Predator Island

by Douglas Cameron

  Turning right they passed the top of the stairs leading up from the lobby. As they looked down the stairway, they could see that the carpeting at the bottom was white about halfway up it had changed to dark pink and at the top of the stairs it had become the mauve of the floor carpeting.

  “If the stairs are like that going to the third floor, the carpeting is going to be black,” Gloria said.

  “That’s radical the way that changes,” Monica said.

  On the left just past the stairway was another door labeled 203. The wall jutted out about two feet just past the doorway and so they jogged with it and saw a doorway labeled 202. Turning back to the left they could see a window with mauve floor-length curtains at the end of the hallway showing the buildings outside but as they continued down the hallway they realized they weren’t actually seeing the buildings outside because in what looked like the distance was the Eiffel Tower. The lighting seemed to follow with them because Monica turned around and saw that it had darkened behind them.

  “It’s like we’re in a cone of light coming down the hallway,” she said to Gloria.

  “Yes, it’s fascinating.”

  “Hey, here’s mine,” Monica said, stopping at a door labeled 207. “There’s no card reader.” She had been carrying her identification card assuming that it doubled as a keycard for the room.

  “Grab the knob,” Gloria said.

  Monica turned the knob and the door opened.

  “Mine’s across the hall. Try it.”

  Monica crossed the hall, grabbed the knob to 206 and tried to turn it.

  “It won’t budge.”

  “That’ll keep Juan out of your knickers.”

  Monica giggled.

  “The only one I would let in my knickers is Issaack. I think he’s cute.”

  “Well, I going to take a bath and lie down for a bit. See you about five of six.”

  “Sure.”

  Stepping into her room, Monica found herself in a hallway about eight feet long. It had the same pink walls and mauve carpeting and was well lit apparently in the same manner as the outside corridor.

  “I wonder how you turn the lights off,” Monica mused half aloud and suddenly found herself in partial darkness, the only light being the sunlight coming in the window in the wall straight ahead. What she was seeing in the window would have “knocked my knickers off” she would later say because it was as though she was standing at the foot of London’s Big Ben looking across the Thames at the London Eye, the 443-foot tall Ferris wheel which debuted in 2000.

  “Lights,” she said, and the room was brilliantly lit, not overpowering but bright enough. She walked down the hallway and found herself in a room that took her breath away. On the right was a king-sized bed with a cream-colored bedspread decorated with American Beauty roses. Over the head of the bed was a valance the color of American Beauty roses with drapery trimmed with the cream-colored lace. The head of the bed was covered with throw pillows in a variety of pinks and reds and in the middle was one large cream-colored pillow. On either side of the bed were ebony nightstands each with a mauve digital clock, the one on the right showing local time and the left, London time. Draped across the foot of the bed appeared to be three dresses. She had to gasp as the one in the middle appeared to be the silver mesh dress she had worn in her “I’m No Slut” video. Upon closer inspection, she realized that the other two were basically silk slips made to go under the mesh dress. One was black and the other was American Beauty red. Obviously, she was supposed to wear the mesh dress with one of three under options – black, red or skin tone. Well, enough of the nudity bit – she’d done that on a dare. And the red didn’t go with her hair. She picked the mesh dress up to check for size and under it was a third slip – this one silver. She picked up the third slip and walked to the window to compare colors in the daylight. When she got to the window, she realized that close up it looked just like an ordinary window. She also saw other parts of the room which, even though obvious, had escaped her attention. To the left of the window was a black writing desk with a black mesh office chair. On the right was a sitting area with two black recliner chairs with a black coffee table in front of them. Her decision about dresses made, she turned around to go back to the bed and saw that the other side of the entry hallway wall was the bathroom. Half the area was blocked by a wall behind which were the toilet and a bidet. Then there was a square bathtub which she knew was a whirlpool and in front of the sink area with dual sinks. She looked at her watch and saw that she had plenty of time for a leisurely bath. She was about to remove her clothes when she remembered the window that looked straight into the open bathroom. Starting to go to the window to close the curtains she observed that there were no curtains.

  “I can’t close the curtains,” she said wanting some privacy for her bath and the window went black.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “All you have to do is ask,” a female voice said.

  “Who are you?”

  “Aphrodite,” the voice answered.

  “Where are you?” Monica whirled around looking for a box or something that would be the source.

  “Everywhere and nowhere,” Aphrodite said. “I am your virtual maid.”

  “Well, I am going to take a bath.”

  There was a sound and Monica turned to see water running into the tub.

  “If it’s too hot or too cold just let me know.”

  In a few minutes, Monica knew that it was juuuust right.

  Chapter 18

  Issaack waited until all others left the meeting room and then he went out into the lobby and walked toward the elevator waiting for him, doors open like a dutiful wife awaiting her husband’s return at the end of a long day.

  The doors closed, and the elevator started upward. As it slowed to stop at the second floor, Issaack said, “Base.” The elevator continued to the third floor. If anyone else had said “Base,” nothing would have happened.

