"I hope you don’t stammer like that on live TV, Mr. Dixon," the woman behind the desk interrupted. "I’m the person you need to see. I have a short list of instructions for you before the tour."

          Dixon nodded, open-mouthed, unsure of how to proceed.

          "First," the woman continued, "you will not photograph any of the contents of any room or corridor on the laboratory floor. You will not describe any of the contents of any of the laboratories. If your story requires a description—" she selected a single, neat page from her desk and thrust it in his direction, then continued: "—use this one. You may re-write the description in your own words, but I caution you to do so with great care."

She stood, carrying a sheaf of papers in her left hand, tapping the edge against the palm of her right. As she came around the desk, he couldn’t help but notice how tall the woman was and how incredible her legs looked below the skirt.

          "This is your NDA. You will not be allowed to photograph anything on the premises without two signatures on this agreement. You can read it through, if you’d like, or contact an attorney to read it for you, but you’ll find it’s pretty standard for anyone in this type of industry."

          "Industry? This is an industry?"

          "Which brings me to my next point," she continued. "No questions yet. We promised an interview, and you’ll get it, but not now. I’m far too busy preparing for the VIP assembly, but once that’s over and the tour is completed, I’ll try to squeeze you in before lunch."

          Dixon nodded reluctantly.

          "This is very much an industry. What we’re doing here is noble, but nobility alone doesn’t pay the bills. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m expected to be waiting on the dais with the rest of the speakers when Hammond arrives in—" she glanced at her watch, then dropped her arm casually to her side "—fourteen minutes." She held the NDA papers at arm’s length, waiting for Dixon to take them, but he hesitated.

          "No signature and you’re going home," she warned. "Highly sensitive materials and data. No photos, no descriptions. Period."

          Dixon agreed, taking the sheaf of papers and quickly scribbling his signature along the bottom line. He motioned for Bob Tovey to come in, and instructed him to sign the document as well.

As she took the agreement papers back, Kate Stovington’s face lit up with a genuine smile for the first time since the film crew had arrived in her office. "Gentlemen, enjoy your visit. If there’s anything I can do for you, just be sure to let me know."

          She crossed to the door and opened it, motioning for Tovey and Dixon to leave. "I really look forward to our interview," she called after them, then closed the door before they could respond.

          The long, carpeted corridor was well lit and active. Too active. The short, dark-eyed Rwandan who made his way down the hall was nervous, and doing all he could to hide it. It would not pay to be caught now. It would not pay at all.

          The hotel staff were bustling about, clearing rooms and preparing for the upcoming conference. Security guards were everywhere, scurrying about like ants, busily preparing for the important political figures who would soon be lodged in their establishment and holding meetings in their halls.

          Some of the guests had already arrived, but only one of them was important to the anxious Rwandan. The American envoy was down in the saunas right this minute, relaxing after his long flight.

          Soon he will be relaxed forever, the stranger thought, glancing around to make sure the hallway was clear.

          The door leading to the sauna room was guarded by two U.N. soldiers, who stood at attention with great seriousness and a touch of self-importance. The stranger walked past them nonchalantly, catching their eyes as he passed. He nodded slightly, allowing a ghost of a smile to cross his face for only a fleeting instant. Then he turned a corner and was gone.

          A few steps away from the guards, down a shorter, narrower hallway, the Rwandan quickly climbed atop a two-foot-tall ceramic planter and pushed aside the acoustic foam ceiling tile. With all his strength, he hauled himself up into the ceiling and slid the tile back into place.

          Moments later, he dropped back down to the floor, but rather than landing on the dark red pile carpet of the corridor, his feet struck concrete. He looked around quickly, confirming that he was alone in the room.

          He searched through the room, checking over various pipes and valves and reading their labels. After a moment, he found the one marked SAUNA ROOM 2 SOUTHEAST.

          He twisted the valve clockwise and watched as the corresponding temperature gauge rose through the yellow warning area and into the red-marked danger zone. He continued to turn the knob until the gauge’s needle struck the stop-pin at its upper limit.

          He glanced around again, then began to climb the pipes, to the ceiling, where he would return the way he had come and disappear into the busy street outside.

          As he climbed, a small, golden trinket fell from his robes and bounced across the concrete floor. It came to rest in the shadows near the corner of the room, and the Rwandan continued on his way indifferently.

