JUNGLE FEVER, page 15
Needing a diversion from the horrors of the jungle, Katya persisted. “Your eyes say differently,” she probed.
Christina refused to allow her emotions to cloud her thinking. She had let her guard down with Jonathan Kane by succumbing to the weakness of her heart, and she had paid dearly for that mistake. Never again would she allow that to happen. “I appreciate Lincoln’s skills. He’s a good man to have in a fight—nothing more.” She averted her eyes while Katya waited for an honest answer.
Katya shrugged. “Like I said, he looks at you, too, when you are not looking.”
“That doesn’t concern me,” Christina replied, her tone detached, but her curiosity was piqued. With casual indifference she added, “However—if Monk did concern me—how does he look at me?”
Christina’s answer stirred Katya’s passion for talking about life and relationships. She grinned for the first time in hours. “When Lincoln was treating you on the plane, he was admiring your hair and neck.”
Unconsciously Christina brushed her auburn hair back and ran her hand down her slender neck.
“You have beautiful features—but of course, you know this,” Katya said. As she waited for Christina to respond, the television screensaver caught her eye. Jungle Fever. “What’s this?” she asked, pointing to the screen.
CHAPTER 22
Lincoln sat on the edge of his bunk and picked at the chicken on his plate. Gray shifted restlessly on the opposite bunk, shooting glances around the gym. “Doc,” Lincoln said, sensing that the older man wanted to share his thoughts, “you want to say something?”
Gray scanned the room again. Satisfied that Red, who was lifting weights, was out of earshot, he leaned toward Lincoln, averting his faced from the watching corner camera. “I must thank you again wholeheartedly for saving my life in the pool and at the sinkhole. I will never forget that.”
“No worries.”
“I should have trusted you when you saved me at the pool, but I had to be sure that you weren’t working for Merrick.”
“I understand. In this place, you need to watch your back twenty-four seven. I get that.”
Gray looked away, embarrassed at not having confided sooner in this man who had now saved his live twice. “Please forgive me.”
“Come on, Doc.” Lincoln said, overcome with curiosity. “What’s on your mind?”
Gray cleared his throat, took one last glance around the gym, and whispered, “I’m sorry for not having told you earlier, but—I know a way off this godforsaken island.”
Lincoln choked on his chicken.
At the sudden outburst, Red’s eyes locked on Lincoln and Gray. He sneered at the interruption, but after a dirty look in their direction, returned to his muscle building.
“How?” Lincoln whispered.
“A supply ship arrives twice a week from Saipan.”
“Where?”
“Behind the hotel. There’s a loading dock in the lagoon at the base of the plateau. Lockwood was headed there, but…” Gray shrugged. “With an army of men chasing him, he must have become disoriented.”
“Fear does that to a man.” Lincoln eyed Red, who was still lifting weights. “How do we get to the dock?”
“Mounted to the plateau’s escarpment is a heavy-duty elevator for hotel supplies that connects the hotel to the dock. If we can get to that elevator, we’re home free. We can hitch a ride on the ship and be back in Saipan in two days.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Since Gray was being upright with him, Lincoln decided that now was the time to repay that honesty. “I haven’t been totally up front with you, either. I, too, apologize.” He glanced at the camera mounted high in the corner and casually turned his back from the constant monitoring. “I’m here with a group of people. We crash-landed on this island. Merrick’s people found Christina—the woman I told you about—and me, but as far as I can tell, they don’t know about the others yet. Most likely my people are out looking for us.”
“What happens now?”
“We survive the games, find my friends, and get off this damned island.”
“Unfortunately, my boy, that is easier said than done.”
Lincoln sighed. “You got that right.”
CHAPTER 23
The Merricks were on the cabin cruiser’s deck enjoying their crabe tourteau when Van Sant appeared through the living room doors. He knew that Merrick hated interruptions during dinner, that he considered dining and enjoying his wife’s company sacrosanct, so he waited as Merrick ate and sipped his wine. Merrick placed his goblet on the damask tablecloth and turned. “What is it?” he asked with disdain.
