Jurassic Dead (5 page)

9.

Aboard Oil Tanker Hammond-1, Erebus Point, Antarctica

“Erebrus Point, eh? Should have named it Windy-ass Bay!” Xander nearly had to yell to make himself heard over the roaring winds that buffeted the entrance to the bay, as he and the captain stepped into the glassed-in bridge from out on deck.

“Just be glad we don't have to go to Icy Balls Bay,” the captain said, clearly half in the bag, taking a seat in front of the myriad displays and instruments that controlled the massive ship. He shook with hearty laughter at his own joke as he toggled switches on the control panel. Xander wondered again how much he'd had to drink and what kind of oversight, if any, these sea captains were subject to, and especially ones DeKirk would hire.

“Sounds like a brand of rum, don't it? Icy Balls Bay, a shot a day!” The captain kept going as he looked over his head at an array of instrumentation.

Xander didn't laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Hey, maybe we should focus a little. Is there a dock or something?”

The captain made a sharp exhalation that caused little flecks of spittle to pepper the GPS display in front of him. “Sure, mate, right next to the waterfront pub with the girlies in cute little outfits servin' up trays of Icy Balls on the rocks! 'Cept the girls are penguins, and the rocks are icebergs waitin' to tear this ship a new one.” He paused, looking over at Xander to see how he was reacting before continuing.

“No, there ain't no dock. There's a couple small piers here and there around this blasted ice continent, but this bay has none, and this ship is too big to navigate them 'bergs in there, anyway.” He pointed deeper into the bay where the ocean's surface became studded with white rocks.

Xander appeared confused. “I thought this was an ice-breaker, made for this kind of stuff?” He waved an arm through the windscreen at the iceberg-strewn expanse of water between them and the rocky shoreline.

The captain pressed a button to release the tanker's massive anchor. “Is that what you thought? Imagine that. DeKirk actually giving a shit about anybody's safety. Look here.” He patted the dashboard. “This ship's state-of-the-art, it's new, it's badass, but not in the way you think. You see, this oversized metal tub is faster than shit, for a metal tub, but in order to achieve that speed, something else needed to be sacrificed, and that something else was the icebreaking layer, which is heavy as shit.”

“Why would you want that?”

“
DeKirk
wants it so's we can reach the Adranos Island quick-like, as soon as we leave this ice-pit.”

“What is this I keep hearing about Adranos—”

The captain raised a hand as his marine radio crackled. “Shush now. Time to get to work so we can get outta here.”

Xander muttered something under his breath as the captain engaged in some kind of technical chatter on the radio. The conversation became a little more heated, though, when the person on the other end asked if the captain could bring the ship closer.

“Negative. You bring it out here on the barge. We'll be waitin' with Hell's bells on.”

He cursed under his breath as he hung up the radio transmitter.

#

About an hour later, a long, flat vessel motored up to the
Hammond
and tied up alongside. Its deck was littered with shipping containers and industrial equipment. Multiple personnel busied themselves on deck like worker ants in a large colony. On the tanker's bridge, the captain barked orders through a PA system related to operating a large crane to his crew outside on deck.

As Xander watched, an oblong crate was crane-hoisted from the barge to the work deck of the tanker.  He recalled with a shiver of excitement the image that he'd seen earlier on the laptop from his quarters. Xander left the bridge while the captain was still hollering at his crew through the PA. He descended a flight of ice-covered metal stairs, slipping once and banging his head on the railing, to a deck that wrapped around the ship's bridge tower. The shouts of working crewmen rang out across the ship. As he looked down on the tanker's work deck, the excavated find was transferred from the crane hoist to a large forklift, a dozen burly men putting in a lot of physical effort to center the crate on the lift.

Xander watched as one man walked up to the crew foreman directing the work team. He looked very much out of place holding a clipboard and without the hardhat or rubber overalls the ship's crew wore. Xander watched as the foreman became irritated with the man and hurriedly pointed in the direction of the cargo hold as the forklift started to roll. Xander also made his way down to the hold, recalling the gigantic chains set into the walls. When he walked through the huge double-doors, currently held open, he saw the newcomer trailing the forklift as it came to a stop well into the hold's cavernous interior.

