Lost Worlds

by Andrew Lane

  Rhino was blending in. He was wearing his usual faded chinos and polo shirt, with a lightweight canvas jacket over the top. He stood at the top of the escalators that led up from the luggage-reclaim area with a sign on a pole. The sign read Mr Desponda in large letters, and Trent Office Machinery in smaller letters underneath. There was no Mr Desponda, as far as Rhino knew, and probably no Trent Office Machinery either, but the sign gave him a level of anonymity. There must have been thirty other people – taxi drivers and chauffeurs – standing around with signs. He was just one of the crowd.

  He glanced around, making it look as if he was just checking for the fictitious Mr Trent. In fact, he was keeping an eye out for Blue and Orange, or their friends. He was pretty sure that he’d shaken off any attempt to follow him, and he had spent the previous night in an anonymous roadside motel under an assumed name rather than go back to the rather more upmarket room he’d been staying in previously, but there was always the off-chance that the gang who were looking for him – whoever they were – had thought to stake out the airport. There might be gang members stalking through the crowd now with his photograph in their hands and a silenced gun or a knife beneath their jackets.

  Rhino had thought about disguising himself, but in his experience false beards, wigs and moustaches were more likely to attract attention than to deflect it. The only disguise that Rhino was wearing was a pair of plain glasses and a baseball cap. He was relying on the fact that every second man in the crowd was in the same get-up. It was the standard American blue-collar look.

  The flight from London had arrived about twenty minutes ago. If this Tara Flynn was quick retrieving her baggage, then she should be appearing at any moment.

  Professor Livingstone had emailed a photograph of the girl to his smartphone. It had obviously been taken with a camera phone when she hadn’t been expecting it: she was looking away and she had her mouth open, as if she was just about to say something. She shouldn’t be hard to recognize, he mused. Not with hair dyed that violent shade of black, the ear piercings, the heavy eyeshadow and the suggestion of a lip stud. She looked to him like a typical goth – self-absorbed and ready to blame the rest of the world for anything she didn’t like. She was nothing like the kinds of people that he usually accompanied on missions and expeditions. The next few days were going to be . . . well, interesting to say the least.

  He still didn’t quite know what Professor Livingstone had got him into. If he hadn’t needed money and the chance to get out of the country quickly, then he wouldn’t have accepted the job. Nursemaiding a couple of kids on a trip to a former Soviet republic didn’t sound like his kind of thing.

  The only consolation was that it was paying well. The kid who was apparently funding the expedition to Georgia had agreed to his price without trying to negotiate Rhino down. Rhino respected that – he prided himself on pricing a job realistically, but with enough of a profit margin to make it worth his while and to cover any unexpected eventualities. When potential clients tried to get him to reduce his prices, he tended to lose respect for them very fast. Particularly in the hostage-rescue game, where arguments over money often made him wonder if the families or the companies who hired him actually wanted their relatives or their employees back again.

  A girl was rising up on the escalator from the luggage-reclaim area beneath the arrivals and departures hall. Her hair was coal-black apart from a purple streak above one eye, and she wore a leather jacket over a purple T-shirt with some band logo on it, and black jeans. He guessed she was pretty, but she seemed to be doing quite a bit to disguise it. She had a rucksack slung over one shoulder, and she was looking around as if expecting to meet someone.

  Rhino subtly angled his ‘Mr Desponda’ sign towards her. She saw it, caught his eye and nodded. Obviously Gillian Livingstone had given her the information about what to look for. Rhino nodded back discreetly. He was going to have to be careful. She didn’t have his training, and she didn’t know that he was effectively on the run, but he got the impression from the way she looked and the way she dressed that she kept her emotions well under control. When she got to the top of the escalator she turned towards him.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Tara.’ She looked at the sign, and smiled slightly. ‘Or rather, I’m Mr Desponda.’

  ‘Hi. I’m Rhino.’ He extended a hand and she shook it with a firm grip. ‘Good flight?’

