Belly Up

by Stuart Gibbs

  “So it wouldn’t have picked that up in the wild.”

  “No. It probably got sick en route here. Maybe even in the quarantine. Sometimes these idiots from customs don’t take the right precautions and just lump all the cats together when they come into the country.”

  I realized they were talking about the dead jaguar. It must have come from outside the US if the customs service had quarantined it. Customs had a few big animal holding facilities on the borders that held every animal coming into America—be it a wild animal destined for a zoo, a farm animal destined for market, or even a family pet. Unfortunately, the facilities were underfunded and run-down and the animal care was known to be subpar at best. It wouldn’t have been the first time a zoo lost an endangered animal while trying to bring it into the country.

  “We have any proof of that?” J.J. asked, annoyed. “’Cause if we do, maybe we can get some kind of waiver, get customs to let us do all our own quarantining from now on.”

  “The government wouldn’t let you do that. . . .”

  “Oh, they might. I’ve got friends in high places, you know.”

  We were close enough now to see the frown on Doc’s face. “It’s not just customs at fault here. God knows why Martin insisted on bringing these animals all the way from the Amazon. There are a dozen facilities in this country where we could have got some. . . .”

  “Six months from now. I’m the one who kicked Martin’s ass on this, so if you’ve got a bone to pick, it’s with me. Carnivore Canyon’s opening tomorrow. We’re supposed to have a jaguar exhibit with no jaguars?”

  “No one would have even noticed. You’ve got lions and tigers. That’s all the public cares about.” Doc waved toward the tiger exhibit, which was not far down the walkway, then pointed back at the jaguars below. “These animals were bought from a shady breeding facility in Brazil and rushed up here. There’s a good chance they could all have health problems.”

  “They look fine to me.”

  “That farm’s breeding records were a mess. For all we know, these jaguars could be inbred worse than the royal family.” Doc was about to go on, but J.J. had noticed us and held up a hand to silence him.

  “We can talk more about this later,” he said. “Go enjoy yourself. It’s a party.”

  Doc turned and saw us. I think he was torn between frowning at me and smiling at my mother. Summer’s presence put the smile over the top. “Evening, ladies,” Doc said graciously. Then he left us alone. I noticed he didn’t hurry out of the exhibit, though. He seemed as disdainful of the party as J.J. and only wandered a little farther down the walkway before stopping to watch some ocelots.

  J.J. was far more friendly to us, instantly turning up the charm. “There’s my princess!” he said, giving Summer a big hug that embarrassed her greatly. Then he turned to Mom and extended a hand. “Charlene, always a pleasure.”

  “Likewise, J.J.” Mom took J.J.’s hand. “The exhibit looks wonderful.”

  “Doesn’t it though? I think the designers have truly outdone themselves on this one.” J.J. gallantly kissed Mom’s hand, then set his sights on me. “And you must be the famous Theodore Roosevelt Fitzroy. These two ladies have a heap of good things to say about you.”

  Somehow, that single statement made both Summer and me blush. “It’s very nice to meet you, sir,” I said, extending my hand to shake.

  J.J. pumped my arm with surprising strength, given his scrawny build. “No, the pleasure is all mine. I hear you and my daughter have been having quite a lot of adventures at this park.”

  “That makes two of us,” Mom said.

  “We heard you and Doc talking about the jaguars,” Summer said. “Are they really inbred?”

  J.J. studied his daughter for a moment, as though he didn’t know whether to be pleased by her forwardness or annoyed by it. “I’d doubt it. I don’t think these breeding facilities are nearly as poorly-run as Doc suspects.”

  “But what if they are? Will they have babies with three heads and stuff?”

  “No. And it’s a moot point, because if our genetic testing indicates they’re inbred, then we won’t let them breed, period. Of course, that’s all small potatoes compared to the problems you believe this park has, Theodore.” J.J. suddenly swung toward me. “Summer has recounted the tale of your investigation with great enthusiasm. Obviously, the idea that Henry was murdered greatly concerns me. I know he wasn’t exactly Prince Charming, but for someone to kill him—at my very own zoo, no less—well, it makes me mad as a cut snake.”