Xander caught up with him as he stood there gawking at the spectacle of it all, at the huge set of shackles, at the crate now being slid off the forklift, the impromptu living space set aside in the hold. He could see now that he had a Hispanic look about him, and a sort of quiet intensity that suggested either continued awe in the presence of such a find, or more likely—a man scheming for a way to get what he wanted. Xander squinted at the man critically.

The observer appeared almost startled, as though Xander had woken him from a pleasant dream by dumping a bucket of water on his head. He shook it off and extended his hand. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“I'm Xander Dyson, Director of Scientific Research for Melvin DeKirk Enterprises, and you are?”

“Dyson, you say? I'm Dr. Marcus Ramirez, Chief Paleontologist for DeKirk’s expedition here.”

Xander regarded him coolly, never taking the doctor’s hand. Now he was up to speed on who this was, and he recognized a threat, however minor, when he saw one.

“Let's get one thing straight. You're not the
chief
anything here. I'm in charge now, and I believe you’ll find your services are no longer required.” He pointed at the crate, now being pried apart by six crew with crowbars. “This specimen is the culmination of years of planning and hard work. You were brought on for your expertise in a very narrow area that helped us to achieve this means. Don't forget your place in the food chain, and we'll get along just fine until we reach port, and then you can catch the next flight home, or wherever it is you go when you’re not digging around in the ice.”

Marcus’s face cycled through a few shades of red, settling on a particularly eye-catching crimson hue. “Mr. DeKirk signs my paychecks, not you. This specimen is absolutely my responsibility until we reach the island.”

The sound of plywood boards slapping the metal floor echoed in the hold. Marcus turned his head to look, but Xander grabbed him by the arm, pulling him away. “Come with me.”

Marcus tried to shake off the surprisingly firm grip. “Let go of me.”

“I don’t think so. You’ve left me little choice, so now, let's talk about your son. C'mon.” Xander started walking deeper into the hold, beckoning Marcus to follow. The crew was still working on the crate, so he trailed Xander past a bulkhead into the middle section of the hold. He was surprised to see a brig area—a tiny office staffed by one crewman across from a small jail cell lit by a bare bulb in a wire cage on the wall. He was even more surprised to see his son inside it, sitting on a threadbare metal bunk, head in his hands.

“Alex! How the hell did you—?”

Alex snapped his head up at the sound of his father's voice.

“Dad! DeKirk's soldier goons put me in here! What's going on?”

The crewman seated at the small desk across from the cell turned a laptop around so that its screen faced Marcus. DeKirk's wizened visage filled the display as he began to speak.

“I'll tell you what's going on.” The entrepreneur spoke forcefully, commanding the attention of all in the room. “Dr. Ramirez, as you probably already heard, but refused to accept from my associate, Mr. Dyson, I am terminating your position as of right now. You will be dropped off at a port in Chile, with your return airfare to the U.S. paid for. Is that clear?”

Xander grinned smugly and crossed his arms.

“No! That is
not
acceptable. I was brought on to conduct research, not to be cast aside like some greenhorn post-doc as soon as an exciting discovery is made so that this...this corporate
misfit
can take over!” He glared at Xander with contempt.

DeKirk's voice boomed through the laptop again. “Speaking of misfits, take a look at your son, Marcus.” Marcus glanced at Alex, who shrunk beneath his gaze in the grimy cell.

“His fate is entirely up in the air right now. We could keep him in the brig for weeks—months, even—until we reach a U.S. port in which to turn him over to authorities there for acts of vandalism, international espionage, manslaughter...” He paused, enjoying the look of fear on Alex's face and the distaste on his father's. “Or we could even hand him over to the Russians and see if they have an opinion as to what should happen to him.”

“Mr. DeKirk! I respectfully…” Marcus began, but DeKirk rolled over him, holding up a hand on the Skype window.

