Island 731

39.

Hawkins nearly fell over when he spun toward the source of the laughter. At first he couldn’t believe the man had anything to do with this island. It seemed absurd. Even when the soft chuckle turned into a maniacal cackle, he thought maybe the kid had finally just cracked. It wasn’t until Bennett slipped easily out of his plastic cuffs and unlocked his cell door that Hawkins knew, without a doubt, that Bennett—the terrified, bumbling kid—had taken them all for suckers.

Bennett laughed and laughed, for nearly a minute. He tried to control himself a few times, but whenever he looked up at the prisoners’ shocked faces, he howled with renewed vigor. He held on to the operating table while the last remnants of his laughter worked their way out of his body. “I’m sorry,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Ohh, that was good. Haven’t laughed that hard since— You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever laughed that hard.”

Bennett looked at Jones and nearly started laughing again. “Oh, Harry. You look so wounded.” He suddenly changed his body language to that of a young, scared man. “Yes… yes, sir.” The reenactment of his feigned fear aboard the Magellan was perfect. He straightened back up. All of the fear and timidity disappeared.

“We trusted you,” Jones said, holding on to one of the cell bars. “My daughter trusted you.”

Bennett flashed a wicked grin. “Oh, she did more than that.”

Jones looked like he’d had the life sucked right out of him. He stumbled back and sat on the bench, his head down.

Hawkins tried to ignore the sharp emotions of the moment. “Remain calm in the face of danger,” GoodTracks told him once. “Fear can focus the mind if it is not allowed to blossom out of control.” He tried to put the pieces together, but Bennett wasn’t going to give him a chance.

Bennett spun toward Hawkins and stabbed a finger at him. “I can’t believe you left me in the jungle! Seriously. No sense of responsibility. Of course, I suppose I can’t blame you. Joliet is really the only one of us you care about.”

When Hawkins didn’t take the bait, Bennett leaned against the metal bars of his and Bray’s cages. “So, how about it? Has the dynamic duo figured things out yet?” He waggled a finger first at Hawkins, then at Bray. “You’re the sidekick, by the way. Going to have to lose that potbelly if you want to compete with Alpha Male over here.”

For a moment, neither man spoke. Bennett was enjoying this too much to humor his request. At the same time, it might be the only way to get answers.

Bennett hopped up on the operating table and kicked his legs like a ten year old eagerly awaiting an ice-cream cone. “C’mon, you have a captive audience, after all.”

Hawkins cut Bennett’s snickering short. “The island started out as a Unit Seven thirty-one facility, and maybe the original buildings continued to operate for years after the war. But this isn’t a Japanese site anymore.”

Bray took a sharp breath, no doubt figuring out where Hawkins’s line of thinking was going. “Holy shit.”

“What?” Blok asked. “Is this some kind of secret corporate lab?”

“Secret? Yes,” Bennett said. “Corporate, no.”

“The feed bag in the barn is written in English,” Hawkins said. “The warning message in that, that—”

“I call it ‘the gallery,’” Bennett said. “They were works of art. ‘Were’ being the operative word since you made me incinerate them.”

“—freak show,” Hawkins said, “was also in English. If Kam was really born here, and I think he was telling the truth about that, and he can’t speak a word of Japanese, then he was raised in an English-speaking community. His accent is either fake or learned from his father, who knew Japanese, but spoke English.”

Kam seemed to shrink at the mention of his name. Despite his betrayal and participation in the unforgivable kidnapping, torture, and murder of several Magellan crewmembers, and perhaps hundreds of other people, Hawkins suspected that his involvement was somehow compulsory.

“In 1946, the War Department took an interest in Unit Seven thirty-one,” Bray said. “They uncovered the Zhongma Fortress in Beiyinhe, Manchuria, but the research was gone, hidden by Shir¯o Ishii, the microbiologist-slash-lieutenant general who conceived of and ran Unit Seven thirty-one. To the War Department it was a treasure trove of research and knowledge that the United States couldn’t easily acquire. Harry Truman himself signed the order to not prosecute Ishii and the rest of Seven thirty-one for war crimes, of which they would have easily been convicted. If Unit Seven thirty-one went to trial, their crimes and research would have been made public and available to our competitors, primarily Russia. He granted immunity in exchange for research and exclusivity. But that’s not all, is it? The War Department, or maybe some new splinter group or Black Op—whatever—kept this island operating. At first, maybe this place was mostly Japanese scientists from Unit Seven thirty-one, but over time, U.S. personnel came over. This facility and every horrible thing done here since 1946 belongs to America. That’s why it doesn’t appear on any maps—who else could hide an island? That’s why it’s surrounded by a thirty-mile-diameter garbage patch that deters ships from getting within radar range.”