  “Then perhaps you should use your influence to get the local police involved,” Mom said.

  “Oh, I don’t think there’s any need for that. Our security team is fully capable of getting to the bottom of this. . . .”

  “As well as making sure the story doesn’t leak to the press,” Mom added.

  J.J. gave her a friendly smile, but there seemed to be a little fire behind it. I don’t think he was used to people standing up to him like that. “Well, yes. Maybe that seems ornery or blinkered to you, but imagine what a field day the press would have if they found out Henry was murdered. It’d be front-page news all over the world. Children would be devastated. And we’d look like we’re running a secondhand outfit here—which might be exactly what the killer wants.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  J.J. looked around cautiously, assessing how close the other guests were before answering. There was a small cluster of people nearby, so J.J. led us all down toward the tigers. A man-made waterfall thundered into the canyon there, loud enough to drown out most noise. Below us, four tigers slunk through the grass at the bottom of the exhibit, waiting for their dinner.

  Carnivore Canyon was pioneering some new ground in keeping their animals mentally stimulated. In the past, zoos had simply thrown meat to their tigers, but after a generation or two of this, the cats would have no hunting instincts left. So zoos had begun to make the delivery of food less predictable, forcing the animals to work to find it by leaving it in different places every day and at different times. Now, FunJungle had gone a step further, creating a virtual hunt. Before food was delivered, the scents and sounds of various prey would be pumped into the exhibit via a series of tubes and speakers, leading the tigers on an ever-changing route through their exhibit before food was provided. It sounded a little corny to me, but it seemed to be working. The tigers below us were definitely exhibiting stalking behavior and seemed primed for attack.

  They were so impressive, even J.J. McCracken was a bit distracted by them. He needed a gentle nudge from Summer to remember where he was. “Dad. The killers . . . ?”

  “Oh yes,” J.J. said. “When I first heard about the murder, I had a hunch who might be behind it. Now, I’ve had Buck and the security staff working on this case round the clock over the last two days, and what they’ve found has confirmed my fears. It’s quite likely that Henry was murdered by saboteurs.”

  Mom, Summer, and I were all surprised by this. Mom was the first to speak. “Who?”

  “There’s two possibilities. One is the Animal Liberation Front.”

  Summer gasped sharply. “Why would animal-rights activists kill an animal?”

  “To make us look bad. The ALF has been against this park since the moment it was announced. To them, we’re just a prison for animals. They ignore all the work we’ve done to create state-of-the-art habitats, all the excitement we create in young people, all the money we generate for research and conservation projects. I even invited representatives from the ALF to tour FunJungle with me, to see everything we do to enhance the quality of life for our animals—but of course, they refused. These people don’t want to listen to reason. They think they’re right and we’re wrong and they won’t be happy until they’ve shut down every zoo, farm, and pet store in the USA. They’re not sensible like the Sierra Club or the ASPCA. They’re a dangerous group of radicals. In fact, technically, they’re terrorists, since they’ve destroyed private property. They blew up a meat-packing pl
ant last year in Nebraska.”

  I was surprised to hear this last fact. So was Summer. Mom appeared to have known about it. “But if the ALF was trying to make a statement against FunJungle, wouldn’t it be more in line with their morals to attack a building, rather than an animal?” she asked.

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But consider Henry. He’s not just an animal. He’s a symbol. Our mascot. The most famous animal in the world. Do you have any idea how much damage they’ve done by killing Henry right after the park’s grand opening? Millions of dollars. Maybe more. We’ve had thousands of families cancel their visits. I’ve got warehouses full of Henry merchandise I can’t sell now. And our stock price took a nosedive. Blowing up a building wouldn’t have had an impact like that. Plus, it would have been an obvious terrorist act. The public would have instantly turned against them. Can you imagine anything more horrible than blowing up a zoo? No. But look at how Henry was killed. Subtly. Quietly. Most vets wouldn’t have even noticed it was a murder. Only someone as meticulous as Doc. The death makes us look like we dropped the ball. Gives us a black eye. Here we are, claiming to be the greatest zoo in the world with the highest quality animal care—and we can’t even keep our own mascot alive.”

