Chupacabra

by Roland Smith

  “Yes.” Grace started in on her salad, hoping to forego the raw squid entirely.

  Noah Blackwood sucked down the squid like a famished sperm whale. When he finished the last tentacle, he started in on the crab chowder. In between spoonfuls he said, “I know it must be lonely for you.” Slurp. “It’s my fault.” Slurp. “I’ve been so incredibly busy since we returned.” Slurp. “But I’ve blocked out some time today.” Slurp. “What would you like to do?”

  The crab chowder was gone.

  Her grandfather had read the Moleskine.

  He had taken the bait.

  Grace smiled. Now I need to set the hook.

  “I’d like a complete tour of the Ark. There are places I haven’t seen yet.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Noah said, eyeing her untouched ceviche. “Are you going to eat your calamari?”

  Grace shook her head. “No, I’m full. Go ahead.”

  Noah took her plate and gulped the squid down.

  “Not too many people here,” Marty said.

  “Duh du jour,” Luther said. “Everyone’s at Northwest Zoo and Aquarium trying to get a peek at the giant squid.”

  Dylan had just pulled the pickup into the half-empty Ark parking lot. Over the entrance was a billboard of a thirty-foot-tall smiling Noah Blackwood surrounded by wild animals, looking like Doctor Dolittle.

  “I think what Marty is getting at,” Dylan said, “is that you two are going to have a hard time losing yourself in a crowd if there isn’t a crowd.”

  “In Marty’s case, I think you’re right,” Luther said. “A pair of sunglasses and a Seattle Mariners baseball cap isn’t going to cut it.”

  “I don’t think a scabby bald head is going to cut it, either,” Marty said. Luther had refused to wear the stocking cap, but begrudgingly consented to stuffing it into his damp backpack.

  “I’ll go first,” Luther said. “Do you guys have any cash?”

  “I thought your parents were billionaires,” Dylan said.

  “They are, but they don’t give me cash.” Luther pulled a credit card out of his pack. “This is how their certified public accountants keep track of how I spend their money. If I pay with plastic at the front gate, they’ll know who I am.”

  Dylan handed him a twenty-dollar bill.

  “What if I want to get something to eat?”

  “You just ate lunch,” Marty pointed out.

  “That little snack?”

  “You ate most of it.”

  “I didn’t want to be rude.”

  Marty gave him a second twenty.

  “I guess we should set up some ground rules,” Marty said.

  “What do you mean?” Luther asked.

  “We’re bound to run into each other inside. When we do, should we talk to each other?”

  Luther shook his head. “We can call or text each other. What else?”

  “I don’t know.” Marty looked at Dylan. “Can you think of anything?”

  “How long do you want to stay?”

  Marty hadn’t even thought about this, and he was sure Luther hadn’t, either. “I guess we stay until we find Grace and talk to her.”

  “What if we don’t find her?”

  “If she’s here,” Luther said, “we’ll find her. I wonder what the Ark is like after dark?” He jumped out of the pickup and headed across the parking lot.

  Dylan looked at Marty. “Does he mean that we’re going to stay inside after the Ark closes?”

  “Yep,” Marty answered. “When you get inside, you might want to find a good hiding place so they don’t boot you out.”

  • • •

  Luther handed the woman at the ticket booth a twenty and gave her a smile.

  The woman did not smile back. “Were you in an auto accident?” she asked bluntly.

  “Shaving accident.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Almost fourteen.”

  “So you’re thirteen.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  The woman gave him his change, which wasn’t very much.

  “Where’s the concession stand?”

  “We have concessions throughout the Ark. You can’t miss them. I hope you enjoy your visit.”

  Luther sent a text to Marty as he headed toward the concession stand.

  I’m in. The disguise worked perfectly. The woman at the ticket booth was clueless.

  Marty showed the Gizmo screen to Dylan. “Do you want to go next or should I?”

  “Go ahead,” Dylan said.

  As Marty walked across the parking lot, he put on the sunglasses and the baseball cap.

