It had haunted both their lives, but it was time to free that ghost.
She leaned down, brushed her lips against his, and whispered into his breath. “But we’re here.”
Chapter 63
Three months later, Jack was speeding down the waterway in his cousin’s airboat. The wind whipped his hair. His only companion, Burt, sat in the bow, his tongue lolling, his ears flapping. Jack guided the craft with deft ease and a light touch on the stick. He sat high in the pilot’s chair. The height allowed him to see over rushes, reeds, and bushes.
It felt good to get away from the city, from the station house. He was also tired of needles, rehabilitation appointments, and psychological tests. Besides a residual numbness in his left hand and the need to take a low-dose anticonvulsant tablet once a day, he had fully recovered.
Still, the best therapy of all could be found out here.
As the midday sun glared off the water he took a deep breath of the rich bayou air, heavy and humid, redolent with brackish water, yet sweetened by sedges and summer flowers.
As he raced deeper into the swamplands he again appreciated the stark and primeval beauty of these wide and trackless lands. He watched white-tailed deer bound away from the roar of his boat’s propellers. Alligators slipped deeper into nests. Raccoons and squirrels skittered up trees.
Rounding a bend, he slowed the airboat and let the engine die.
He needed a private moment to collect himself.
He let the boat gently rock as he listened to the life around him. Some considered the swamps to be a desolate and quiet place. That couldn’t be further from the truth. He closed his eyes, taking in the buzz of gnats, the chorus of frogs, the distant bark of a bull gator, and woven throughout it all, birdsong from hundreds of warbling throats.
After the events of last spring, Jack took moments like this to stop and appreciate the wonders around him. It was as if he had new eyes. In fact, all his senses seemed sharper. Not because of any residual effect from his illness, but simply because of his renewed appreciation for life.
This particular moment was especially significant for him.
His life was about to change in ways he couldn’t imagine, and he needed to prepare for it. But he also sensed the pressure of time.
Lorna was waiting for him—secretly summoned out here under mysterious circumstances—and he dared not keep her waiting any longer than necessary. She still had much work to do over at ACRES as the new facility was under construction.
“Better get going,” he said to Burt.
His hound thumped his tail in agreement.
Taking a final deep breath, Jack started up the airboat’s engine and shot down the waterways and channels. It was a maze through here, but he knew the way by heart. Skirting around an island, he reached a channel that ran straight toward a large log home, newly rebuilt after the fires.
He flew straight for the pier, then, at the last moment, angled the craft broadside and raked the bow to a perfect stop alongside the dock. A familiar round shape dressed in coveralls and an LSU ball cap rose from a chair and helped him tie off the airboat.
Burt bounded onto the dock and greeted him like an old friend.
“ ’Bout time you got here, Jack. Your little filly was growing restless. Thought I might have to tie her down.” With a final tug, he cinched the mooring rope to the pier’s stanchion.
“Thanks, Joe. Where is she?”
“Where do you think?” He waved beyond the log home, to the grounds of what was formerly known as Uncle Joe’s Alligator Farm. “She’s off with Stella and the kids.”
LORNA STARED IN amazement at the sight. She never grew tired of it. She stood on the observation deck above the spread of ponds and elevated walkways. A glass of lemonade sweated on the log rail. Below, children ran and played, bounded and jumped. Several hung from trees.
The ponds no longer held any alligators. They’d all been moved, including Elvis, who now was a star attraction at the Audubon Zoo in the city. To support his acquisition, a major marketing campaign was under way. Its slogan could be found emblazoned on billboards, buses, and streetcars all across New Orleans. It was only two words: Elvis Lives!
Stella climbed the steps with the youngest child in her arms. Only three months old, the girl was already walking on her own—though she plainly still liked to be carried.
“Eve is getting heavy,” Stella said, hiking the child higher in her arms.
“I can see that.”
“We’re weaning her off the bottle like you suggested, but she’s fighting it.”
“They always do.” Lorna smiled and nodded below. “I have to say, you’re doing a great job. They all look so happy.”
Stella matched her grin. “Oh, they have their usual scrapes and bruises like any kids, but I’ve never seen a more loving bunch. You should see how they dote on Igor, Bagheera, and the two little monkeys. They keep stuffing them with treats.”
Lorna laughed. She had never doubted the brood would find a good home here, but she was surprised how quickly they had adjusted to their new environment and circumstances.
Before leaving the Thibodeauxs’ boat, Lorna and the others had made a pact to keep the existence of the children secret—at least until they were strong enough and the world ready enough to handle such news. The Thibodeauxs had proved skilled at getting the children through the bayou in secret. No one appeared to be any the wiser, and when it came to keeping things hidden from sight, there was no better place.
Lorna had only confided in two others—Carlton and Zoë—knowing she’d need their help in establishing this secret sanctuary. It had been an easy sell. ACRES had been started to protect and nurture endangered species.
