul, call President Moki and the chief. We need to talk about this, and now.”

  Ten minutes later, the president closed his restaurant to all but Jack, Alyson, Paul, Chief Movita, Dr. Hale, and himself. They all stood around one of the larger tables, Moki holding Paul’s print in hand.

  All of them kept staring at it. The creature it portrayed was a dead ringer for Superlizard, except it didn’t have the various horns. It also showed two other men taking pictures, and based on the scale, the lizard had to be at least thirty-five feet tall, maybe more. It looks like Superlizard has a Mom, Jack thought.

  “Surely, this cannot be real,” Moki said.

  “It’s not a double exposure,” Paul said, pointing to the two photographers in the foreground, “the images wouldn’t be this solid. And the film was still in the camera.”

  “So all of you believe we have a creature of this size somewhere in our waters,” Moki said.

  And you don’t? Jack almost blurted out, but managed to restrain himself. Instead, he pointed out the one fact that was obvious to his trained eye. “And who’s it the spitting image of? Our nine-foot captive. Except for the horns, of course, but that means it’s probably female. I think Mom is coming to bust her kid out of jail.”

  That left the room silent for several seconds. Then, finally, Paul said, “We’ve gotta let people know.”

  Jack almost smiled. Typical journalist.

  “There’d be mass panic,” Alyson pointed out.

  “Not as much as there would be if this thing showed up unannounced,” Paul said, and Jack had to admit that his logic was spot-on.

  The chief was shaking his head with something like awe. “I have seven officers—six, with Jimmy laid up. I am not equipped to deal with mass panic or a giant creature.”

  Moki, too, shook his head. “No, this is beyond us now. I will call Colonel Wayne at Fort MacArthur on Kalor.”

  Jack fought down a panic attack. The last thing we need now is some military nutcase blowing everything up. “Wait, wait—calling out the troops—” He cut himself off, choosing his words carefully. He was still an outsider here, but the president had trusted his judgment up to a point. With any luck, I won’t go past that point now. “A thing like that can take on a life of its own. We need to decide what we want the military to do. What’s this Colonel Wayne guy like?”

  “Quite reasonable for a man in his position,” Moki said without hesitation. Jack knew enough about Malau’s president to know that, while he was diplomatic, he was not a liar. That he gave that answer, and so readily, meant that this colonel should be okay.

  Jack had to hope that he had read Manny Moki correctly. “Let’s talk to him alone, first.”

  Paul said, “By chopper, he could be here in no time.”

  “Then let’s get him over here right away,” Jack said, “without telling him why.”

  Moki nodded. “That is very prudent.” He smiled. “Are you sure you are not a politician, Jack?”

  Jack chuckled in reply as the president went over to the phone. Geez, a mother lizard, he thought. Brandon’s gonna—

  Oh, Christ. Brandon.

  Aloud, he said, “I need to find Brandon.”

  “I’ll do it,” Alyson said.

  “Thanks,” Jack said, relieved. He didn’t want to miss the colonel’s arrival, but he didn’t want to go all day without even seeing his son.

  Colonel J. Christopher Wayne really hated the tropics.

  He never told anyone this, of course. After all, he’d been assigned to head up the United States Marine Corps base on Kalor Island, and Colonel Wayne did what he was told. It’s like his drill sergeant used to tell him: When you wear a green tuxedo, you dance where they tell you.

  Wayne missed very little about the ghettos of Philadelphia, but one of those was the winter weather. Tons of snow, huge drifts, snowmen built up in the playgrounds, icicles dripping from the fire escapes—that was winter. Right now, back home, gusts were blowing at thirty miles an hour back in Philly, with temperatures in the twenties.

  As he wiped the sweat from his brow, Wayne almost wished he was there.

  Almost. Born John Christopher LaMarre, his mother married Robert Wayne when John was six. Not wanting to be saddled with being named after a white Western star, John started going by his middle name after that. With the marriage came an older brother, whom the newly christened Christopher Wayne thought was God’s gift. Greg was thirteen, knew all the cool guys in the neighborhood, and always made sure that Christopher was safe. When Mattie Phillips started beating Christopher and his best friend Andy up for their allowances, Greg said he’d take care of it. Mattie never bothered Christopher or Andy again.

  Christopher knew nothing of gangs and guns and intimidation until after they found Greg’s body in an alley. He heard those words from the immensely tall homicide detective who kept coming back to the house for a full two weeks after Greg died.

  Only then did Christopher’s nine-year-old mind realize exactly why Mattie stopped bothering him.

  After that, he started really paying attention to his surroundings. He noticed that the “cool guys” in the neighborhood were the ones who usually didn’t live to the age of twenty. He understood that nobody outside the ghetto gave a damn about the people inside it, so nobody inside gave a damn, either.

  He decided to get out. The best way, to his mind, was the Armed Forces. When he was old enough, he didn’t wait to be drafted for the Vietnam War, he enlisted with the Marines. The Corps provided him with something the ghetto never had: discipline. Things were ordered in the Marines; you followed a chain of command, you followed a procedure. Christopher Wayne thrived in that environment. He was a colonel by the age of forty-five, decorated many times, as a corporal in Vietnam and as a colonel in the Gulf War.