  There was really no difference in appearance between floors two and three except for the numbers on the rooms. Issaack walked to room 301 and opened the door. The room was filled with computer hardware, servers in two floor-to-ceiling stacks around the room, and a man was sitting at a desk in the middle of the room. If he stood, he would have been six foot four and weighed two hundred pounds. His curly red hair always looked unkempt. He looked up as the door opened and cracked a smile showing brilliant white teeth under a hawk’s nose above which two gray green eyes seemed to dance among the myriad of freckles on his face.

  “Going well, isn’t it,” Siegfried Schmidt said,

  “Horus is better than expected at this point,” Issaack agreed. “His learning is astounding. I’m going to have to build some more servers.”

  “Wish I could have seen Phil’s reaction to the Dead Man’s Chest.”

  “It was priceless. I don’t think he had ever heard of it. But by the look, I am certain that he is guilty,” Issaack responded. “Wish Horus had been up at the time, he might have had some great reaction.”

  “I almost fell down when he told Monica and Gloria to quit fooling around and go back to their places.”

  “You didn’t tell him what to say?”

  Siegfried shook his head no.

  “I don’t know where he picked that up, but he is definitely learning,” Issaack replied. “Any problems with the software?”

  Issaack wasn’t referring to computer code or program; instead he was referring to Siegfried’s brainchild, organic memory.

  “Not a bit. It’s holding up well.”

  “Only took ten tries, but you’ve done it. Now we are ready to start the long test and see how Horus will handle the island.”

  “Won’t be a problem,” Siegfried replied. “When we are done with the testing in five years, we can announce both your A.I. (Artificial Intelligence) and my organic computer.”

  “Those remote control windows and guns in the Laundry on the second floor and in 305 worked well. I was monitoring them and onl
y had to press one button.”

  “Fortunately we knew enough about the man to be prepared. A little damage to clean up but nothing extensive.”

  “Better that than dead,” Siegfried said with a smile.

  “Just give me a call if there’s a problem. I’ve got to change for cocktails and dinner.”

  “Wish I could be there.”

  “Someone’s got to be here for now to babysit your brain child. Beside you weren’t on the guest list.”

  Chapter 19

  It was almost six o’clock when the next attack occurred. Gerallt Cearrach knew that one would be coming and was wondering when and where. He saw the van in the rearview mirror moving slowly toward him. It was too slow. Whoever it was had a timetable he was trying to keep. Gerallt looked in front and saw another heading toward him, but a little further away. It flashed its lights and the one behind answered. Bingo. The game was afoot as Sherlock Holmes used to say.

  He was parked twenty feet past the hotel on the right if one were standing in front of it looking at it. The building itself was situated thirty feet back from the road, with a small plaza in front giving room for a vehicle to pull in and unload. It also would give ample time for a vehicle to turn and accelerate before smashing into the building, with the doors being the most probable target. Lots of luck, he thought, thinking of the metal discs he had seen in the pavement every three feet across the plaza’s opening just three feet off what normally would have been the sidewalk area.

  Reaching under the seat, Gerallt pulled out his Sniper Grey Beretta 92FSR-22. Opening the glove box, he removed the suppressor and screwed it on. Then he pulled back the slide and slid the first shell into the chamber. He rested the pistol on his lap and prepared to watch the attack unfold.

  The tan van eased past him with only a quick sidewise glance from the driver who had only seen someone sleeping, straw hat pulled down over his eyes and head back on the seat. Mouth open. Obviously snoring. The head back position gave Gerallt the advantage of being able to keep an eye on the area in front of him. Ten feet past him and ten feet to the hotel’s plaza opening, the van’s engine roared and the vehicle began to pick up speed. Five feet past where the plaza started, the van turned toward it and started moving toward the hotel. When the van’s wheels hit the pavement that indicated the start of the plaza, the circular metal caps Gerallt had seen on his walk-by shot upward and became pillars. Too late the driver saw them, his brake lights flashing on just as the front end smashed into the pillars bringing the van to a rapid and destructive halt.

  As soon as the van had started its acceleration, Gerallt was out of his car and running toward the plaza with the Beretta held down to his side in his right hand. He was ten feet away when the van hit the balusters. Another five feet, he raised his pistol and fired two bullets, his hand-loaded ammunition punching through the van’s window. Reaching the window, Gerallt used his left elbow to smash in the glass. The driver was slumped over the wheel, blood dripping from his head. Cracks in the driver’s side window told Gerallt that his two bullets had missed. So he raised his pistol and put two into the driver’s head to ensure that he could not push the plunger on the black box lying on the seat beside him. Gerallt was certain that the wires attached to the box led to explosives in the back of the van.

  At that very instant, a fusillade of bullets came from the other van where the occupants, having seen that the demolition part of the attack had failed, were firing parting shots as they zoomed past. Moving quickly, Gerallt got to relative safety at the front of the damaged van and could only watch as the other van disappeared down the road. He stood up and took a step back toward his car when he heard, “Don’t move a muscle, mate. Drop your weapon and step back three steps, then get on your knees.”

