More Than Paradise (24 page)

Yesterday, in front of her tent, a tree kangaroo had sat in her lap and offered her some of the berries it was eating. Until that moment it had never occurred to Charlotte that a caring accord between humans and animals in the wild was not only possible but could be a natural state of affairs. The birds and animals in these enchanted mountains knew nothing of the reign of terror humans had inß icted on every living creature sharing the planet. Their behavior was as close as possible to nature’s intent, and fear was not genetically encoded. The Fojas were a living illustration of the global paradise humans had lost.

Ever since that moment of realization Charlotte had swung

• 161 •

JENNIFER FULTON

between awe and desperate sadness, knowing what might have been and hating that, no matter how good their intentions, the expedition was a threat to the serenity this region had known since the beginning of time. She knew she was not the only one who had this on her mind.

After their Þ rst day of frenzied Þ eld work and startling discoveries, conversation around the mess area had been surprisingly sparse, the atmosphere one of quiet reß ection.

The initial jittery elation they’d felt from the moment they tumbled out of Ash’s helicopter had given way to a sober realization people slowly began to articulate. By the end of the evening they’d all agreed that the last thing they wanted was for their work here to open the ß oodgates to numerous research teams, tourists, business, and the whole unstoppable cycle.

A couple of the moodier team members had even suggested they return to Kwerba and devote their lives to circulating stories of a giant man-eating spider and a species of anaconda so huge they disguised themselves as tree trunks. They’d even come up with a name for the fearsome predator,
Eunectes rex homicides.
The group discussed the idea quite seriously for several minutes before concluding that such speculation would only be an invitation to poachers and Hollywood movie producers.

Charlotte looked around again; then, satisÞ ed that she was completely alone, she opened the Þ g and probed the pulpy contents with the tip of her tongue. If it was poison, there would be a reaction.

She waited for the telltale numbness, burning sensation, or bitter taste.

The tiny sample was a little sour, but no worse than the subtropical tamarillo fruit. Remarkably, it bore a hint of the muskiness found in the best Þ g cultivars.

Thinking,
This is a historic moment
and
Perhaps this is what the
very Þ rst Þ gs tasted like to Neolithic woman
, Charlotte sank her teeth in. She hadn’t even chewed the Þ rst momentous mouthful when another fruit landed in her lap. She started in fright and choked on her sample as a bizarre creature, neither man nor beast, stepped out from behind a mahogany tree.

Charlotte had taken courses in evolutionary biology and sedimentary petrology at college, contemplating a career in paleoanthropology if her Þ rst love didn’t pan out. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw. The individual appeared to be a hirsute male hominid who possessed primitive skills—he had woven

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a grass covering for his genitalia. His entire body was smeared with dark clay as though in an attempt to mimic the appearance of a West Papua tribesman; however, the skin tone was Caucasian. Charlotte’s Þ rst thought was
Bigfoot!
but there was one serious problem.

The creature had a head that could only be described as a nightmare mutation. Covered in a mop of reddish hair that suggested Neanderthal origins, it was peculiarly elongated, the facial characteristics reminiscent of a marsupial. This tragedy of genetics had adorned itself with a large collar of leaves and feathers, perhaps another sad bid to be seen as belonging to a local tribe.

Despite her apprehension, Charlotte felt sorry for him. She and the kangaroo man regarded each other for several seconds, then Charlotte had a brainwave and took out a small ß ashlight she could offer in exchange for the fruit gift he’d thrown. She wondered if the individual had any language. And what if he had a family? Imagine how famous the expedition would be. The Flores Island “hobbit” would be chopped liver compared to a Þ nd like this.

Charlotte tried some sign language, cupping her hands to her heart and lowering her gaze in case the creature saw eye contact as a challenge. Very slowly, she looked up again and pointed toward herself, saying gently, “Charlotte.”

The creature did the same thing and said in a thick Aussie accent,

“Bruce the Roo at your service.”

Charlotte knew her mouth had fallen open, but she was so shocked she could only stare.

Eventually the kangaroo man said, “Dr. Lascelles, right?”

“That’s right.”