  Any situation that came up, Wayne knew how to deal with it. The Corps had a procedure for pretty much anything you cared to name.

  Wayne believed that, right up until he arrived on Malau—which was, if anything, even more oppressively humid than Kalor—and was introduced to Jack Ellway and a caged, nine-foot-long lizard.

  After Ellway gave the full story of what had happened on Malau over the past few days, he muttered, “Good God.” He couldn’t believe it. If Manny Moki, Joe Movita, Paul Bateman, and Ralph Hale hadn’t been with Ellway, he wouldn’t have believed it. But he knew all four men—besides which, he could not deny the evidence of his own eyes. There in the cage sat a creature that looked like it came out of one of those monster movies h
e and Andy used to sneak into when they were kids.

  He looked down at the photograph that Ellway had given him, apparently taken by some idiot paparazzo. As if this one wasn’t bad enough, he thought, its Mama’s out there somewhere. An AWAC might be able to track it from the air. I could contact the 31st MEU on Okinawa . . .

  “That’s the scale of operation we’re trying to avoid here, Colonel,” Ellway said, taking Wayne aback. The colonel hadn’t realized he was speaking out loud. Bad discipline, soldier, he admonished himself.

  Ellway continued: “Look, it’s my belief that the giant creature is searching for its offspring. I say we give it what it wants.”

  Even Hale seemed surprised at that one. “Let the nine-footer go?” the geologist said.

  “Why not capture the big one?” Wayne asked.

  “How? And how do we know we could do it without killing it? It took almost a dozen tranq darts just to put Junior here down. And even if we got it, where do we keep it? I say we tag the nine-footer, then release it. We’ll be able to tell if it’s leading the giant creature away, and to where. Then we could come back and study them.”

  Wayne looked down at the picture of the Mama Lizard again. He remembered reading that they did that with whales and other large aquatic creatures in captivity—let them back into their natural environment, but put computerized tracking devices on them so they could be monitored.

  Finally, it hit Wayne what the thing in the cage—and the one in the photo—reminded him of. Andy had had a pet gecko when he and Wayne were both ten. Andy loved that gecko, showed it more love than most kids showed to a dog or a cat. One day, he came home from school, and the thing was dead. They never did find out why, though Andy kept insisting that his stepfather killed it ’cause he never liked the thing. Both Andy and Wayne were devastated when Andy’s mother flushed the gecko down the toilet.

  “I’d like to keep these things alive,” he finally said. “But I also have to protect my men and the people of Malau.” He looked at Ellway. “How do we know the giant will see it?”

  “We’ll bring the captive to the open beach. I’ll tag it, then everyone will clear the area and wait.”

  Not the most scientific approach—but then, how else would we do it? he thought. “All right,” the colonel said, “but my people will be stationed and ready. I’ll call it as I see it, is that understood?”

  Ellway nodded. Good, Wayne thought. The last thing we need now is some egghead nutcase screwing everything up.

  As they walked back to Wayne’s helicopter, the colonel turned to Manny and Joe. “I’m gonna have to bring in two companies. Joe, I’m gonna need your help on this; keep your people off the beaches and out of the water—and out of my people’s way.”

  “No problem,” Joe said. “I’ve already got one officer laid up from that thing. I’m not in a rush for more.”

  “Neither am I. I’m willing to go along with this guy—” with his head, he indicated Ellway, walking several paces behind with Hale “—up to a point, but the minute that lives are in danger, I’m bringing the thing down.”

  They arrived at Wayne’s chopper. To the pilot, he said, “Pat, radio the base.”

  “Yes, sir,” Pat said. After a moment, the young sergeant handed Wayne the chopper radio.

  “MacArthur, this is Wayne.”

  “Got you loud and clear, sir,” came Corporal Macdonald’s cheery voice.

  “Get Alfa and Bravo mobilized and over to Malau ASAP. They’re to report directly to me.”

  “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

  “Keep everyone else on alert, just in case. Out.”

  A female voice cried out breathlessly, “I can’t find Brandon. No one’s seen him!”

  Wayne turned to see that Doctor Alyson Hart had just run up to Ellway.

  “He’s lost? My God, by lunchtime, this place could be Guadalcanal.”

  Wayne snorted at the reference as Ellway came over to the others. “Brandon’s missing. I gotta go look for him.”

  “I’ll help you,” Paul said.

  Hale said, “I’ll make sure the creature is on the beach and ready to be tagged.”

  Wayne turned to Joe. “Brandon?”

  “Ellway’s kid,” the chief explained. “Twelve years old, going on thirty.”

  “Damn, we got a kid running around loose?” Wayne shook his head. “Better turn up soon. I do not want stragglers in case things get out of hand.”

  “Get no argument from me,” Joe said.