Lorna watched the children play.
Was there any species more endangered, more at risk?
To help matters, the project had the backing of an open checkbook from a silent partner.
After reaching U.S. shores, Bennett had turned himself over to the authorities. He did not hold back, exposing all the crimes done in his name, opening the balance sheets to Ironcreek—but as promised, he had remained silent about the children. He told authorities that the facility on Lost Eden Cay had been a viral lab undergoing human trials, that a weaponized organism had gotten loose, and that it became necessary to burn it all down.
Afterward, Bennett had been moved to a high-security facility while he assisted the Justice Department in rooting out other guilty parties both within the government and out in the private sector. His testimony continued to shake up Washington.
Hopefully for the better.
But Bennett’s largesse didn’t end there. Through the use of dummy corporations and financial channels that made Lorna’s head spin, he secretly financed both the rebuilding of ACRES and the establishment of this secret sanctuary.
Lorna understood the motive behind this generosity.
Bennett had started down a path to his own redemption.
If she ever doubted it, she only had to turn around. At Bennett’s personal request, a message had been carved into the lintel above the new home’s doorway.
MATTHEW 19:14
She had to look up that particular Bible verse. When she did so, it left her smiling. She found it entirely fitting.
Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.
Lorna stared across at the joyful play and youthful innocence. Her smile grew as she took it all in. While this might not be Heaven, it was definitely a little slice of Eden.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
She turned to find Jack crossing toward her, Burt trotting at his side. The shock must have been all over her face. She hadn’t known he was coming.
Stella retreated toward the house with Eve in her arms.
Jack took her place. He was dressed in a crisp black suit, his hair wet and combed back, like he’d just stepped out of the shower—though he still had a day’s worth of stubble over his ch
in and cheeks.
She was confused. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted his arms to encompass this new Eden. “Where better than here?”
She still didn’t understand. “For what?”
As answer, he dropped to one knee.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’ve never been a firm believer in the adage “write what you know.” What’s the fun in that? Still, as a veterinarian, I also always wanted to feature a book with a veterinarian in the lead. Still, even in this case, that old adage doesn’t hold true. I had to lean on many people to bring this story to life. First and always, I must acknowledge my critique group: Penny Hill, Judy Prey, Dave Murray, Caroline Williams, Chris Crowe, Lee Garrett, Jane O’Riva, Sally Barnes, Denny Grayson, Leonard Little, Kathy L’Ecluse, Scott Smith, Chris Smith, and Will Murray. And an extra big thanks to Steve Prey for all his great help with the maps. Beyond the group, Carolyn McCray and David Sylvian keep life out of my way so I can write. Dr. Scott Brown was instrumental with some of the medical details, and Cherie McCarter continues to be a wellspring of information (including an article about a snake born with a clawed leg . . . love that!). And a special thanks to Steve and Elizabeth Berry for their great friendship (and for Liz, since it’s missing from this book, I thought I’d put it here: “sluiced”). Lastly, a special acknowledgment to the four people instrumental to all levels of production: my editor, Lyssa Keusch, and her colleague Wendy Lee; and my agents, Russ Galen and Danny Baror. They’ve truly been the foundation under this author. And as always, I must stress that any and all errors of fact or detail in this book fall squarely on my own shoulders.
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author JAMES ROLLINS holds a doctorate in veterinary medicine and resides in the Sierra Nevada mountains. An avid spelunker and certified scuba enthusiast, he can often be found underground or underwater.
Find James Rollins on Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, and at www.jamesrollins.com
ALSO BY JAMES ROLLINS
Subterranean
Excavation
Deep Fathom
Amazonia
Ice Hunt
Sandstorm
Map of Bones
Black Order
The Judas Strain
The Last Oracle
The Doomsday Key
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALTAR OF EDEN. Copyright © 2010 by James Czajkowski. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Rollins, James, 1961–
Altar of Eden / James Rollins. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-06-123142-1 (hardcover)
1. Veterinarians—Fiction. 2. Animal mutation—Fiction. 3. Genetic engineering—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3568.O5398A79 2010
813’.54—dc22
2009041804
* * *
ISBN 978-0-06-189728-3 (international edition)
EPub Edition © 2009 ISBN: 9780061959141
10 11 12 13 14 OV/RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
EPILOGUE
SPRING
BAGHDAD, IRAQ
Two young men hurried through the Al-Zawraa Gardens toward the main gates of the Baghdad Zoo. The smaller of the two sped ahead of his older brother. He called back impatiently.
“Yalla! Come on, Makeen!”
Makeen followed, but with less enthusiasm. He had no particular desire to ever set foot in the zoo again. The place still haunted his nightmares. But many years had passed. He had a girlfriend, a job at a video store, and hoped to save one day for his own car.