“A broad assessment,” Bennett said. “You were close to the truth. After the war, the island’s facilities were maintained and the research done by the original Unit Seven thirty-one was pored over by a team of scientists, many of whom were the original staff who’d been pardoned of all wrongdoing. The island didn’t become a fully active research facility until twenty years later, long after it, and the scientists living here, fell off the United States’ radar. Within months, the research that Unit Seven thirty-one pioneered was back on track. But there was no way you could have known any of that, Bray, so I’m actually impressed. Maybe you can come work for us? We seem to be short on staff these days.”

“Because you sewed them into a ball,” Hawkins said, his emotions threatening to spill over as he remembered the people bound together. They’d been part of the island’s vile legacy, but what he’d done to them was sadistic.

“Just the ones I didn’t like,” Bennett said, and then he smiled wide. “You should have seen them the first time they woke up like that. Nearly tore themselves apart, didn’t they, Kam?”

Kam said nothing. He just stared at the floor.

“You’re lucky I didn’t throw you in with the lot of them,” Bennett said to Kam. He turned back to Hawkins. “I couldn’t do that to my own brother, though, could I? Well, we’re not really brothers. We grew up together, here on the island. But both of my parents were… what’s the word I’m looking for, Kam?”

When Kam didn’t answer, Bennett pulled a small black device with two red buttons from his pants pocket. It looked similar to a car remote. He pushed the larger button on the outside edge once.

Pulse.

“Human,” Kam said.

“Human,” Bennett repeated. “Thank you, Kamato Junior. In light of recent events that left many staff… incapacitated, and fearing exposure, the clandestine organization running the facility—which employs neither me nor Kam, by the way—sent someone out to check when communications went unanswered. She was a delightful specimen, much more resilient than her crew, but in the end, she lacked the strength to return with a report. I can only guess that the island’s former masters made the assumption that the facility had been compromised.

“Despite their resources, they lack the ability to drop bombs or fire missiles, at least without drawing too much attention, so they sent a strike team to liquidate the island and hide their seventy-year-old secret. The assault didn’t end well for those men. Twenty of them. Retired Special Ops. Mercenaries. I suspect they would have been killed anyway, after seeing the island’s secrets, but probably far less painfully.”

“So you use the crocs, the seagulls, and those little freaks to do your killing?” Bray said.

Bennett looked confused. “Little freaks?”

Hawkins saw Kam’s eyes flash with worry. He spoke quickly, cutting off Bray’s response. “The drakes.”

Bray glanced at him and seemed to understand the interruption’s purpose and didn’t correct him.

Bennett grinned. “Drakes?”

“Draco-snakes,” Bray said.

“You’ve named them?” Bennett looked pleased. “And after the captain no less. They do have similar dispositions, don’t they? Huh. Where was I? A year passed and we were left in peace. Maybe the few people overseeing the project died? Or lacked the resources? I don’t know. But Kam and I found ourselves quite bored without test subjects. So we set out for the world to seek our fortunes. And what did we find, Kam?”

Pulse.

“The Magellan,” Kam said.

“The Magellan,” Bennet repeated, “bound for waters so close to home that you may have stumbled across our island without any help. After getting ourselves hired, which was easy, by the way—the elusive Captain Drake is a sucker for sob stories and phony credentials—we made sure the Magellan found its way to our beautiful resort island. My only regret is that we weren’t able to rendezvous with the Darwin. We would have had so many more new subjects.” He shrugged and pushed himself off the table. “But we have you. And we’re cooking up something special for if and when our predecessors return again.”

Bennett looked at his wristwatch. “In fact, I’ve prepared a little demonstration for you.” He headed for the door and turned to Kam. “Keep an eye on our guests until I return.”

Then he was gone and a little bit of sanity returned to the room. While Kam and Bennett may have both grown up here, it appeared only one of them was driven mad by the experience. Kam, at least, had some semblance of a guilty conscience.

“Kam,” Hawkins said. “You have to let us out.”

No answer.

“Kam, I’m your friend. You know I mean that. Whatever Bennett has, however he’s controlling you, we can undo it.”

Kam shook his head. “I can’t.” He glanced quickly toward the back corner of the room.

