The Lost Island

59

Gideon sprinted toward the camp along the makeshift road that EES had slashed through the forest, the great trees cut and bulldozed aside like so many matchsticks, the shoulders banked with a confusion of ripped vegetation, broken trunks, crushed flowers, and tangled vines.

The camp was in chaos. The main generator and its fuel tanks were burning ferociously, smoke and flames leaping into the sky, threatening to set afire a second set of tanks supplying the backup generator. Several men battled the fire with fire extinguishers. Three horribly mangled soldiers lay scattered on the ground, two obviously dead, while medics worked on the third, who was shrieking in pain. The electric perimeter fence had been torn apart in several places, and the remaining soldiers were spooked, shooting in panic into the dense wall of jungle every time they thought they heard a noise or saw movement.

Almost immediately Gideon found himself surrounded by angry-looking soldiers.

“I want to see Glinn,” he said.

The soldiers searched him roughly, handcuffed him, then shoved him toward Glinn’s tent. Drawing back the flap, they pushed him inside.

From his wheelchair, Glinn was briefing a pair of armed commandos along with another incredibly bulked-up man, with massive shoulders, a neck as thick as a tree stump, wearing camo and a Rambo-style wifebeater, with a shaved head and goatee. Ignoring Gideon, Glinn continued speaking to the men. “You have your instructions. Track it with the dogs. Don’t engage it — drive it back this way. Keep in radio contact. We’ll be ready. Understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Glinn,” said the beefy man.

“Dismissed.”

Only now did Glinn turn to gaze at him coldly. While still preternaturally calm, he was breathing rapidly and shallowly, and there was a look in that gray eye Gideon had not seen before. In the background, he could hear the barking of dogs.

“What happened?” Glinn asked brusquely.

Gideon told him everything. Glinn listened, his face expressionless. When Gideon had finished, he was silent for a moment. Then he shifted in his wheelchair.

“Garza initiated this?” He thought for a moment. “I’m not sure if I should shoot you or free you.”

“I’d rather it was the latter.”

Glinn turned to the soldiers. “Remove the handcuffs.”

They complied.

“So the mysterious client is you,” said Gideon. “And you lied. You’re going to sell the drug, not give it away.”

“Yes, I am the client. But that changes nothing. And Manuel’s wrong about the money. I’ve set up a foundation that will still get the drug to the general populace for virtually nothing, with only a small percentage to be set aside for the use of EES—”

A crump sounded beyond the tent, temporarily drowning out Glinn’s voice, the yellow glow of fire penetrating the side of the tent. There was more shouting outside, a burst of automatic weapons fire.

“Your partner showed up,” Glinn said. “She set our fuel dump afire, destroyed the primary generator, and disabled the backup. In the chaos she freed the Cyclops. The creature then went on a rampage. You saw the carnage. And after it had killed without mercy, it grabbed her and took her off into the jungle. I would have said she was a hostage, except that she showed no signs of struggling.” He stared at Gideon. “Now: what are you doing here?”

“I came back because I’m partly responsible.”

“With that I would agree.”

“I don’t mean in that way. If you hadn’t come here, set fire to the jungle, caged the Cyclops — none of this would have occurred.”

“The killings occurred because Amiko freed the creature.”

Gideon waved this away. “I’m not going to argue with you. There isn’t time. I’m here because I can make things right.”

“How, exactly?”

“The creature isn’t a brute animal — it can be reached. If I go out there, alone, unarmed…I might have some influence. And Amiko will listen to me. Together we might calm him down, bring him in with the lotus.”

Glinn stared at him, his face shut down like a blank mask. “It will destroy you.”

“I’ll take that chance.”

For a moment, Glinn went entirely still. Then he shifted again in the wheelchair. “We’re so far outside our strategic predictions that anything is worth trying, even a plan as feeble as yours. I will allow it on one condition only: you go armed.”

“I won’t kill him.”

“Take it anyway.” Glinn gestured to his aide, who grabbed an M16 from a nearby rack, along with a couple of extra magazines, and silently handed them to Gideon. Gideon grabbed a headlamp, then nodded and turned to leave.

“One other thing.”

Gideon glanced over his shoulder.

“Don’t make the mistake of trusting it—or Amiko.”