Yet, more than all that, today was his little brother Bari’s sixteenth birthday, an auspicious day. A party was planned in the park later. His mother had spent the past week preparing this birthday picnic. The apartment still smelled of baking bread and cinnamon. With the promise of a full stomach, even nightmares lost their power.
Bari hurried through the gates. His younger brother showed no hesitation. Over the years, Bari often visited the new zoo, but whenever Makeen tried to talk to him about what had happened, his brother said he didn’t remember. And maybe he truly didn’t. Bari hadn’t seen the monster, not up close, that black beast of Shaitan.
Even to this day, Makeen sometimes woke with his bedsheets tangled, soaked with sweat, a scream trapped in his throat, picturing eyes aglow with a smokeless fire.
As he crossed the gardens he lifted his face to the sun and burned away such dark thoughts. On a bright morning like today, amid the bustle of the early-morning visitors, what was there to fear?
He found Bari dancing at the entrance. “You move like a constipated camel, Makeen. I want to see the new baby chimp, and you know the crowds gather later.”
Makeen followed. He didn’t understand his brother’s love for all things furry, but on this special day he’d tolerate it.
They wound through the various exhibits—birds, camels, bears—and headed straight toward the chimp enclosure. He strode quickly with his brother, matching his stride. Thankfully their path did not take them past the old lion cages.
Subhan’Allah, he thought to himself. Allah be praised.
At last they reached their destination. The monkey-and-ape exhibit had been refurbished after the bombing. It was a popular site. After the war, a few escaped apes had been recaptured and returned to the new exhibit. For Iraqis, such continuity was important. It held special significance for the besieged city, a symbol of recovery and stability.
So the birth last year was doubly special.
An older chimpanzee—one recovered in the streets—had given birth to a baby, a child born bald. It had caused a media sensation, declared an omen of good fortune.
Makeen didn’t understand that.
Even a year later, the naked chimp continued to draw large crowds.
Bari hurried to a separate entrance off to the side. It led into a small nursery ward.
“Over here, Makeen! I can’t believe you’ve not seen it!”
Indulging his brother’s enthusiasm, he walked into the enclosure. A short hall ran past a cage enclosed behind glass. At this early hour, they had the ward to themselves.
With his arms crossed, Makeen stared into the exhibit. A fake tree sprouted from a sandy floor, its limbs draped in ropes, tire swings, and woven slings.
At first, he failed to spot the star of the exhibit.
Then something as black as oil dropped from above and landed in the sand. With its back to the glass, it looked like a tiny bare-assed old man. Its skin was all wrinkled, like a suit cut too large.
Rather than being charmed, a wave of revulsion swept through Makeen.
The creature held a long stick in front of it and beat at the sand.
Bari got excited. “Look how close it is. I’ve never seen it up against the window.”
His brother rushed forward and placed a hand against the glass, trying to have an intimate moment with the chimp.
“Get away from there!” Makeen yelled, louder than he intended, allowing his fear to ring out.
Bari turned and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a shakheef, Makeen.”
The creature ignored them both and continued to dig at the sand with his stick.
&nb
sp; “Let’s head back to the gardens,” Makeen said, moderating his tone. “Before Mother feeds your picnic feast to the birds.”
Bari sighed with much exaggeration. “There’s so much more to see.”
“Another day.”
“You always say that,” he said in a heavy sulk and headed off.
Makeen remained a moment longer. He stared at the small chimp, struggling to calm his heart. What was there to fear? He moved closer to the window and looked down at what the creature had drawn in the sand.
With its stick, it had scratched a series of numbers.
Makeen frowned. Clearly it was mimicking something it had seen. Still, a shudder passed through him. He remembered reading in the local newspaper about how quickly this chimp was growing, how it had escaped its first cage by stacking boxes to reach a grate. It had even fashioned a crude spear by chewing a tree branch to a sharpened point.
As if sensing Makeen’s suspicion, the chimp swung around and stared him full in the face. He fell back. The naked visage was terrifying to behold, like a wizened black fig come to life with fat lips and huge yellow eyes.
That gaze locked onto him.
Makeen gasped and covered his mouth. In those yellow eyes, he recognized a familiar and frightening sheen of intelligence, aglow with a black smokeless fire.
He stumbled back in horror.
As he fled, the chimp’s lips curled into a hungry smile.
Baring all its teeth.
AUTHOR’S NOTE TO READERS: TRUTH OR FICTION
I always try to root my books in the real world while dabbling in topics that intrigue me. So I thought I’d take this moment to draw the line between truth and fiction in this novel. So here we go:
BAGHDAD. One of the seeds for this story came from reading a book about the efforts to rescue the Baghdad Zoo following the Iraqi war. The zoo was badly damaged during a firefight between American forces and the Republican Guard. Afterward, there was extensive looting, and many of the animals escaped into the city. If you’d like to read more about the harrowing efforts to protect the zoo and rebuild it, check out Babylon’s Ark by Lawrence Anthony with Graham Spence.