The God Gene: A Novel

by F. Paul Wilson

  At that point he was pretty much back in business, but he’d wanted the last two detonators. Theoretically—and practically, as well—he needed only one per block to set off the C-4, but his mission was too important to leave anything to chance. He wanted two detonators per block. And now he had them.

  Most of the damage to the backpack had been to the outside pockets, so he loaded everything back into the main compartment and lugged it all back to the VX.

  After arranging the two canisters side by side, he realized the situation was far from ideal. But he’d make do.

  First he used the duct tape to affix a block of C-4 to each canister, wrapping the tape all the way around. Then he poked holes in the wrappers and inserted the detonators deep into the claylike material.

  Now for the phones.

  Shortly after arriving in Mozambique to begin his search for Mozi’s kin, he’d picked up three satellite phones. One he used for calls, the other two he’d modified to act as detonators. All three were tied to Mcel, the government-run provider, which supposedly allowed him access to five Intelsat satellites. His phone had worked well on the earlier trip to the island, but would it work on the island? Would the wall enclosing the caldera affect the signal? It shouldn’t, but there might be something in the lava …

  He held his breath as he turned on his phone, dreading the sight of a No Service message on the screen. But no, it found a signal. One of the Indian Ocean satellites was in range and in line. He had service.

  Instead of the elation and anticipation he should have felt, dread filled him. He was about to commit an atrocity.

  Between trips up and down the coast, he’d worked on the trigger phones, exposing their vibrators and soldering wires to opposite sides of the vibrating chamber. When the vibrator went off, it would close the circuit between them. Then he’d glued each phone, along with four interconnected AA batteries in a waterproof pack, to a small board. Three alligator clip wires—two red, one black—completed the process. Some of the clips had come loose in the mishandling of the backpack by the dapis. He reattached these and was ready to go.

  He taped the phone boards next to the C-4 blocks on the canisters and turned on the trigger phones. He’d been keeping them charged in his apartment all along. Before he attached the detonator wires, he made sure each of the four AA Energizers in the battery packs was properly oriented as to positive and negative. Then he checked that each phone was working. He had the numbers on speed dial and, after attaching a circuit tester, called each. The tiny bulb lit on each call. If the detonators had been connected, they would have exploded.

  Ready.

  To be extra safe, he turned off his calling phone before attaching the alligator clips to the detonator wires. The worst-case nightmare scenario in a situation like this was some stranger calling his mom or his girlfriend and misdialing a digit so that the number just happened to match the trigger phone. Though in the realm of possibility, the odds were overwhelmingly stacked against that happening. And here on the island, the odds were astronomical, because a simple cell phone wouldn’t reach; the unwitting dialer would have to be using a satellite phone.

  With the detonators attached to their triggers, Marten rotated the canisters so that the C-4 block on each was facing and almost touching the other. This guaranteed success. All he had to do was trigger one block. The force of its explosion would set off its brother block, vaporizing the contents of both canisters.

  Ideally, Marten would have liked one canister positioned on the north end of the caldera and one on the south, but that was impossible now. He couldn’t risk getting caught in transit.

  This would do the trick. When he made the first call, the combined blast would create a VX-laced shock wave, destroying nearby vegetation, but more importantly, sending a cloud of vapor throughout the caldera, filling every nook and cranny with deadly toxin, killing everything: reptiles, mammals, amphibians, birds, insects—anything that moved. And that included humans and dapis.

  If his first call failed, he had the second number, the second phone, wired to the second block of C-4.

  The trees and grasses and brush would remain, unharmed, thriving in their tropical paradise. The VX would eventually dissipate and other life would return. Birds and insects at first, and perhaps even a mammal or two would find their way here.

  But no dapis. The dapis would be extinct.

  The question was: when to make the call? And from where? He could detonate them from anywhere in the world.

  If his original plan had worked out on Saturday, he would have wired up the canisters at each end of the island and detonated them from the helicopter on his way back to Mozambique. But that had gone belly up, forcing him to improvise.

  Now everything was set to blow, but he had no way off the island. He was willing to die to see this end the way it must, but only if he could find no other way. And there was almost always another way. If—

  He froze as he heard an unmistakable sound. A helicopter. But where was it coming from? The sound echoed off the lava walls, filling the caldera with noise that seemed to come from everywhere.

  But-but-but … the only pilot who knew the island’s location was dead. So who was up there now?

  He headed toward where the sound seemed loudest.

  4

  “I am amazed,” the pilot said in French through Laura’s headphones. “Who would have dreamed…?”

  Laura gazed in wonder at the tiny, sheer-walled island below. Definitely volcanic. From up here it resembled a potted plant, a rough-hewn stone bowl filled with sprouts, although these sprouts were trees.

  The pilot had been amused and downright condescending when they’d shown him the coordinates they wanted to explore. He’d echoed Lieutenant Mugabe almost to the word.

  “There’s nothing there but empty ocean.”

  Rick had convinced him to humor the two crazy Americans. The pilot had shrugged and said it was their money and no difference to him.