  Having seen what happened in the morning, he knew better than to chance anything, so he complied. A tall person wearing electric blue pants and shirt and a black Kevlar vest over the shirt, and a black helmet with an electric blue shiny visor, stepped into his vision and picked up his pistol. Simultaneously he felt a barrel in the small of his back.

  “Now lie down with your arms in front of you.”

  Gerallt complied and felt himself being patted down.

  “Put your arms behind your back,” he again complied and felt his hands behind bound together with flexi-cuffs. Then each of his arms was seized by a hand and he was jerked roughly to his feet, turned to face the tan van and pushed up against it. Hands went over him again, then turned him around and did a thorough search on his front side leaving nothing to speculation. It was then that he got a look at his captors – twins in almost every respect, both standing at least six foot three. Every respect except the one on the right had a physique, mainly the hips, that bespoke of femininity although he wondered how much of that she actually had.

  “What’s your business here?” the male asked.

  “The same as yours,” Gerallt answered.

  “Don’t get smart,” the male said.

  “I’m not. You’re here protecting the people in the hotel.”

  “And who are you protecting?” the female asked.

  “One of the people who was, I think still is, in the hotel.”

  “Who?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “If you want to walk away, it does.”

  “Ramiro Esteves.”

  “You’re one of his?” the male said, sounding incredulous. “Thought he only hired his own kind.”

  “He does,” Gerallt answered. “I am not one of his.”

  “Then why are you protecting him?”

  Gerallt sighed. He hadn’t wanted it to come to this. The answer might seal his fate fatally.

  “Let just say I have a score to settle.”

  “So did they,” the male said indicating the van behind him.

  “Why didn’t you let them settle your score for you?” It was the female this time.

  “It’s personal. His drugs killed my brother. I am going to kill him, and I will do everything I can to be certain that he doesn’t die at someone else’s hand.”

  The female held up his wallet and passport.

  “This really you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pretty blatant of you to be using your real name.”

  “He knows I am coming after him. I’ve told him enough times.”

  “You tried before?”

  “No! Never had the chance. I learned he was coming to Cartagena and was hoping to get a shot at him.”

  She stood listening for a moment.

  “He’s capable,” she said to the male. “British Special Forces. Sniper. Three tours in Afghanistan. Seventy-five confirmed kills. Honorable discharge. Is your brother why you left?”

  Gerallt nodded.

  “Turn around,” the male said.

  Gerallt complied and felt the flexi-cuffs being cut, falling to the ground.

  “Turn around,” the female this time.

  The male had stepped back six feet and was pointing his weapon at him. The female handed him his wallet and passport, which he put back into place. Then she handed him his Beretta, suppressor first.

  “Leave this area and don’t come back until Esteves is gone. When he is away from here, he’s yours but as long as we can see him, he’s ours and you’re not.”

  Gerallt took the pistol, thanked them and walked away, never looking back. He reached his car just as a tow truck came down the street. No police in the vicinity but the van would be removed and in fifteen minutes the incident would only be a memory. But for Gerallt, not forgotten.

  “He’s a strange duck,” Gretel said as they watched Gerallt walk away.

  “Yes,” Hansel agreed. “But he knows his business.”

  “We had better keep an eye out for him.”

  “Already been noted. Horus is double checking.”

  Chapter 20

  It was 5:55 p.m. (1755 military time) when Monica Bartlett, bath and nap refreshed, knocked on the door of Room 206. It swung o
pen almost immediately to reveal Gloria Mitchell standing dressed in a long black gown with long sleeves. It was adorned with silver sequins and she was wearing silver flats and carrying a silver handbag.

  “Wow,” they both said as they saw each other. Monica had selected the black sheath under the silver dress and had found silver heels and a silver handbag in her closet which was part of the wall hiding the bathroom.

  “Someone knows how to treat a lady,” Gloria said as she stepped out of the room and the door closed behind her.

  “My window showed London,” Monica said as they walked down the hallway.

  “Mine was New York,” Gloria said.

  “I was guessing Washington, D.C.,” replied Monica.

  “My bed looked like it was a half poster,” Monica said. “I’ve seen something like it somewhere but don’t know what it’s called.”

  “It’s a half tester,” Gloria said. “I had the same thing,” and she described her room that matched Monica’s.

  “Good nap?”

  “Yes, and what a nice bathtub. I would have stayed in there until I was a wrinkled prune.”

  “The towels were exquisite.”

  “Nice and soft. Not too rough on one’s…”

  Gloria paused in her speech as Issaack stepped out of Room 201. He was dressed in a black tuxedo, with a gray tux shirt, matching bow tie with silver specks hanging around his neck untied. Around his waist was a matching cummerbund.

  “Don’t you look smashing,” Monica said as she stepped up to him, took hold of the tie and quickly tied it perfectly. “There,” she said patting his chest in a surprisingly motherly fashion, “Now even more so.”

  “Thank you. And you two look exquisite, I must say.”

  “Who made the choices?” Gloria asked.

  “I have no idea. Someone was hired to study your likes and dislikes.”

  “And how about you?” Monica asked.

  As she finished the question they arrived at the elevator whose door was standing open.