“A pleasure and a privilege. I read your paper on the healing properties of the Peruvian
Eustephia
. Bloody fascinating, although I take issue with your argument about the ethics of hiring local
curanderos
. It’s still biopiracy, doesn’t matter how you want to dress it up.”

Charlotte was lost for words. What did one say to a man in a fake marsupial head, wearing a grass loin-pouch and trying to debate ethnobotany in the middle of a lost world that was supposed to be inaccessible by foot? And he looked like he lived here. How was that possible?

“Why the fake kangaroo head?” she asked, for lack of a more erudite response.

• 163 •

JENNIFER FULTON

“The kangaroo has a symbolic meaning in shamanism,” he said. “Because of its jumping ability it helps us overcome fears and inhibitions that stop us doing what we really want.”

“Similar to alcohol?” she observed dryly.

“Sarcasm does not become you. There’s also a New Guinean myth,” he continued intrepidly. “A female roo saw the very Þ rst human couple here in the Garden of Eden after they’d just Þ nished doing the wild thing and it ate the leaves they’d been lying on. It got pregnant from eating sperm and gave birth to a human boy called Sisinjori.”

“So this is in honor of the myth?” Charlotte concluded.

“Yes, and I don’t want anyone to see my face.”

“Why not?” Charlotte imagined a disÞ guring accident.

“Because there’s a price on my head.”

Wonderful. She was out here with a felon. Charlotte contemplated screaming but her companion shook his snout at her.

“Don’t scream, Doctor, or I’ll have to shoot.” He raised a weapon.

“That’s a tranquilizer gun,” Charlotte said disdainfully, not sure whether to run or try to talk her way out of whatever mess she was in. Was this a kidnapping? Had there been a reason for all the security after all? And where were the Nagle guards now that she really needed one?

“Imagine what could happen while you’re out cold as a mackerel.

Maybe your friend Billy Bob will wake up and Þ nd you before the cavalry shows up.”

“Billy Bob?”

He gestured toward a shape lying inert in the darkness behind him.

“Your minder.”

“Oh, my God. Is he dead?”

“He can be.” Calmly, he offered her the weapon.

“Are you insane?” She didn’t mean for the question to be taken literally but he appeared to consider a reply necessary.

“Sanity is relative. Your president invaded a country so that his friends could make money from a war. Is that sane?”

“Immorality and insanity are not the same thing.”

“What do you call a sane man who chooses villainy instead of honor?”

“A criminal,” Charlotte replied.

“My point exactly.” He walked over to Billy Bob and nudged

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MORE THAN PARADISE

him with a toe, coaxing, “Wakey, wakey.” When there was no sign of movement, he cajoled, “He wouldn’t feel a thing.”

“No!” Charlotte spluttered. “What on earth would make you think I could do such a thing?”

“You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?” When she hesitated he said,

“My animal instincts are seldom wrong.”

Charlotte was not entirely surprised by that assertion. “I don’t go around killing people, even ones I don’t like. What about you, Mr. Roo?

You said there’s a price on your head. Are you a criminal?”

“It depends who you talk to.” He took Billy Bob by the ankles and dragged him to an intensely shadowed spot, then kicked a layer of leaf mold over him. “I am a thorn in the side of corrupt authority, an archenemy of the Indonesian death merchants, defender of the forests…”

“You’re an environmental activist?” she interpreted.

“I prefer Knight of the Order of Gaia.”

He
was
crazy, she thought. “What do you want with me?”

“Just a small favor.”

Charlotte had a bad feeling about this. “Let’s get to the speciÞ cs. I have a
Ficus
to document.”

“You’re connected with Belton Pharmaceuticals, aren’t you?”

“Yes, my employer is conducting one of their key research projects.”

“What would you say if I told you I know where there is a compound every pharmaceutical company in the world would kill for?”

“I’d say what’s in it for you?”

He waved an arm around. “This. I want a guarantee that this will never be touched. No loggers. No mining companies. Soldiers stationed at every point of access to keep the murdering, lying, thieving bastards out of here.”

“I have no control over what happens here politically.”

“True,” he conceded. “But you work for the people who could make it happen. And that’s why I’m talking to you.”

