Leap - 02 (24 page)

48

Less than ten miles away, aboard the corvette, Lieutenant Wang Chao watched over the shoulder of Hoa Ling, his lead biologist.  Like Chao, Ling had been handpicked by General Wei, as were the other four members of Ling’s team.  They were the best in China, and probably in all of Asia.  And if any of them were bothered by their extreme working conditions below deck, none showed it. 

What the Americans didn’t know was that their ship wasn’t much of a corvette class at all, at least not anymore.  Below deck, it had been completely gutted.  Virtually all armaments and weaponry systems had been replaced with a science lab and even larger storage area.  The only parts that had been kept were those that ensured the ship would float.  Even the living quarters were reduced to the point of sheer necessity.  With a minimal crew and science team, the gutting was the only thing that made it possible to store five weeks of extraction efforts in the cool, dark recesses of the boat’s bow.  Chao’s ship was a corvette in appearance only.

Standing before both of them was a giant machine called a nanoscale magnetic torque transducer.  Or as Ling’s team called it, the ‘nano-mag.’  It was required for the painstaking process in molecular biology referred to as
transduction
.  In 1951, researchers in Wisconsin demonstrated the process of using a common virus to elicit an enzyme reaction, which then allowed for the DNA in one cell to be replicated or ‘cloned’ to another.  And while the process had been honed over the years for better efficiency, the fundamental steps were surprisingly similar to those first steps documented over fifty years before.

Ling removed a small vial of clear liquid from the machine and screwed on the top.  He then placed it into a thin, rectangular box next to him, which held two more vials.  The inside lining of the box was ice cold, constructed specifically to house the vials at a near zero temperature during transit.  Ling closed the lid and secured the clasp before presenting the box to Chao.

“They’re ready.”

Chao took the box and examined it, impressed.  The exterior did not feel any noticeably cooler to the touch.  What he held in his hands was the first complete extraction of the plant’s genome and biological material.  The vials were filled with thousands of bacteria cells, all painstakingly injected with the plant’s chromosomal DNA through transduction.  The cells were held dormant by the ice cold medium inside.  Only above temperatures of thirty degrees Fahrenheit would they thaw and become active.

Chao went to a nearby station and wrapped a thick metal band around the box.  Next to it, he wrapped another band of thick paper, with an intricate wax seal.  If the box were opened, the recipient would know it.  Of course, it was overkill in Chao’s opinion.  After all, there would only be four people who touched the box, including Ling and Chao.

Chao immediately left the lab and carried the package up the metal ladder.  He emerged from the ship and onto the deck.  He then crossed the gangway where a soldier was waiting at attention.  Another lieutenant, and one of impeccable reputation. 

The man saluted to Chao, who returned it before handing the box to him.  There were no misunderstandings.  Either the man delivered the box personally, or he and his entire family had better already be dead.

Chao watched the man walk briskly to the truck and climb in. 
Would he make it?
  Chao wondered.  Then another thought occurred to him. 
Did he even care?
 

Chao was also selected personally by General Wei but for a very different reason.  Chao was ruthless.  And ruthless in ways that literally redefined the word. 

He’d served under the General before, and his reputation became well-known after one of their incursions.  After a particularly nasty battle, Chao’s team had won the fight.  But what he had done to enemy survivors left his entire platoon in disbelief. 

But he was here now.  Chao had been tapped again by Wei to get a job done, and to get it done without any emotional interference.  What it really meant was to do it without any emotional baggage. 

Oddly, Chao had always found the whole thing puzzling, if not entertaining.  Being able to completely distance yourself from human emotion was an asset, not a liability.  After all, how many commanding officers were willing to kill their own men?

Chao watched the small truck disappear to the east and turned to watch three of his Typhoons pull up.  He climbed a small weeded slope to reach a dirt plateau where the trucks had stopped.  He walked around to the back of the first truck while the driver eagerly got out and ran back to meet him.  The driver inserted a key and opened the heavy door.