“
Or...
we have a third option.” At this, Marcus quieted, waiting for DeKirk to continue.

“As I was saying, we could simply drop you and your son off in Chile together, where you both will be free to return home. This would be in return for your absolute silence regarding our operations here and upholding the nondisclosure documents you already signed at the time of your hiring, as well as your acceptance of the fact that you are now merely a passenger aboard my ship, in no way acting in a working capacity.”

Marcus looked from Alex then back at DeKirk on the Skype window. “My find…all the announcements and press. The release of the discovery…”

DeKirk shook his head, a slight smirk on his face.

Marcus fumed inside. “You never intended to share this find with the world, did you? You needed me to help you find it, but…not to legitimize it after?”

DeKirk shook his head, eyes never wavering from Marcus’.

“So…what then? What are you going to do with it?”

“That, Dr. Ramirez, you will find out, along with the rest of the world.”

He lowered his eyes. “Son of a bitch.”

“I’m sorry,” DeKirk said. “I didn’t hear that clearly with this connection.”

Xander, off to the side, leaning against a bulkhead with his arms crossed, gave his own smirk.

DeKirk leaned in closer, turning his head so that his ear was to the microphone. “Did you say you agreed?”

Marcus sighed. He glanced again at Alex, restrained and looking miserable and lost.
Goddamn.
They had him, and they knew it.

“Deal.”

It took all of Marcus’s willpower not to punch the self-satisfied grin off Xander's stupid face, while the crewman behind the jailer’s desk stood up with the key for Alex’s release.

10.

Aboard Oil Tanker Hammond-1, Erebus Point, Antarctica

The utility closet in the ship's cargo hold wasn't the most comfortable place from which Veronica Winters had ever conducted a stakeout, which was for sure. Cramped, smelling of oil and rat urine, and full of rusty spare parts, what it lacked in comfort, it made up for with a stealth factor that allowed her to observe the happenings in this part of the hold. Her smartphone, connected via shipboard satellite service, would tell her if the ship's “doctor” was being paged. Until that happened, she would learn what she could about that creep, Xander.
It should be you in that cell, you bastard,
she thought, looking out through the door, slightly ajar.

She would also have to learn a little more about whatever the hell that thing was that had just been loaded aboard in the crate. There was certainly a high degree of fuss about it, but that was secondary to nailing Xander. She watched as he told the paleontologist that he should feel free never to call him for a reference while he looked for a new job, and then Xander walked out of the brig area toward the main cargo hold where the crate was. She heard shouts from in there, as if something was happening. It sounded like it should keep Xander busy for a little while.

Peering out from the closet, she saw the jailer call after Xander. Heard Xander say
follow me
, and he, too, left the brig area. She nudged the door just wide enough for her to slip through, praying it wouldn't creak, and then, while the father was telling his kid something about having a serious talk, Veronica slipped out of the closet.

She made a right turn, away from the commotion surrounding the crate, and tip-toed past the Ramirez reunion deeper into the cargo hold. As the ship's supposed doctor, she had been required to know the tanker's layout well, since she was expected to get to any part of the ship quickly in case of a medical emergency. To this end, she had studied the ship's diagrams and blueprints given to her by the captain, and now this prior familiarization with the ship was coming in handy, because while Xander was preoccupied, she would find out what the hell he was doing here by ransacking his quarters.

She knew his room was private—a rare luxury at sea—and located not in the hold, but on one of the bridge tower levels. She could get there by traveling through the long hold which ran nearly the length of the ship, which would also keep her a little more out of sight.

She crept past mostly empty, cave-like spaces that were dimly lit and stocked with unopened shipping containers—the kind that occasionally fell overboard and released their precious cargoes of Nike shoes and plasma TVs. She doubted the ones here contained mundane consumer items, though, knowing DeKirk, but right now that wasn't her concern.

Veronica kept moving, sticking to the shadows and staying low between the storage containers when she heard the voices of crew nearby. For the most part, it was easy going and after a while, she reached a circular stairwell leading up. She ascended, adopting an official air about her as soon as she reached the outer deck, as if she was headed somewhere on business and had to get there fast, no time to chat.