“Sorry for the interruption, boss. I know you cherish your private time, but it’s important. It’s the Germans.”
“What is it this time?” he grumbled, taking another bite of the tender, juicy filet.
Van Sant carefully considered his next sentence. “They have a special request.”
Merrick sighed. If they hadn’t had the capital investment he so desperately needed, he’d have thrown them off the island long ago. “First, they complain about the accommodation. Then they complain that the food is…” Merrick searched for the word.
“Not fit for a dog,” Van Sant supplied, adding hastily, “Their words, not mine.”
“This food is fit for a king.” Merrick took another bite of steak, anger swelling within him. “I poached Chef Fabienne from Le Cinq in Paris, and the Germans say the food is garbage. So I fly in another chef—specially requested by them—and they still have the audacity to protest the time it took to transport him here from Japan.”
“What can I say?” Van Sant shrugged. “They’re Germans.”
Merrick licked a dot of sauce from his lips. “What do they want now?”
Van Sant hesitated.
“Well?”
Van Sant waited. When Merrick looked up, Van Sant discreetly tilted his head toward Samantha who was enjoying her salad.
“Samantha, would you mind getting us another bottle of wine, please?”
Samantha looked up from her mixed greens. From their somber mood, she sensed that Van Sant wanted privacy. She dabbed her lips with her napkin, sashayed across the deck, and disappeared into the cabin cruiser.
“Okay, what is it they want this time? Women? Animals? What?”
Van Sant couldn’t believe what he was about to say. He had trouble at the mere thought of the words. His hands shook as he lit a cigarette.
“What? Just say it!”
Van Sant took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “In the next event, they want a kid.”
Fine china clattered as Merrick dropped his cutlery onto the plate. He stared at Van Sant, his resentment for the Germans turning to repugnance. “They want to use a boy—as canon-fodder—in a game like this?” He shook his head in revulsion. “I want nothing more to do with the Germans and their sadistic demands.”
“They’re willing to pay.”
Merrick paused. He had invested in these games to secure himself and Samantha for life. The Germans’ money, along with that of the other contributors, would allow them to live in a style for which he desperately hungered. He gulped the last of the wine, disgusted by his own words. “How much?”
“A million euros for a boy under ten.”
Samantha appeared with a bottle of merlot just as Merrick picked up the corner of the table and flung it, scattering its contents about the deck. She understood her husband’s temper and backed away, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings while allowing him the space to make tough decisions. Merrick wiped his hand over his face, contemplating his answer, wrestling with his conscience. He leaned over the rail and stared at the jungle beyond. “Make sure the boy is from another island,” he murmured.
“What? You’re not serious! You really want me to kidnap a kid?” Van Sant spluttered as Merrick washed down a glassful of wine, trying to get the taste of his last command from his mouth. “Tom, you know that if you bring a child into this nightmare, you’re signing the kid’s death warrant.”
Merrick gazed into the jungle, hoping the picturesque view and the thought of over a million euros would ease his qualms. “On the west side of Guguan Island you’ll find a fishing village.”
“Please, Tom. Don’t ask me to do this.”
“I sign your paycheck. Just do it.”
Van Sant stared at Merrick. Bringing an adult into the games is bad enough. Most adults have lived full lives. But a child? Merrick has crossed the line—like they all do in their search for glory and riches. He’s no longer a businessman with a brutal idea. He’s a monster, just like the other evil bastards I’ve worked for.
Van Sant turned to leave and nearly bumped into Samantha who stood behind him, a satisfied smirk on her face. She agrees with this atrocity. He glanced at the merlot she held and flicked his cigarette butt into the river. “Red wine with king crab? I don’t think so.” He exited the deck, snickering.