  Not much of a disguise, he thought. But at least it won’t attract attention like Luther’s scabby head.

  There were people in front of him, and he had to wait his turn to get a ticket.

  “One juvenile,” he said, handing the woman his money.

  “I hope the sun comes out for those sunglasses,” the woman said.

  So much for not attracting attention.

  Marty changed the subject. “Is Noah Blackwood here today?”

  “A fan, huh?”

  More like an archenemy, Marty thought, but he nodded.

  “He’s on the grounds, but it’s unlikely you’ll see him. The best time to catch Dr. Blackwood is when he’s doing his morning rounds.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I come.”

  She passed him a ticket. “I hope you enjoy your visit.”

  Marty hoped so, too. He walked through the gate, keeping an eye out for Butch, Blackwood, Yvonne, and anyone else who might want to kill him.

  He had been to Noah’s Ark in Paris — a school field trip when he and Grace were at Omega Prep in Switzerland. The Seattle Ark looked like it was set up pretty much the same way. It was zoogeographical, meaning the animals were grouped together by where they were found in nature: North America, South America, Antarctica, Australia, Africa, Asia, and Europe. He thought a good place to start would be to go to Grace’s favorite animal, until he realized he didn’t know what her favorite animal was. In all their years together, he had never asked her. Up until she had gone to the Congo, Grace had been afraid of animals. In fact, Grace had been afraid of almost everything.

  He began to wonder if he knew his cousin at all. She had taken off with Noah Blackwood without even saying good-bye. Of course, he had been belowdecks disarming bombs, but still…. He shook the negative thoughts away, knowing from experience that whenever he started thinking like this, disaster soon followed.

  He headed for the Africa exhibits, because that’s where Grace was born — a fact neither he nor she had known until recently. When they were in the Congo searching for Mokélémbembé, they had come across several rare species of animals. It seemed to him now that Grace might hang out with the same animals she had hung out with as a baby. That is, if Noah Blackwood let her hang out anywhere.

  He walked up to the okapi exhibit. Okapi looked like a cross between a giraffe and a zebra. There were very few in the wild. Noah Blackwood had twenty of them, as far as Marty could see. Next stop was the bonobo chimpanzee exhibit. Bonobos were a rare subspecies of chimpanzee. Wolfe had rescued one during his first trip to the Congo. “Bo” had free reign on Cryptos Island, and everywhere else. She lusted after Luther’s strangely colored hair. Maybe Luther shaved his head to stop Bo from trying to scalp him, he thought. I should try to retrieve the cuttings back at Dylan’s condo and make something out of them for her, like socks or gloves or a muffler.

  The bonobo exhibit was huge and lush with plants and had several places for the chimps to hide from the gawking eyes of visitors. This was how the exhibits in all the Arks were constructed. There was no guarantee you’d see any animals. Marty had watched Noah Blackwood’s television show dozens of times. With his photographic memory he could repeat verbatim almost everything Blackwood had ever said on the show….

  “My Arks are not zoos. They are built for animals, not people. Like on safari, there is no
guarantee you’ll see the animals you’ve come to view. But I do guarantee you’ll learn something valuable about them, and the cost of admission will go directly to the wildlife we love so mu —”

  The Gizmo buzzed. Marty took it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

  Why are you talking to yourself?

  Marty hadn’t realized that he was talking to himself, but he wasn’t surprised. His photographic memory often went verbal on him without his realizing it. He looked around the viewing platform. There were a handful of people trying to spot the chimps in the exhibit. None of them looked remotely like Luther Smyth IV.

  Where is he?

  “Look!” a woman said. “The chimps are starting to show themselves!”

  She was right. Two chimps popped their heads up from their tree nests. Another came out from behind a rock. They were all looking in the same direction. And they didn’t look happy.

  “What are they looking at?” the woman asked.

  Two more chimps appeared. Marty followed their gaze. They were staring up at the trees behind the viewing area. That’s when he spotted Luther sitting on a branch about twenty feet off the ground. Grinning.

  Marty sent him a text.