  “So why can’t you just say that Henry was killed?” Summer wanted to know. “That’d make whoever did it look bad, wouldn’t it?”

  “Maybe. If we knew who’d done it. But we don’t . . . yet. So right now, all we could do is go public and say that someone killed Henry. We can’t prove it was the ALF yet. Maybe it was just some lone jerk who hated hippos. It’s still a black eye for us. We made Henry famous and then failed to protect him. Plus, the whole event goes from being a natural occurrence in nature—old hippos die—to a sordid tabloid story: ‘Henry Hippo Murdered!’”

  “But you said Buck had found some evidence that it was the ALF,” I reminded him.

  “No, he found evidence that it was sabotage. We don’t know who’s behind it yet. Buck’s leaning toward the ALF . . . but there’s also the chance this is corporate warfare.”

  “You mean, another corporation killed Henry?” Mom asked.

  “Exactly. Do you know what a dent FunJungle has put in the business of other theme parks in this country? We’ve sucked away thousands of guests from them. Millions of dollars in profits. They’re not happy about that.”

  “Still,” Mom said incredulously, “you don’t honestly think a corporation would murder your mascot?”

  J.J. shrugged. “Why not? Technically, it’s not even murder. Henry’s an animal. Legally, it’s only destruction of property—and I know that’s fair game in the corporate world. Again, look at the economic damage they’ve done. They couldn’t have hit us any harder. The buildings might cost a lot, but they’re insured. But Henry . . . Say what you will about the bucket of lard, but he was FunJungle to most people. The damage to our image—to our brand—has been irrevocable. It’s as though I went down to Disneyland and assassinated Mickey Mouse.”

  I was taken aback by all this. It all sounded crazy to me—which was compounded by the fact that J.J., lit by the floodlights from the tiger exhibits below, looked a little maniacal as he spoke. But even more shocking was the fact that it kind of made sense. After all, humans had a history of behaving badly in order to make a buck. If a man would kill a rhinoceros for the thousand dollars its horn would bring him, what would stop a corporation from killing a hippopotamus when billions were at stake?

  Somewhere close to us, I heard the clank of metal banging on metal. The walkway trembled slightly and then the tigers began to growl. It sounded as though the hunt was picking up.

  “What was the evidence Buck found?” I asked.

  J.J. smiled at me, as though pleased. “I thought you might ask that. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you for fear of jeopardizing the investigation.”

  I frowned and Summer started to complain, but J.J. cut her off and spoke to me. “I know it’s not cool. After all, there wouldn’t even be an investigation if not for you, Theodore. And for that, I am greatly indebted. That’s why I wanted this time with you, so I could talk to you man-to-man and express my gratitude in person. You’re a good kid. You’re smart and you’ve got guts. I know you’re not gonna like leaving this case to someone else, but I also know you’ll understand why it has to be that way. Buck has this under control. He’ll find whoever killed Henry. He just needs some time to do it. So all I ask of you in the meantime is patience. Sit back and trust Buck to do his job. Can you do that for me?”

  I had to admit, J.J. understood me awfully well. He grasped exactly what I was going through. I wasn’t happy to step aside, but I appreciated J.J. taking the time to explain everything to me like I was a grown-up. I could see why he was such a good deal-maker. It was hard not to like him. “Yes,” I said. “I can do that.”

  “Like I said, smart.” J.J. patted me on the shoulder happily. “Now, don’t think you’re totally out of the loop, son. If you have any more thoughts on this case, you let me know. Call my office and I’ll be on with you as fast as I can. But as far as the investigation’s concerned, I need you on the sidelines. It’s beginning to look like there’s some really dirty people involved here. It could get dangerous.”

  There was a soft thump on the walkway, not far behind me.

  “It just did ,” Mom said.

  She was looking past us, fear in her eyes. Beside her, Summer had the exact same look.