CHAPTER 24
Guguan Island, fifty-six nautical miles south of Alamagan Island
Van Sant peered through the acrylic windshield of the MD500E chopper. He watched the western beachfront of Guguan Island disappear to be replaced with a sea of palms and mangroves. The pilot flew low over the rolling terrain in search of the next contestant in Merrick’s deadly game.
The lush rain forest canopy vanished to reveal a sports field with a small concrete building at the north end. Children from the local villages were competing on the soccer ground. A dozen adults, resting on coolers and other makeshift chairs, milled about outside the change-rooms, drinking beer while watching their children play their favorite sport.
Several boys in their early teens passed the ball from one to the other, laughing, oblivious to what was about to happen—an event that would change their young lives forever. Van Sant readied the tranquiller gun and indicated to the pilot that he wanted to land.
The young boys stopped their game and watched the chopper as it alighted on the southern end of the field. The boys moved further from their parents and closer to the helicopter, eager to see the craft close up. A cloud of dust swirled as the chopper touched down. The boys backed up and covered their faces from the blowing particles and grass.
The parents turned to one another, wondering what was happening. They stared as Van Sant emerged from the dust cloud, his gun by his side. At the sight of the weapon, the boys froze.
Van Sant took aim and fired at the nearest youngster. The boy dropped to the ground, motionless, as the tranquilizer reacted instantly with his metabolism.
Like stunned deer caught in the headlights, the parents and boys watched, helpless, at the horror playing out before their eyes. A woman screamed as Van Sant strode to the child and flung his unresisting body over his shoulder. The screaming boys on the field scattered as fast as they could in any direction, afraid to meet a similar fate.
Spurred by protective instincts and without regard for their own safety, parents rushed across the grounds. They charged toward the chopper without weapons and with little hope of survival.
Van Sant lifted the boy’s limp body into the chopper and turned toward the frantic mothers and fathers. Pulling out his Beretta, he fired several times at the grass just ahead of them. Dirt and grass sprayed into the air. Most of the parents stopped, but one athletic man in his early thirties continued running toward the chopper. “Please,” he pleaded over the roar of the idling Rolls-Royce turbine, “he’s my only son.”
As the distraught father neared, Van Sant climbed into the chopper and took aim. The bullets tore into the earth around the approaching man.
Just stop, Van Sant whispered without conviction, wishing the hysterical father would abandon his child and allow him to do his horrific job. He had carried out many orders and witnessed many atrocities in his life, atrocities that would haunt him forever, but knowing now that he was the monster played with his conscience.
The father rushed forward, oblivious to the deadly onslaught. Van Sant lined up the sights on the Beretta. “So be it,” he said with empathy, and fired at the charging man.
The 9mm bullet tore into his shoulder, spinning the man backward through the air. He landed heavily, crying out in anguish—not from the pain pulsating through his body, but from his inability to save his child.
Van Sant slammed the door shut, and the pilot pulled back on the cyclic stick. The helicopter rose in a flurry of leaves and dust, swept low across the field, and disappeared over the treetops.
CHAPTER 25
The Merricks and their clients lounged in the living room of Merrick’s penthouse suite that opened onto the balcony. The torrential rain had eased to a constant drizzle, but the high wind continued to blow from the north. The evening warmth was a welcome change from the incessant downpour and lashing winds of that morning. He understood his clients’ need for comfort and satisfaction and glanced around as they relaxed with drinks and hors d’oeuvres, allowing them the opportunity to voice any unanswered questions from the day’s disastrous outcome. With the clients at ease the better the chance of his business venture’s success.
Chef Fabienne was personally clearing the table. As she reached over to collect the dishes, her skirt rose to reveal a Sig Sauer P238 strapped to her thigh. Merrick spotted the pistol and coughed lightly in her direction. She glanced over to see Merrick looking at her leg. Realizing that the gun was exposed, she casually lowered her skirt and left the balcony, balancing the plates.