  ‘I guess. Calum booked me a Business Class ticket. I was surrounded by businessmen in suits and ties. They spent the whole flight putting together presentations and spreadsheets on their laptops, while I just played games and read books. Of course, they got a free glass of champagne, while I had to make do with an orange juice. I suppose the food was OK, if you like things that don’t taste of anything.’

  ‘It’s the lower pressure. It does something to the taste buds. Nothing tastes of anything on an aircraft. No problems with the flight attendants, considering you were travelling on your own?’

  ‘They didn’t seem to mind. One of them asked me if I was being met in Washington. I told her “Yes”, and she left me alone after that.’

  ‘Good stuff.’ Rhino paused, and glanced around again. It was an automatic reaction. Nobody appeared to be paying them any undue attention. ‘I’ve got a hire car outside. Are you OK if we head straight for the Aberdeen Proving Ground? I’ve booked us into a hotel for the night, and then tomorrow it’s an eight o’clock start.’

  Tara grimaced. ‘Early. Ouch.’

  ‘Don’t worry – you can sleep in the car. Jet lag heading in this direction isn’t too bad. It’s heading east that it gets you.’ He reached out a hand. ‘Let me take that bag for you.’

  She pulled away. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got my tablet in here. I never let anyone touch it, if I can help it.’

  Rhino nodded. He didn’t like letting anyone take his kit either. ‘Fair enough. You OK to walk for five minutes?’

  ‘Sure.’

  The parking area was down a pedestrian exit ramp and across a road used mainly by buses and taxis dropping people off or picking them up. The heat and the humidity hit them both like a wet rag in the face as they walked out into the open.

  ‘Wow!’ Tara exclaimed. ‘Is it always this brutal?’

  ‘Half the year it’s too hot with one hundred per cent humidity and the other half it’s too cold with snow drifts a half a metre deep. There are two nice days a year – one when the weather is moving from hot to cold and the other, six months later, when the weather is moving back from cold to hot.’

  Rhino had hired a Pontiac Trans Am in an anonymous white. ‘Nice,’ was Tara’s only comment as she climbed into the passenger seat.

  As they pulled away from the parking space, Rhino kept his eyes peeled for any cars that set off just after they did. A red Cadillac and a grey BMW followed him out of the car parking area, but he could see that one of them held a Hispanic family and the other was being driven by an elderly lady. Tentatively he ruled both out as potentially hostile. By the time he had navigated through the maze of roads that surrounded the airport and got on to the Dulles Expressway, he was as sure as he could be that they were safe.

  ‘How much do you know about this thing we’re going to see?’ he asked Tara.

  ‘I just know that it’s a piece of high-tech kit that will help us on the expedition,’ she replied. ‘How much do you know about the expedition?’

  He laughed. ‘Just that it could use this bit of high-tech kit.’

  ‘OK, how long’s the drive to the Aberdeen Proving Ground?’

  ‘Four hours.’

  ‘Great – we both have a lot to talk about, then.’

  Tara wriggled in the leather seat of the car, unable to believe just how comfortable it felt.

  The car was heading down a wide . . . well, motorway was what she would have called it in the UK. What was it over here? An interstate? An expressway? It was four lanes across, and all the cars on it looked bigger and sleeker and more colourful than she was used to at hom
e. Every car seemed to be a Chevrolet, a Cadillac, a Dodge or a Pontiac. These were just names she had only ever read about before in books or magazines, but now she was surrounded by them.

  The buildings lining the . . . expressway? . . . were equally unusual. They all appeared to be designed to be unique, rather than back home where so many buildings looked the same. It was wild and crazy. It was America.

  She had to keep telling herself that she was in America, otherwise she would have decided that she was dreaming. Two days ago she had nothing to look forward to but college work, and maybe going out to see a band or something. But now, here she was in a big, fast car heading towards a high-tech demonstration where she was expected to be some kind of expert. It was mad!