She knew there was a corridor of quarters for VIP guests, meaning that other than the captain's quarters, they were the nicest accommodations on the ship, and private rather than spaces crammed with triple bunks. She pounded up more flights of metal stairs, traversed a couple of wire mesh catwalks, and then pulled a door that opened into a short hallway with doors spaced at even intervals on both sides.

Guest quarters. She had taken a look earlier at the room assignment chart and knew Xander's quarters to be one of these, #412. She found the marked door about halfway down the hall on the right. She tried the knob.

Locked. As the shipboard physician, she did have keys to certain areas but the private rooms were not among them. Years of field work as a CIA operative certainly had its benefits though, and so Veronica looked both ways down the hall and then removed a lock pick from the medical bag she carried. She defeated the simple lock within ten seconds, opened the door, and slipped inside. She eased the door softly shut behind her.

Xander's quarters consisted of a single ten-by-ten room with an adjoining closet-sized bathroom, which she checked and found to be empty. In the main room, there was a single bed, a simple desk, and dresser. By the looks of things, Xander travelled light and did little but sleep in here, and probably not even much of that. She searched the dresser drawers—completely empty. She saw a duffel bag at the foot of the bed and rifled through it. Just clothing, nothing in the pockets. She saw a single shallow drawer in the desk and went to it, sliding it open.

A white MacBook Air lay closed inside.

A smile eased its way across Veronica's lips as she set the machine on the desk, flipped it open, and lit the thing up. She was immediately greeted with a password prompt, not unexpected, but she knew some rudimentary CIA hacking tricks, restarting it in safe mode, gaining administrator access, bypassing the security altogether, and accessing the root directories.

Biochemists,
she thought with a smirk.

In moments, she was looking at Xander's programs and files. There were the usual office productivity applications, but also some specialized programs as well. Her brow furrowed as she read a few of the names: Matlab, Stata, ChemPro, GenTrack, and SequenceGuru...

What the hell were these programs?
She clicked one at random.

The title of one of the panes read,
Gene Mutation
, and beneath that were twin columns of data with values like, Tac-1, Pep-4, etc. Veronica had heard the shipboard rumors of dinosaurs being pulled from the underground lake, but she figured they were just boring bones. Why would Xander—or anyone—be working with genes already if they didn't have any actual dinosaurs yet?
Wishful thinking?
Did they find a way to clone them from bones that still had some marrow left?

Suddenly, she felt a vibration in her pocket and pulled out her smartphone, reading the text on screen, a red exclamation point accompanying the message: URGENT: SHIP'S DOCTOR REPORT TO AFT WORK DECK IMMEDIATELY FOR CREW INJURY WITH HEAVY EQUIPMENT!

It was the first such page she'd received since boarding the tanker in South America
.
Just as she was beginning to think shipboard doctors had it easy...
Crap! Who would have thought these at-sea M.D.s actually has to work?
Her cover was predicated on the fact that statistically, a few days on board should be incident free, meaning that all she would need to do was fill a few prescriptions from the infirmary.
So much for that.

Skimming rapidly through one of the other panes on the screen, she saw a table of electron micrographs depicting the inner workings of various microbes, none of which meant anything to her, as well as what looked like an X-ray with the caption,
Cross-section of Cerebellum Post-injection
. A block of dense, jargon-laced text with terms like,
weaponized
,
Mesozoic viral load
,
reptilian host, cross-species vector
...Realizing she had no time to take all this in now, she used her smartphone to snap a picture of the screen.

Veronica hurriedly closed the app and shut down Xander's Macbook. She put it back in the desk and stepped back to look at the entire area to make sure everything looked as it had before she got here.
Check
.

She put her ear to the door, listening for a moment to make certain no one was coming down the hall.
Clear
. Then she opened the door and slipped into the hallway, closing the door softly behind her.

She checked the handle to make sure it was locked and then proceeded down the hall, holding her phone out in front of her as though she were a busy doctor just receiving an alert.