Merrick leaned against the glass rail that had been custom-made so as not to interrupt the magnificent view from the penthouse. He admired the subtle glowing lights running along both sides of the riverbank that the outdoor designer had installed to enhance the beauty of the landscape. Docked at the jetty beside the hotel, his one-hundred-foot cabin cruiser gently rocked with the current, her interior lights illuminating the glistening rear deck and surrounding quay. Behind the cabin cruiser, Merrick’s personal speed boats bobbed with the flowing water, their varnished brightwork gleaming in the soft light. The deep rumbling of the waterfall beside the hotel permeated the night as distant lighting strikes lit up the ocean landscape beyond the plateau.
Klaus and Wolfgang joined Merrick who greeted them with a warm smile. “Mr. Merrick, may we ask a favor?” Klaus said with an awkward smile.
“Of course, and, please, call me Tom.”
“Tom. My employer feels the communication restrictions are becoming quite cumbersome.” Wolfgang nudged the younger assistant to continue.
Merrick tilted his head. “How do you mean?”
“Well, it’s just that having to ask permission every time we wish to communicate with the outside world is annoying. Lifting the ban to allow us to contact our partners and associates when we wish would be much easier.” Other clients, overhearing the conversation, strode over to hear Merrick’s reply.
“The restrictions are in place for a reason, gentlemen. They allow our activities to go unnoticed by outside influences.”
“Tom, being able to contact our people directly would be a major influence on our decisions regarding your enterprise.”
Merrick weighed the risk involved in lifting the electronic ban against the maxim the customer is always right. Against his better judgement, he said, “Of course. I’ll have my people get on it right away.”
“Thank you so much.” Klaus and Wolfgang smiled with satisfaction.
“Today has been quite eventful, Tom, wouldn’t you say?” Adedowale smirked, sipping his champagne.
Merrick smiled. Getting close to independent wealth meant getting close to clients, and that first step was establishing a first-name basis—even if that client was a brutal warlord.
“It appears that the today’s game has not gone as planned,” Adedowale continued.
Merrick could see where this was leading. Any doubt about his ability to run such a complicated enterprise could kill the franchise before it had a chance to succeed. He needed to steer the clients from the day’s events. “All businesses incur setbacks at some point, but challenges inspire us to achieve greater goals. Don’t you agree?”
The Nigerian sipped his champagne. “Yes, businesses do incur setbacks, and on this tiny island, you can do as you wish with little regard for outside influences. However, a major setback like the one we witnessed today will have consequences in the real world.”
Merrick understood Adedowale’s concern for cost and workforce expenses. “I assure you, Jungle Fever will be totally managed by myself and my people. Any concerns you may have are unfounded. To run the operation to its fullest potential is my responsibility and mine alone. If challenges arise, financial or otherwise, they will be overcome, I assure you. I absolutely guarantee entertainment for every event at any location of your choosing.”
The Nigerian solemnly accepted the reassurance but kept an eye on Merrick’s face for any tell-tale signs of dishonesty. Merrick grinned back and drank the last of his champagne. Adedowale turned to the breathtaking view below them. “A most stunning location. Quite impressive, Mr. Merrick—Tom.”
“Thank you,” Merrick replied, glancing at the bartender for more drinks. After refilling their champagne glasses, the bartender retreated into the shadows.
“So, Tom,” Abeo began, unconvinced by Merrick’s charm, “may I ask what you have in store for us tomorrow?”
Merrick had planned the third event months earlier. His research into human nature and the brutality of man had repeatedly brought up references to sport and battles involving few men. This third event, an unforgiving and brutal game, had played at the hearts of men for thousands of years: hand-to-hand combat. Loser dies. So simple, yet so effective. “Do you enjoy gladiator sports?” he asked.
The Nigerians agreed with broad grins, while Klaus, after relaying to Wolfgang, gave a non-committal shrug. Joanna, however, looked away, sipping her drink. Merrick caught her subconscious act of disapproval. “Something wrong, Joanna?”
She shook her head and tried to wave off the disappointment in her voice. “Of course not. The day will be wonderful.”