  The day up until then had been hectic—no, beyond hectic into frantic. They’d awakened early, made love—not as languidly and as leisurely as she would have liked, but still a wonderful way to start the day.

  She tingled at the memory of yesterday and this morning. She felt more at peace than she had in a long time. She supposed their lovemaking had something to do with that. She wished they could have spent the rest of the day in bed, but … not possible. Not today.

  Quick showers and then off to Maputo Airport where they caught the first South African Airways shuttle to Johannesburg. For breakfast they gobbled lemony braided pastries called koeksisters during their brief layover before flying Air Madagascar to Antananarivo.

  Their first argument of the day occurred in the Antananarivo airport. Rick wanted her to wait at a hotel—read, tour the capital, hang out at the pool, that sort of thing—while he tried to find his brother. If he found Keith, he’d either convince him to come back or not, but either way, Rick would be back in Antananarivo by nightfall.

  He lost that argument.

  From Antananarivo they had an hour flight in a propjet to Morondava and their helicopter. Bianca had given them the pilot’s cell number, and Laura had called before boarding. The pilot had not been hard to find in the tiny airport. His name was Antso Rakotomalala and he’d looked hungover. He told them his oiseau, as he called it, could give them three hours in the air.

  Then she and Rick had their second argument. Rick didn’t know how skilled their pilot was or how well he maintained his chopper, they were headed out over open water where they wouldn’t be able to make an emergency landing should the need arise, they had no idea what they’d find at the coordinates, if anything, blah-blah-blah.

  He lost that argument too.

  By the time they sighted the island, they’d used a third of their air time. But Laura was glad she’d come along. The flight itself had been no fun, what with the incessant noise and vibration, the uncomfortable seat, the monotony of empty open water in all directions, bu
t the discovery that their trip had not been in vain made it all worth it. The island had appeared as a bit of cloud on the horizon and had grown into this tiny jewel in the middle of nowhere.

  Rick made a circular motion with his hand. “Tell him to look for a place to land.”

  Laura relayed the message in French. Antso spoke very little English but he was already nodding and banking his oiseau.

  They cruised around the south end of the island and, as its west side came into view, they all pointed out the anchored cabin cruiser at once. Rick signaled to descend and they buzzed by at twenty feet above the waves. Sorcière des Mers was clearly visible across the transom.

  “Sea Witch,” Laura said. “The animal dealer’s boat. We’ve found the right place.”

  “Now we just have to hope we’re right about Keith being with him.”

  “He has to be,” Laura told him. “Where else can he be? The police say he’s disappeared from Mozambique. If Mozi’s family is here, it’s the only place he wants to be.”

  “The boat looks deserted.”

  Laura had to agree. If anyone was aboard, they surely would have come on deck to check out the racket of a helicopter buzzing them. She looked past the Sorcière to the island where she spotted something gleaming behind a palm tree.

  “Isn’t that a ladder against the rocks there?” she said, pointing.

  “Sure is.”

  “Everyone must be on the other side.”

  Rick was twisting back and forth in his seat. “We need to find a landing spot.” He made the circular motion again.

  Antso took them around the north shore back to the eastern side. Laura hadn’t seen any expanse she considered wide enough to set down, but she was no pilot. He flew them across the top of the leafy canopy, unbroken except for the opening over a central lake.

  “Can you land?” she said in French.

  Antso’s head shake was emphatic. “Non.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Rick said, looking disgusted. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” He looked around the cabin. “He wouldn’t happen to have an outside winch, would he?”

  Laura asked and received another Non.

  Before they’d taken off, Rick had mentioned how he’d have preferred a chopper with pontoons in case a water landing was called for, but Antso’s was the only helo for hire, so they’d had no choice.

  The plan had been to land on the island—if they found it—locate Keith, and let Rick try to convince him to return to his old life. If that didn’t work, at least find out why—get a clue as to what was going on in his head, what had triggered this crazy, uncharacteristic behavior.

  But none of that would happen if they couldn’t land. It looked like they were going to have to return to Maputo and wait for the Sorcière to return to its dock.

  After a moment of brooding silence, Rick said, “Tell him to circle the rim.”

  Laura translated and the pilot complied.

  After a full circuit, Rick said, “Tell him to head back to the north edge.”

  As the chopper banked around, Rick turned to her.

  “All right, here’s the plan. I’m gonna get out at the widest section of the rim.” He glanced at his watch. “By my estimate, he’s got forty-five minutes of hover time before he has to head back. That’s not enough for me to locate Keith and do any meaningful convincing.”

  Laura immediately saw where he was headed but kept her comments to herself.

  “So here’s what I want you to do: After I’m down on the rim, you and Antso go back to Madagascar and wait till you hear from me.” He held up his sat phone. “I’ll take this with me. When I’m ready to head back, I’ll call you. You then call Antso and have him come back to pick me up—either with Keith or without him.”

  As Antso reached the northern section of the rim and hovered there, Laura nodded, repressing a smile. Rick had it all figured, a perfect solution—for him, anyway. One that left her sitting on her hands back in civilization. She appreciated his wanting to protect her, but he should know by now that she was no novice where exploring a jungle was concerned. She’d spent her first two years after graduating medical school as a very well-paid bioprospector in Mesoamerica. Despite Rick’s SEAL training, she could probably find her way around that island better, and locate Keith before he did.