          The outdoor stage was adorned with bunting in black and a bright green, and behind the podium hung two giant banners. The banner on the left was the InGen logo, while the one on the right depicted a stylized, silhouetted gorilla on a green and black background. Eight folding chairs had been placed on the dais, four on either side of the podium, facing toward the assembled guests. Thirty or so chairs had been arranged in rows facing the stage, and all of the seats were filled. No one, it seemed, had declined Hammond’s invitation.

          The lectern stood empty and alone at center stage, waiting for the first speaker to start the opening ceremony.

          But none of the eight people seated at the rear of the stage made any move to stand. Guests glanced at their watches as the appointed start time of 10:00 am came and went. And the sounds of shuffling papers and shuffling feet grew louder as the seconds ticked away.

          The applause began at the left-front corner of the seating area, only a smattering at first, but grew and spread as those in the rear of the group began to realize that the guest of honor was making his way up the three short steps to the dais.

          The old man was dressed in simple slacks and a white button-down shirt that was perhaps a size too large. His round white hat, which had become something of a trademark, bobbed lightly up and down as he moved toward the podium at center stage. Although he was a man in his eighties, he walked with the air of someone thirty years younger. As he strode to the lectern, he gave two distinct impressions: the first, of a man with a great purpose and an important agenda; the second, of a child who has just discovered a circus in his own back yard and can’t wait to show it off.

          The applause faded as he approached the podium and grasped its top in both hands. The assembled guests fell completely silent, and a long moment spun out as everyone waited to hear from the speaker.

          "My name is John Parker Hammond," he said at last, and was met with another ovation, this one milder than the first. When the crowd had quieted again, he resumed:

          "I’m sure you are all familiar with International Genetics Technologies, and with our undertaking in the Pacific, which, unfortunately, went so terribly astray.

          "I’m here to welcome you all to a new era in genetics history. In the wake of the Jurassic Park incident, genetic science, and InGen in particular, had to take a step back and re-evaluate our work, our purpose, and ourselves.

          "We recreated dinosaurs with nothing in mind other than our own financial gain. In hopes of incredible profit, we made incredible mistakes. We sought to control that which we knew nothing about, and with grave consequences.

          "For centuries, man has looted the earth, taking what he needed with little regard for the ultimate end.

          "In this region alone, uncontrolled cutting of trees for fuel has resulted in devastating deforestation, and the very ground beneath our feet is overgrazed and the soil is exhausted. In addition, poachers threaten several species in the area. Mankind has taken much from nature.

          "We are here today to give something back.

          "We stand on the brink of an achievement unparalleled in the history of science. Today you will have an opportunity to see first-hand what can be accomplished when profit is measured in something more tangible, something on a grander scale, than pounds and pence…eh, dollars and cents."

          A low, rolling chuckle swept the crowd, but ended abruptly; they were hooked, and waiting to hear more.

          "Seated behind me are some of the individuals who have cooperated to make our dream a reality. You will hear from some of them, in due time, but I thought it best if we began by offering a testimonial from someone who isn’t on the InGen payroll."

          The crowd tittered again, and a few applauded, but once again order returned quickly.

          "Ladies and gentleman, it is my great pleasure to introduce to you the man who stood as my most staunch detractor in the building of Jurassic Park, my old adversary, Dr. Ian Malcolm."

          Applause erupted again as Hammond stepped back from the lectern and the tall, black-clad Malcolm approached. The two met briefly with a warm handshake, then Hammond turned and made his way toward stage left.

          "I don’t know if I would use the word ‘adversary’, John," Dr. Malcolm said into the microphone. "’Archenemy’ sounds so much better."

          Malcolm smiled first to Hammond, then to the crowd, who were applauding all over again.

          "Seriously," Malcolm said, as quiet was restored, "John Hammond and I have never, ah, never really seen eye to eye. Mostly because he’s short."

          After a brief pause to let the muted laughter pass, he continued: "I stood firmly opposed to all that InGen did at Jurassic Park. The greatest technological advance of the twentieth century was in the hands of a few men who, ah, wanted nothing more from it than what it could do for their bank accounts. At the head of the table was one John Hammond, industrialist, and I loathed him for his greed.

          "Much has happened, ah, since that weekend on that small Pacific Island, and in the few years after the incident, I came to respect John for his abilities.