“Well, I don’t think I can be of any help. I’m not a lobbyist. Once I’ve completed my study, I will be making various recommendations, but it’s not as if I can start demanding the kinds of things you are suggesting. I’m a researcher, not—”

“Let me show you something,” he interrupted. “I think you’re in for a shock.”

• 165 •

JENNIFER FULTON

He offered his muddied arm and Charlotte took it reluctantly and allowed herself to be escorted away from the approved research perimeter, in the wrong direction from the camp, where she would never be located. She could hear Ash already.

“I’m not so sure about this,” she said, staring up into a pair of glassy, unblinking brown eyes. She wished he’d take off the mask.

“Ever done any rappelling?” he asked.

“Yes. My family went hiking and caving a lot when I was a kid.”

“No worries, then,” he said cheerfully. “It’s only eighty feet down.”

v

Ash called Charlotte’s cell phone yet again, ignoring her own directives to the team about not wasting battery power and conÞ ning calls to real emergencies. When Charlotte still didn’t pick up, she sent a text message.

“Hey, beautiful. Where are you?”

She continued to search the pegged-out area Charlotte was supposed to be working within. It was too soon to sound the alarm or involve anyone else. At the best of times most of the scientists were vague about boundaries and prone to plunging headlong into the forest if they thought they heard one of their endangered species. No one went looking for them and reported them missing after two hours. Ash would be inviting speculation if she treated Charlotte any differently.

After what had passed between them, she found it very disturbing that Charlotte hadn’t returned to the camp at any point during the day.

Ash had said she would be around. She had to make up some supply lists for the helicopter drop tomorrow so she could call in the order to Klaus. They would be changing places, too, with Ash ß ying the Huey back to Kwerba. Klaus was bringing in the female contractor who was Ash’s ticket out of here.

Only, she now felt uneasy about leaving. She didn’t understand what was going on with Charlotte. Ever since they’d made love she’d been acting strangely, keeping her distance. Ash thought maybe she was overwhelmed and needed some time to come to terms with the change in their dynamic. Things had happened pretty fast and Ash sensed Charlotte was somewhat disoriented.

Perhaps she felt the need to scuttle back inside her scientist shell

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MORE THAN PARADISE

for a while. Ash was trying to respect that, so she gave her space and hadn’t spent all day following her around, waiting for some affection.

She trusted Charlotte would return to her, happy and together, when she was ready.

Stiß ing her disappointment, Ash peered into the sullen gloom where she’d expected to see her new lover doing something with a leaf.

Twilight was fast fading and the forest seemed more sinister than ever.

The trees rose with ghostly menace, their upper limbs knitted together in a murky wickerwork ceiling high above.

Maybe Charlotte had been suckered into helping one of the other scientists who needed an extra pair of hands. It wouldn’t be the Þ rst time. She was always generous about that compared with some of her colleagues. Lately Ash had noticed her and Simon Flight working together on and off. Maybe he’d taken her to the upper canopy for a change of scene. Charlotte had mentioned she wanted some time up there in the sunlight and he’d offered his company.

Ash decided she was being overly possessive. She didn’t have a whole lot of practice at ongoing situations with a woman. The most she’d managed in many years was an occasional repeat encounter with a one-nighter she genuinely liked. There were no regular girlfriends, and now that she thought about it, she realized how much easier that had made her life. Who needed the complication? Her Þ rst lovemaking with Charlotte was not twenty-four hours old, yet here she was, torturing herself like a teenager waiting by the phone.

There was no reason on earth why Charlotte should suddenly start reporting in to her because they’d had sex. Normally, Ash never got an ownership complex about any woman. But part of her reveled in this new possessiveness because it proved the existence of emotions she thought had been extinguished in her. At the same time she was aware of being far outside of her comfort zone, in unfamiliar territory, trying to Þ nd her bearings in a new landscape.

She was certain Charlotte was equally unstuck, and she could see a certain irony in their situation. Charlotte, she suspected, had never had really great sex, physically speaking. And Ash had never had great sex, emotionally. Their lovemaking had been a revelation for her because she felt whole and complete through every moment of it. For once, she’d had sex with her feelings involved and it felt wonderful.