Inside, he could see them.  Their dull green tanks were still barely visible within the truck’s darkened interior.  Chao stepped inside and examined one.  The harness was old and the straps frayed.  Not surprising, given they hadn’t been used since the Vietnam War.  Most countries had discontinued their use or even banned them outright.  Of course, they were always a contingency, but Chao never expected to have to use them, and certainly not this soon.  Yet, in the end, a plan that remained flexible was a plan that won.

Chao browsed the dozens of additional tanks stacked neatly behind each backpack.  Each was filled with liquid propane.  They were called ‘mechanical incendiary devices’ but they were known the world over by a more distinct name: flamethrowers.

The best and most ironic part was the original manufacturer: the United States military.

Twenty minutes later, Chao tossed a large bag onto the seat then climbed into the cab of the first truck.  He gave the order to move out. 

The tires on each of the Ural Typhoons dug into the ground and surged forward.  Chao looked out his window and into the truck’s side view mirror, watching the ship slowly shrink behind them. 

It would be his last trip up.

49

São Luis was the capital of the Brazilian state of Maranhão, and the only one of Brazil’s state capitals originally founded by France.  With two major sea ports and almost a million residents, São Luis was a burgeoning South American metropolis.

Jose Vierra had lived in São Luis his entire life and paid no attention to the overhead noise from the nearby airport.  Frankly, in his stupor, he was simply too drunk to notice.  Instead he was cursing at his girlfriend, telling her for the last time to get onto his damn motorcycle!

His girlfriend stood at the top of the steps with her arms folded defiantly.  Even as buzzed as she was, she wasn’t getting on with him.

Finally, Jose screamed at her and grew more incensed when she proceeded to flip him off.  She then turned around and stormed back inside the bar.

Seething, he fumbled to get the kickstand down and turn the motorcycle off again.  He was just about to dismount when he noticed a figure appear out of the darkness, carrying a large bag.

Steve Caesare smiled at him, having observed the exchange.  “Honeymoon must not be going well, eh?”

Vierra made a puzzled face from under his thick, sweaty brow.

Caesare shrugged.  The man didn’t speak English.  It didn’t matter.  He needed transportation, and this fellow looked like just the type of generous person he was hoping for.

DeeAnn could see the outlines of the small shacks just within range of the campfire light.  The roaring flames leapt high off the tall pile of wood, illuminating everything around them, including the trucks and even the faint glow of Alves’ white helicopter in the distance.

Several yards behind DeeAnn was a large area with rows of wood and wire mesh cages.  They were old and rusted, some of the framing barely holding together.  It was a disgusting sight, reminding her of that terrible compound in Mexico.  She refused to look and instead kept her eyes on Dulce and Dexter, both caged next to her.

“Can we please let them out?  Just for a few minutes?” she pleaded.

Alves seemed to be growing even more indifferent.  On the other side of the fire, he sat in a wooden chair and lifted a large bottle to his lips, drinking what resembled a green sludge.  He lowered the bottle and looked at her, wiping his lips with a cloth napkin.  “No.”

“What is wrong with you?!” she cried.  “You’re torturing them!”  Dulce was visibly trembling now, and Dexter was still gripping his cage tightly.  She could smell Dexter’s fear as he repeatedly urinated.

Alves made no attempt to answer.

“Listen,” DeeAnn continued, “you don’t understand what you’re doing!  You still need them, don’t you?  How are you going to learn where he’s from if they’re both too frightened to speak?!”

Alves took a breath, and finally turned to her.  “And how would I find out if we took them out and they escaped?”  He paused, waiting rhetorically.  “I’ll take my chances.”  He calmly raised his bottle and took another gulp of sludge.

The man had no idea.  Dulce hadn’t spoken since they’d landed and she was now sweating profusely.  It was so much that DeeAnn could see the sheen on her fur in the firelight.