  ‘Are you OK?’ Rhino asked.

  ‘Yeah. Just got carried away with the craziness of the moment.’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, I get that sometimes. Every now and then I have to look around, take a deep breath and remind myself which country I’m in and what exactly it is that I’m supposed to be doing. So – apart from the craziness, how are you feeling? Any jet lag?’

  She frowned, trying to analyse her feelings. ‘I think my body is still working on UK time. It feels later than it is. I keep wondering when dinner will be, but I guess it’s only mid-afternoon here.’

  ‘We’ll stop for a bite to eat in a while. The sunshine will help you adjust to the new time zone.’

  ‘But apart from that I feel OK. Not tired or anything.’

  ‘Good.’ He paused for a second as he changed lanes. ‘So – who’s going to go first?’

  ‘Go first?’

  ‘Explaining to each other what we’re doing here.’

  ‘Oh, right. I guess I could go first. How much do you know?’

  ‘Only what Gillian Livingstone told me,’ Rhino said. ‘You’ve met her, right?’

  ‘Yes. Kind of.’

  He smiled. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I mean we’ve not really had a chance to talk.’ Apart from her wanting to know who was ‘responsible’ for me, Tara added in her own mind. ‘She seems quite . . . impressive. What’s the story with her?’

  ‘She’s a technology consultant,’ Rhino explained. ‘She runs her own firm. Big international companies and consortia come to her for advice about what they should invest in, and what they ought to be researching. “Horizon-scanning and future-proofing”, she calls it – looking out for what’s going to be important in five, or ten, or twenty years and making sure that the people she advises are ready for it.’ He laughed. ‘Hang on, I thought you were supposed to be doing the talking!’

  ‘Sorry.’ She glanced sideways at him, and was struck by how young he looked. Based on what Gillian Livingstone had said, back at Calum’s apartment, Tara had been expecting some grey-haired, heavily tanned army veteran, but if she’d seen Rhino at her college she could have mistaken him for one of the students. His hair was dark and close-cropped, and his eyes were a piercing shade of blue, but it was his smile that struck her. He seemed to be continually and genuinely amused by what was going on around him.

  Only his hands gave him away, she thought. They were solid and calloused, and covered with small white scars. They looked like the hands of a man who had climbed rock faces and dug tunnels and got into fights.

  Rhino glanced sideways and met her gaze, and she blushed.

  ‘Yeah, this expedition,’ she said quickly, ‘it’s all the idea of this guy called Calum. Calum Challenger.’

  ‘He’s the disabled kid who Gillian is supposed to be mentoring, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but he doesn’t seem to need, or want, much mentoring. He’s got very clear ideas about what he wants to do, and I don’t think he lets much get in the way. He’s got this thing about creatures that science doesn’t know about – either because they were supposed to have died out, like, thousands of years ago, or because they live somewhere so remote that they’ve never been discovered and catalogued. It’s a family thing, apparently. His great-grandfather was a famous explorer, and his parents did the same kind of stuff.’

  ‘Nice to have a family business,’ Rhino observed.

  ‘Calum has evidence that there’s something living in the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains. It’s a photograph of some kind of man-ape. He says it might be a Neanderthal, or a missing link between apes and humans.’

  ‘A fake?’ Rhino asked. ‘Or maybe a misidentification of something like a thin, starving bear?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve seen it, and I’m pretty sure it’s not a fake. The proportions are wrong for it to be a man in a hairy suit. I’ve run some tests on it, and the image hasn’t been doctored in any way. And it doesn’t look anything like a bear, or a timber wolf, or anything whatever. No, I’m pretty sure that it’s real.’

  ‘And what does he want to do with this thing, if we find it? Does he expect us to bring one back?’

  ‘Nothing like that. Ideally he wants a sample of genetic material so that he can get it analysed in a laboratory. He thinks that the DNA of this creature might contain some kind of resistance to diseases and infections, or maybe it can fight off cancer. He thinks that if he can get these bits of DNA isolated then he can start to develop treatments that will help people. Apart from that, I think he just wants to make sure that these things are protected, that they’re not exploited by anyone.’