  Brandon was having the time of his life. He and Casey had spent hours together in the lagoon. Brandon had stocked up on cheese puffs that morning—the clerk made a comment about how his father wasn’t going to like it when Brandon’s teeth turned orange—and found Casey in his usual spot. Brandon was delighted to find that Casey liked eating the cheese puffs out of his hand in exactly the same way as his namesake did with the chopped-up bits of salami Mom always made for him.

  After Casey finished one handful of puffs, and before Brandon could grab anymore, the little guy ran into the foliage.

  Oh geez, what did I do now? Then he wondered if something else had come along to spook Casey, like his older brother tramping through the jungle being chased by humans had done before.

  Then Casey peeked back out at Brandon. For a second, Brandon swore the little guy was smiling at him.

  So Brandon smiled back. “Oh, you wanna play, huh?” he said as he ran toward Casey who, for his part, dashed back into the foliage.

  For several minutes, they kept this little hide-and-seek game up, sweat dripping from Brandon’s unkempt hair, T-shirt coming untucked, shorts streaked with dirt, legs occasionally cramping from running around so much, and Brandon not caring about any of it, ’cause he and Casey were having fun. I love this place.

  At first he didn’t notice the python.

  Only when Casey let out a tiny squeak—higher-pitched then the whine he used when Brandon had so much trouble feeding him—did Brandon see the huge snake suddenly show up in their path.

  Brandon jumped back. He knew plenty about sea creatures, but next to nothing about snakes. He wasn’t even entirely sure it was a python, and he had no idea whether or not a python was poisonous.

  Casey obviously didn’t know any more than he did—or he did know, and whatever it was was bad—because he ran off into the underbrush at top speed. Casey had been playful, only running at a speed that allowed the much slower Brandon to keep up. Now, though, the little guy was obviously scared out of his mind and was just running away.

  Going in the same direction as the three-foot lizard, Brandon ran after him, but it was a lost cause. Casey was gone.

  No. He’s not gone, Brandon told himself. He’s just hiding again, and he’s just gotten better at it. He’s not gone.

  And so he kept looking.

  Kikko kept running the line from that American movie in his head: They have no idea, ’cause you’re Baretta and you’re totally cool. He had no idea why someone named after a pistol meant being cool, but Kikko really liked that line. And it helped him get through this.

  Derek had made it sound simple when he explained it to Kikko and Naru. “Look, all you gotta do is toss the sack into the truck when Marc and Mal ain’t lookin’. Soon’s it goes, we’ll nab our little prize.”

  Of course, Derek never mentioned the nerves, or the fact that Kikko’s stomach would threaten to return his lunch.

  Just stay cool. Be calm.

  Forcing himself to look as nonchalant as he possibly could, he carefully shifted the burlap sack from his left to his right shoulder—he didn’t want to break the bottle too soon—and continued ambling casually toward the truck.

  The sack was full of potassium chlorate and sugar. In and of itself, the mixture wouldn’t do much, but also in the sack was a sealed glass bottle filled with gasoline and sulphuric acid. Kikko had to toss the sack into the truck hard enough to break the bottle. It would take a few minutes for the chemical reaction to take place, but when it did,
there would be an explosion big enough to start a small fire on the truck—which Derek had planted there earlier, drained of gasoline—and draw the two cops’ attention. Marc and Mal looked spooked enough to go apeshit over the explosion, and would be too distracted to notice Derek stealing the big lizard.

  At least, that was the theory.

  Kikko had considered asking Derek where he got all this stuff—most people didn’t have sacks full of potassium chlorate, not to mention sulphuric acid, just laying around—but then decided he didn’t want to know.

  Waiting for Mal and Marc to not be looking at the truck proved fairly straightforward—they never looked at the truck. They spent all their time either looking at each other, engaged in deep conversation, or staring at the cage.

  They were, in fact, looking at the cage when Kikko passed by the truck and tossed the sack in.

  From this point, nonchalance went straight out the window. Derek was vague as to how long it would take the chemical reaction to take place, and Kikko wanted as much distance between him and the truck as he could get. Kikko walked as fast as he could without actually running away from the truck. He made it to one of the shacks that lined the beach, and moved around behind it, holding his breath.

  He let out the breath after the back of the truck exploded in a plume of fire.

  Malau’s pier was situated on a portion of the coastline that jutted out from the rest of the island’s borders. That made it a more convenient port, but it also meant that there were two blind curves in which boats could hide and come upon the pier unannounced. Normally, this wasn’t much of an issue, as people rarely needed to sneak up on the pier itself.

  Today was not a normal day. As soon as Mal and Marc ran to the truck, shotguns in hand, to investigate, Derek brought his trawler around the bend and into sight. As soon as Kikko saw him, he ran toward the pier.

  As Derek put the boat behind the cage, Kikko grabbed the ropes and moored it. Naru had a pair of bolt cutters and was trying to detach the lizard cage from the pier—a task made more difficult by the creature thrashing about inside. Christ, can’t the stupid animal see that we’re trying to free it? I mean, okay, we’re just going to sell it to some Indonesian guy, but he doesn’t know that.