  But she made no protest. No point in arguing. It would simply waste time.

  “How are you going to get down from the rim to the base?”

  “Inner slope’s gentler.” He was snapping closed all the pockets on his bush jacket. “Looks like an easy climb down.”

  Laura had noticed that too.

  “When do you want to do this?”

  “ASAP. Explain it to him and see if he’s cool with it.”

  She did.

  Antso looked at Rick as if he had two heads, then said in French, “You will have to pay for another charter, of course.”

  “We realize that,” Laura told him. “Same as this one.”

  He seemed to like the idea. With a Gallic shrug, he said, “Bon.”

  “Great,” Rick said. “Would you please tell him to set down here, just long enough for me to hop out?”

  Laura relayed the message, but Antso shook his head. His oiseau was already wobbling in the updraft from the channel side.

  “Trop dangereux!”

  Rick didn’t need a translator for that.

  “Okay, ask him to get as low as he dares.”

  Laura translated. Antso nodded and eased his oiseau down to about half a dozen feet off the uneven but generally flat surface of the rim.

  Rick cupped his hand behind her neck and pulled her close for a kiss.

  “Wish me luck.”

  He pulled off his headset, unbuckled his seat belt, and slid back the door. With a last backward look and a wink, he eased himself onto the runner, then leaped. He landed in a crouch, then bounded up to standing.

  Antso started to rise and pull away, but Laura put a hand on his shoulder. “Wait.”

  With a quick wave, Rick stepped to the inner edge, eased himself over, and began to descend.

  As he disappeared from sight, Laura tapped Antso on the shoulder, and made a thumb-down gesture as she unbuckled her own seat belt.

  “Take me down.”

  Antso looked at her as if she had not two but three heads. “C’est fou!”

  Not crazy in the least. That island down there was like a time capsule, an insect in amber locked away from the rest of the world for millions of years, with flora and fauna unlike anywhere else on the planet. A bioprospector’s dream. Rick wanted her to return to Morondava to sit in the airport lounge and twiddle her thumbs until he called? Or maybe knit a sweater? No freakin’ way.

  “Head back to the airport and await our call,” she said. “It may take us a few hours to settle our business here.”

  “Business? Here? No one has business here. What kind of—?”

  “It’s a family matter. Wait for our call.”

  Shaking his head, he lowered his copter again, getting the skids even closer to the lava this time. In deference to her femininity? Possibly. Whatever, she appreciated it.

  She looped the strap of her shoulder bag over her head into a cross-chest position, then slipped out onto the skid just as an extra strong updraft wobbled the craft. She gritted her teeth and hung on till it passed, then leaped.

  5

  As Rick headed down the wall—it turned out to be even easier than it had looked from the air—he heard the sound of the chopper increase in volume.

  That shouldn’t be. It had started to fade, but now …

  Was something wrong?

  He scrambled back up and crested the edge of the ridge just in time to see Laura jump from the chopper’s runner. She took a couple of stutter steps to keep her balance, then turned and waved at the pilot. Antso was shaking his head as he waved back and banked away.

  No-no-no-no-no!

  Rick pulled himself up over the edge and onto the rim, all
the time waving to get Antso’s attention. But the chopper’s rotation took him out of Rick’s line of sight and then he was beelining east toward Madagascar.

  Damn!

  “Laura!” he shouted. Damn, he was angry. “For Christ sake! What are you doing here?”

  She turned with a startled look. “I thought you’d be halfway down to the bottom already.”

  It had turned out to be farther than he’d thought, but that wasn’t the point.

  “Heard the chopper come back and thought something had gone wrong. Never dreamed it’d be this wrong. Are you crazy?”

  “Look, I’m as ready for this as you are. You’ve got sneakers, I’ve got sneakers. We’re both in jeans, I’ve got a long-sleeve T, and you’ve got your bush jacket.”

  Saying she was worried about mosquitos and malaria, she’d insisted on the long sleeves for both of them this morning.

  “But we don’t know what we’ll run into down there.”

  “Yes, we do. A jungle and your brother. I think I can handle those as well as you can.”

  “Did you forget he’s traveling with poachers? Guys who might not like anyone interfering with their illegal—may I emphasize, illegal—activities?”

  “‘Poaching’? You can’t call it ‘poaching’ when nobody even knows the place exists, when everybody tells you the place does not exist.”

  Okay, she had him there.

  “Fine. But we’re heading into the unknown and—”

  “Exactly! Who knows what’s waiting down there?” She waved her hands excitedly. “Flora that no one’s ever laid eyes on—ever. Millions of years in isolation.”

  “Right. The Land That Time Forgot. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  She made a face. “You’re not seriously worried about dinosaurs.”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “Listen, the vinca alkaloids used in chemotherapy came from the Madagascar periwinkle. There could be a revolutionary cure for cancer waiting down there. And I could be the one who finds it!”