Even worse was where they were.  It was the poacher camp where Dexter was first captured while trying to free the other monkeys.  Just the mental trauma alone from being here was probably enough to keep Dexter from ever talking again.

DeeAnn was now very frightened.  If Alves had no concern for them now, then he would have even less after he found what he was looking for. The sickening feeling in DeeAnn’s chest was growing stronger.  She knew that she was never coming back.  She felt even sicker when she thought about Juan and how she’d brought him into this mess.

Across the fire, Alves stared off into the darkness, his white hair glistening in the light.  His body slumped forward, tired.  Even though the others couldn’t tell, his old lungs could feel the change in elevation and were having to work harder to compensate.  In the last several years, his efforts had become more of an obsession than a quest.  Each year, he was growing more desperate with the knowledge that his time was nearing an end.  How much longer could he keep going?

Alves peered into the black expanse all around them, no longer hearing the sounds of the jungle or those around him.  Why was he so desperate to live when all of the people who really mattered to him were already gone?  His brothers and sisters, his wife, the friends he played with as a boy.  Everyone who was a part of any pleasant memory he had was gone.  He remembered playing games with his brothers and sisters, constantly laughing and running.  Those were some of the purest memories of life that he could recall, and yet his loved ones had all gone, one after another.

But still, he remained.  He remained and persevered, finding ways to hold onto every last minute he could grasp. 
Why?   Why did he cling so desperately
?  He knew the answer before he even asked it.  It was because everyone close to him, those who had left, did so with the same reluctance.  The same look on their face that said no matter how old, no matter how much pain they had, they didn’t want to leave the game.  Alves felt it too.  He didn’t want to leave.  Not because he was afraid of what waited for him on the other side.  But because when you were out, you were out forever, never to return.  And forever was a very long time.

Behind Alves sat Blanco, along with his two men.  The two were smoking cigarettes and conversing about how well their famed soccer team had been doing.   Yet Blanco paid no attention.

Out of earshot, DeeAnn wondered what the men were talking about.  But even more than that, she wondered what Blanco was thinking behind his cold dark eyes.

Juan Diaz sat in complete darkness, unable to see anything.  His eyes had long since adjusted to the windowless room he was in.  There was no light, not even the slightest glimmer, to offer him.

From where he was, it sounded like the entire preserve had been abandoned.  No sound from the outside reached him at all.  The only thing he ever heard was an occasional noise from just a few rooms over, from the man who had put him here.

Diaz had no idea what time it was.  However, he did remember two voices clearly talking about Alves’ assistant Carolina.  According to the few words he was able to pick out, she had fled not long after Alves and the others had left.  But he didn’t know whether that was four hours ago, or twelve.   He didn’t know how many times he had fallen asleep or for how long.  The only things that had woken him up were the pain in his shoulders from his hands being bound behind him and the rumbling in his stomach.

He had called out several times for food, loud enough that Blanco’s man must have heard him, but there was no reply.  Letting him use the bathroom before throwing him in the closet was the last outside contact he’d had.  But why?  They were supposed to be holding him as insurance, to force DeeAnn into helping them.   If they were going to keep him alive, they
had
to feed him.  But they hadn’t.  Over the course of many hours, the reality slowly dawned on Juan as he lay in the blackness with his face against the cold, smelly concrete.  They weren’t feeding him for a reason.

The terrible feeling of despair was nearly overwhelming.  Juan rolled his forehead helplessly against the hard floor, feeling the small pebbles press painfully into his skin.  A tear escaped and rolled sideways off his cheek. 
He wasn’t going to make it out of here.  He wasn’t going to see anyone ever again.
 

He thought of his parents.  They were so proud of him being the first to go to college, a real college.  And then he saw his younger sister.  She looked up to Juan, and she was everything to him.  He pictured how her small face would look when she was told that Juan had died.  Then the tears let loose, and he wept.