  Apparently chimpanzees have a thing for you. Understandable.

  Luther sent him a text back.

  You’re right. They’re agitated. Don’t want to attract attention to myself. I’m outta here.

  When Marty looked back up at the branch, Luther was gone.

  • • •

  It took Dylan a long time to get to the entrance gate.

  As he watched Marty cross the parking lot, he thought about the possibility of spending the night on the wrong side of the fence. He wasn’t thrilled about that idea. In fact, he thought it was crazy. But if they were going to stow away in the Ark, they needed to do it smart.

  Dylan was certain there were security people wandering the grounds at night. Surveillance cameras, too. They might be able to stay off camera if they knew where the cameras were, and they might be able to dodge the security staff if they could figure out where and when they made their rounds. But if security found the pickup in the parking lot, they’d know someone had stayed in the Ark after hours. If they ran the license plate, they’d know it was owned by none other than Ted Bronson a.k.a. Theo Sonborn.

  When the Hickocks arrived on Cryptos Island, they underwent a briefing by Wolfe’s head of security, Al Ikes. Al was a no-nonsense guy in a three-piece suit, silk tie, and black shoes shiny enough to reflect a pimple on your face. After having the Hickocks sign a nondisclosure agreement as thick as a book, Al proceeded to lecture them for six straight hours about corporate espionage, international spies, terrorism, and Noah Blackwood.

  “Of all the real threats against eWolfe and Cryptos Island, the most persistent and viable is Noah Blackwood and his agents,” Al had said. “You’ve only been here one day, but I guarantee that Blackwood already has detailed dossiers on each of you. He knows where you’ve worked, where you went to school, every disease you’ve contracted. He knows your friends. He knows what you own, who you owe, and what you desire. He has people spying for him here on Cryptos that we have not been able to ferret out, which means they are very good at what they do….”

  Dylan pulled out of the parking lot wishing he could get his five-dollar parking fee back. He drove around the Ark’s upscale neighborhood until he found a parking space in front of one of the large houses. They would have to walk, or run, two blocks to get to the pickup, but it was better than revealing who they were, or having the pickup towed.

  Halfway back to the Ark, it started to rain. By the time he got to the gate, he was drenched. He gave the woman his money.

  “They sell rain slickers at the gift shop,” the woman said, giving him his change.

  “I guess I’d better pick one of those up. Hey, I’m doing a report about the Ark for school. Would you have a few minutes to answer some questions for me?”

  “Sure,” the woman answered. “I’ve been working here since it opened.”

  When he finished with his questions, he jogged over to the closest concession stand to dry out and see about buying one of those rain slickers. As soon as he stepped inside, his phone vibrated. He looked at the screen and the text message from Luther.

  Get me a couple of hot dogs. Mustard, no ketchup.

  Dylan shook his head, stunned at Luther’s bottomless appetite, got in line, and sent him a text.

  I’ll leave your dogs near the garbage can outside. Enjoy.

  Noah and Grace were beneath the Ark on Level Three.

  Room 305 … 306 … 307 …

  Grace had asked her grandfather for a complete tour of the Ark, which was turning out to be anything but.

  It’s like someone offering to give you a complete tour of their house, then walking you around the outside.

  They were walking counterclockwise along a circular cement corridor that seemed to have no end. The walls were painted antiseptic white. The floor was gray and covered with some kind of rubbery material that muted their footsteps. The corridor was lit by bright halogen lights concealed in the ceiling. Every thirty steps or so was a metal door with an electronic lock that could only be opened by a magnetic key card. Large red numbers were stenciled on the doors. Noah Blackwood had a key card hanging around his neck on a lanyard, but had not slid it through a single lock.

  308 … 309 … 310 …

  “How many rooms are there?” Grace asked.

  “Dozens.”

  “What are they used for?”

  “Storage, mostly.”

  The first level beneath the Ark had been very active with keepers cleaning holding areas and observing their animals on color monitors, people driving electric carts filled with food, and white-aproned staff chopping vegetables and fruits and meats in large kitchen areas. The second level, where the hatchlings were, was quieter, but still busy, with lab-coated researchers hurrying in and out of the numbered rooms as they consulted electronic pads. The third level, where they were now, had no one in it at all, at least in the corridor.