  She paused, an image of Calum Challenger floating in her mind.

  ‘Actually, what he really wants,’ she continued, more quietly, ‘is something that can regenerate nerves. He was disabled in the car accident that killed his parents.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember Gillian telling me about that. So why not just tell a university, or a TV channel, and let them fund an expedition?’

  ‘Because it would take too long, and the chances are that nobody would believe him anyway – not based on one photograph and some local legends.’

  ‘Fair point, I guess. So he’s funding all this himself?’

  ‘He inherited a lot of money from his parents when they died. I think it’s all tied up in a trust fund or something, but he can access it if his great-aunt agrees. He must be a hell of a smooth talker, because he convinced her to release the money for the expedition.’

  ‘He’s not planning on coming himself, is he? I really don’t think the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains is the best place for someone in a wheelchair, and with the best will in the world I’m not carrying him all the way.’

  Tara shook her head. ‘No, he’s resigned to not being there. Although he did get excited by this technology that we’re going to see. He thinks it’ll help him see what we’re seeing.’

  ‘It might just do that,’ Rhino said non-committally.

  ‘So what is it? Some kind of high-definition camera system?’

  Rhino just smiled. ‘You’re cold.’

  ‘A remotely piloted drone that he can steer, so that it follows us around?’

  Now he laughed. ‘Warmer, but not close.’

  ‘Well, what is it, then? I’m going to see it tomorrow anyway.’

  Instead of answering the question, Rhino said, ‘So Calum’s not coming. Who is? You?’

  ‘Me, and Gecko.’

  ‘Gecko?’

  ‘His real name is Eduardo Ortiz. He’s a free-runner,’ she said proudly.

  Rhino’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘He must be fit then. Free-running needs a lot of muscular strength and stamina, as well as a good cardiovascular system. He might just come in useful.’

  ‘Unlike me,’ Tara said quietly, turning her head to stare out of the window.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Look, I’m under no illusions. I’m not in what you’d call good physical condition. You’re probably thinking that I’ll hold you back.’

  Rhino glanced sideways at her. ‘Don’t do yourself down,’ he said gently. ‘From what I can see, you’re only carrying a couple of pounds excess weight, and you managed the walk to the car in heat that you’re not used to wit
hout getting out of breath. When we get back to the UK, I’ll take you and this Gecko kid through some training sessions, but I don’t foresee any problems. You won’t hold us back.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she whispered.

  ‘No problem.’ Silence for a few minutes, then: ‘Do you really want me to spoil the surprise and tell you what we’re seeing tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Tara said primly.

  ‘OK, it’s an experimental automated robotic system being tested for US soldiers in Afghanistan and elsewhere. The idea is that it carries all the kit and clobber that the soldiers normally have to carry, allowing them to concentrate on their mission and not get tired.’

  ‘Like a mechanical donkey,’ Tara said.

  Rhino snorted. ‘I wouldn’t let the company who’ve built it hear you put it quite that way if I were you. But essentially, yes – it’s like a mechanical donkey, only it’s faster, it never gets tired and it never refuses to go another step unless it has a carrot. The problem it’s been built to solve is that soldiers in armies today are carrying more kit than ever before, and in hot weather and direct sunshine that can seriously compromise their ability to do their jobs. Today’s marines, for instance, are carrying more weight than a medieval soldier in full armour.’

  ‘And this thing is what – remote-controlled?’

  He shook his head. ‘That’s the clever part. It’s fully robotic. If you tell it to follow you, it’ll follow you. If you tell it to go to a certain map reference, it’ll set off on its own. It’s fully independent. If it discovers that a route is blocked, then it will try to find another way around. If it comes under attack, it’ll retreat until it is safe. It’s a really clever piece of kit.’