          "But I still didn’t like him very much."

          The crowd erupted with laughter again, and this time Malcolm had to wait a few moments before proceeding.

          "When John contacted me, ah, and asked me to speak before this group, I was…hesitant." He paused and scratched the back of his head in an unconscious gesture of confusion. "But once he explained InGen’s latest, ah, latest project, I was intrigued. I’ve met the scientists, and, ah, and I’ve seen the science, and I can say for the first time ever, ah, that I endorse John Hammond’s efforts one hundred percent."

          The crowd, as well as the seven guests seated at the back of the dais, applauded fervently. Malcolm stepped back from the microphone and looked around, waiting for the group to quiet. When, at last, they fell silent again, he stepped back to the podium to finish up: "I’m still not sure how much I like him."

          When the crowd quieted again, Ian turned the podium over to the next speaker, Public Relations Director Kate Stovington.

          She took her place at the podium amid light applause, and immediately began to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, good morning and welcome. In a few moments, we will begin a tour of the facility and, with a little luck, we can persuade Mr. Hammond to spring for lunch."

          The crowd applauded and cheered, and Kate couldn’t help but smile. The way to everyone’s heart was through the stomach, it seemed.

          "Before we begin the tour, however, I would like to speak to you about the facility, about why it’s located here, in northern Rwanda, in the foothills of the Virunga Mountains. Why would anyone choose such a remote location, so near a range of volcanoes, in a part of Central East Africa that’s been plagued for decades by wars both civil and foreign?

          "The answer is simple; we came here for the locals, who can’t be found anywhere else. Not for the local citizens, who are indeed wonderful and fascinating people, but for another group of locals.

          "When InGen broke ground here, there were roughly 600 mountain gorillas in the entire world. Half that number lived in the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest National Park in Uganda, and the other half were isolated to this area in the Virungas.

          "Two years later, that number has increased by only twenty-four. While that may seem like a small increase, it is of great significance, because only four of those were born in the wild. The remaining twenty came from our laboratories.

          "Through the miracles of cloning and genetic engineering, and with the gracious assistance of the World Wildlife Fund, the Dian Fossey Gorilla Fund, and other conservation organizations, the first successful attempt to restore a threatened species is underway.

          "We have only recreated twenty animals, but rest assured that we have only scratched the surface, and the mountain gorilla is only the beginning. Plans are already in place for InGen facilities in locations all over the world to aid in restoring other endangered animals. The white Bengal tiger, the western and eastern gorillas, the black rhinoceros, snow leopard, whooping crane, American bald eagle, okapi, leatherback sea turtle, blue whale—name your animal, and it’s probably on InGen’s target list.

          "Most business ventures begin with an examination of what is to be gained, and what is to be lost. In this endeavor, the world has nothing to lose and everything to gain.

          "Now, I’m sure you’re all tired of hearing me talk, so I’m going to adjourn this assembly. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s go and say hello to the apes."

          He turned quickly, startled. Under the stage, lurking in the shadows, was an enormous man, broad-shouldered and chocolate-skinned, dressed entirely in white. He held out his massive right hand, palm-up.

          Hammond reached out and up, and the big man folded the old man’s frail, liver-spotted hand into his own. With his other hand, the big man produced a clear plastic shape with a hose attached to one end. He fitted the shape carefully over Hammond’s nose and mouth.

          "Thank you, Rodney," Hammond said, breathing deeply.

          "Shut up," the big man said firmly. "Don’t talk, just breath. You gonna kill your fool self one of these days."

          "I’m fine, I’m fine," Hammond protested.

          "Fine, right," Rodney argued. "Sound like a log truck going uphill."

          Hammond looked at him for a moment, then reluctantly nodded. Of course, Rodney was right.

          "Now get over here and sit your old ass down before you drop dead and I end up out of a job."

          Hammond followed the big man under the stage and took a seat on a folding chair, behind the bunting and the drapes, hidden from view.

          "I can’t believe a sensible, grown man would risk his life just so a bunch of stuffed shirts won’t see him sucking oxygen."

          Hammond said nothing. Rodney Rhodes could be a pest. There were times when he would have preferred if the big man just kept his opinions to himself, but he thought it best not to say so. Rodney was a good nurse, and, more important, Rodney was right.

10/15/2003 12:32:16 AM

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