  There was a low, guttural growl from behind me.

  I spun around. A pair of bright orange eyes leered at us from down the walkway.

  One of the tigers was out. And it was still on the hunt.

  The tiger was on the walkway between us and the main entrance to Carnivore Canyon. It was locked in a crouch, legs cocked, ready to pounce, its tail flicking from side to side.

  I began to tremble with fear. So did Summer and J.J. Only Mom seemed composed. She took my hand in hers and squeezed it reassuringly. “Stay calm,” she said quietly. “That’s a defensive posture. The tiger’s more afraid than we are.”

  I had a hard time believing that. In all my years in Africa, I’d never come face-to-face with a hungry predator. It was terrifying.

  J.J. took a step back, away from the tiger.

  The tiger snorted angrily.

  J.J. froze.

  “No sudden movements,” Mom told us. “No loud noises. Anything sudden might trigger the attack instinct.”

  “Daddy, I’m scared,” Summer whimpered. It was the first time I’d ever heard her actually sound like a thirteen-year-old.

  Behind the tiger, I could see something metal propped against the outer railing of the walkway. The top end of a ladder. The rest of the ladder descended into the exhibit, which explained how the tiger had got out.

  It also meant the other three tigers in the exhibit could get out too.

  The tiger’s escape had been amazingly quiet. Even now, its growl was so low, it was almost below the range of our hearing, easily covered by the distant cocktail party chatter. In fact, there was a cluster of guests on the walkway not far beyond the tiger who hadn’t even noticed it yet. They were gabbing away, oblivious to the fact that their lives were in danger.

  “Was that tiger caught in the wild or bred in captivity?” Mom asked.

  “Captivity,” J.J. replied. “The Columbus Zoo, I think.”

  “So it’s used to humans. It probably doesn’t even think of us as prey.”

  “Why’s it ready to attack, then?”

  “To defend itself. It’s scared. It’s in a new place. There’s a loud party going on. Bright lights are shining into its exhibit. It thinks we’re a threat.”

  “So what do we do?” Summer asked.

  “Don’t agitate it. Let it relax. I’m speed-dialing security.” Mom had her phone open and slowly pressed the buttons with her thumb.

  “It could be five minutes before they get here,” J.J. said. “We could be dinner by then.”

  “Not if the tiger d
ecides we’re not a threat.”

  A shriek pierced the air. One of the party guests behind the tiger had finally noticed it. She dropped her champagne glass and ran.

  The rest of her friends did too. They scurried as fast as they could in their high-heeled shoes, which wasn’t very fast at all.

  The tiger whipped around, startled. It saw the humans running, which triggered its attack response. It was a second from taking off after them. . . .

  When J.J. McCracken bolted in the other direction. Summer disappeared from my side as he yanked her along.

  Later, J.J. would claim he was sure the tiger was already heading in the opposite direction and that he was taking advantage of the distraction to get a message to security. But I knew what he was really doing. He was panicking. If he’d waited another second or two, the tiger would surely have headed after the other guests—but as it was, J.J.’s sudden movement brought the tiger’s attention back toward us.

  It swung around, poised to attack, and saw the McCrackens fleeing. But Mom and I were now left as the closest targets.

  The tiger roared loud enough to make the walkway vibrate. Then it sprang.

  Before I could run, Mom tackled me. She pinned me to the walkway, shielding me from the tiger with her own body.

  The giant cat quickly closed the distance between us, covering fifteen feet with each pounce. Within seconds, it was only ten feet away. . . .

  Someone suddenly darted past us from behind, heading toward the tiger. I couldn’t see who it was in the darkness. Only that he was armed with a broom.

  The tiger ignored him, still focused on us. It sprang, teeth bared, claws extending from its paws. . . .

  The man swung the broom like a baseball bat, catching the tiger full in the face.

  The tiger tumbled to the walkway, shook its head, and sneezed.

  “Down!” the man ordered.

  To my astonishment, the tiger cowered like a scared kitten. It even whined a bit.

  The man cocked the broom over his shoulder again. “Back,” he ordered.