  “Where is everybody?”

  “All the levels below Level One are secured. Limited access.”

  “Why?”

  Blackwood gave her a slight frown.

  “I mean,” Grace stammered, “the Ark is just a zoo.”

  Her grandfather’s frown deepened. He took a deep breath and the frown disappeared as quickly as it had formed. “My Arks are not zoos, Grace. They are wildlife conservation centers … the last stop before extinction. The animals on the surface are mere representatives of the real work, which lies below. There are many people who would like to get their hands on my research and discoveries and exploit them for a different purpose than I intended. This is why I have security in place.”

  Grace wanted to know how many of his discoveries were stolen like the hatchlings, but she didn’t ask. She wanted to keep Noah Blackwood thinking that she didn’t care about what had happened aboard the Coelacanth.

  “How many levels are there?”

  “Oh, several,” Noah answered. “But the deeper levels are unfinished and unsafe.”

  His pleasantly vague answers were maddening, but there was nothing Grace could do about it. He wasn’t lying; he just wasn’t telling her the truth. If she pushed him harder, she might push him away. It was important to make their time together as comfortable as possible.

  Comfortable for him, Grace thought. My comfort doesn’t matter at the moment. Just like in the books on operant conditioning. His reward for the right behavior is a brighter smile. For the wrong behavior a disappointed frown. Positive and negative reinforcement. The only thing he wants is my genuine affection. It’s the only way to reward …

  “Penny for your thoughts,” her grandfather said.

  315 … 316 …

  Grace knew her thoughts were worth a lot more than a penny, but she wasn’t going to haggle with her grandfather, nor was she going to tell him what the
y really were.

  317 …

  “My mind wanders sometimes,” she said.

  “Head in the clouds,” Blackwood said. “Just like your mother.”

  This was the first time he had mentioned her mother, which was the main reason she had decided to leave the ship with him. She wanted to know more about her. She wanted to know why her mother, with her dying words, had made Wolfe promise to keep her away from Noah Blackwood.

  “What was she like?” Grace asked.

  Her grandfather paused outside room 318 and looked down at her.

  “She was exactly like you,” he said.

  Marty walked across Kenya and Tanzania among the elephants, impalas, zebras, giraffes, lions, leopards, rhinoceroses, and baboons. The rain had let up and the clouds had started to clear. He had to give Noah Blackwood credit. The guy knew how to display animals. They looked like they were all wandering across the same grassy savannah. There had to be barriers, but for the life of him Marty couldn’t see where they were. It looked like the lions and leopards could pounce on the other animals, which would make for an interesting zoo-going experience.

  But it would be kind of expensive, he thought. And totally unfair to the prey. They wouldn’t have a prayer of getting away. …

  His Gizmo vibrated. Another text from Luther.

  Dylan’s in. I’ll keep you posted on our positions. Out.

  Marty shook his head. Apparently, Luther had forgotten that they were all wearing tracking tags. All he had to do was look at the Gizmo to find out where they were. Dylan was in Sumatra near the orangutans, and Luther was in South America near the jaguars. Wolfe’s jet was in Manaus, Brazil, presumably parked on an airport ramp, because Phil and Phyllis weren’t moving. Ana and Laurel were about ten miles west, heading up the Amazon River toward the Lansas’ jaguar preserve. They weren’t wasting any time, which he was glad to see. Marty wished he was in the real South America with Laurel Lee and Ana Mika.

  He put the Gizmo in his pocket and decided to loop back around to the Congo again. The path was shadowy and thick with green foliage, but that’s where the resemblance to Central Africa ended. There were no swarms of bloodsucking, stinging, biting insects. No venomous snakes dangling from the branches or slithering over his sneakers. No razor-sharp thorns slicing through his skin. No heat and humidity. No sour scent of rotting vegetation. It was a completely sanitized Congo.