Rolling his head in mock frustration, Hawkins peeked in the direction Kam had looked. Bennett might be watching. The sick bastard had probably watched while Joliet was taken. And when Jim attacked. And their near-death experience in “the gallery.” It’s how he gets his kicks, Hawkins thought. That and mutilating people.

“You should give up, Ranger,” Kam said.

Bray pressed his face against the bars of his cell. “Kam, I swear to God, if I get out of here—”

“There is no hope for you!” Kam shouted, but his voice sounded like a mix of anger and desperation. “Even if you escaped your cells, you are unarmed.” He turned to Hawkins. “Your rifle was destroyed.” He moved behind the operating table and bent down. When he stood back up, he held the captive bolt stunner in one hand and the machete in the other. “And I have taken all of your weapons.”

Kam placed the weapons on the operating table. Then he fished into his pocket and took out a bell. As he placed it on the table beside the weapons, the door opened. “As much as you would like to, these weapons and your freedom will forever be out of your reach.”

Bennett entered the room, pulling a hospital gurney cloaked with a sheet. “You’re finally coming around, Kam? Did one of them say something mean about your mother?”

As Bennett chuckled to himself, he locked the gurney wheels with his feet. “Almost ready.” He pushed a button on the modern electric gurney and the back half rose up. As the sheet shifted, it clung to the body hidden beneath, a body with a distinctly feminine shape.

Not Joliet.

Jones launched to his feet and clutched the cage bars. “No. Please, no.”

Bennett ignored Jones and walked to the countertop. He pulled out a stool and switched on one of the microscopes. He then reached up and pulled the flat-screen monitor away from the wall. A metal arm extended from the wall mount and Bennett turned the screen so that it faced the cells. “Everyone have a good view?”

No one replied.

“Good,” he said. “Time for a lesson in microbiology.” He looked back at Bray. “Let me know how I do.”

Bray flipped him off.

Nonplussed by Bray’s gesture, Bennett reached up and turned on the screen. The image was black and white. At the center of the screen was a rough circle that looked a little like a translucent moon. The circle was stuck against a curved shape emerging from the left of the screen. And to the right, there was a long, straight tube with a pointed tip. A needle, Hawkins realized.

Bennett pointed at the object on the left side of the screen.“This is a micropipette. Nothing too special about it except that it holds this”—he pointed to the circle—“in place. This is a blastocyst. It’s full of genetic code and stem cells that, when fertilized, eventually forms an embryo. When all those little stem cells are told what to become, they multiply like crazy and form a human. Or a dog. Or whatever. The miracle of life.”

Bennett waved his hand toward the needle. “But this is the real miracle. See those little white spots?”

Hawkins did. Each white spot just fit inside the tiny needle.

“Those are stem cells I’ve modified using homologous recombination—basically taking two DNA molecules, then nicking them so the two separate strands come loose, and merge with each other. It’s called the ‘holiday method.’ Happy homologous recombination day! The point is, they’ll become whatever I want them to become and since they’re forming alongside the host cells, they will merge flawlessly. Rejection isn’t an issue for me.” He swiveled in his chair and looked at his audience. “Did you know that there are chimeras all around you and no one cares? People get pig valve transplants all the time and no one seems to think it’s strange or unnatural.” He shrugged and turned toward the microscope. “Now comes the moment of creation.”

Bennett leaned over the microscope. Hawkins couldn’t see what the man was doing, but he saw the needle on the screen begin to inch closer to the blastocyst. The tip of the needle came to a stop just shy of the thin cell wall. The needle moved up and down slightly before aligning with the blastocyst’s center. Then it thrust forward like a lance. The cell wall bent in, and then broke. One by one, the little white dots slipped through the needle and into the blastocyst. Once all of the stem cells were inside the larger cell wall, the needle withdrew.

Hawkins thought that was the end of it, but a second, much larger needle entered the screen.

“The next step would normally be to transplant the blastocyst into a womb and let it grow like a normal child.” He withdrew the larger needle from the side of the microscope and held it up for them all to see. “But that’s not exactly how this little gem works. No womb required. No father. Though I guess you could technically call me the father.”

Bonnett rolled the stool over to the fridge and opened the small door and took out a water bottle. He unscrewed the cap, took a swig, and smacked his lips. “Ahh.” With his thirst apparently quenched, Bennett took the syringe, placed the needle inside the water, and injected the newly modified blastocyst. He swirled the water around and said, “Now comes the really fun part.”

After capping the bottle, he rolled over to the gurney and stood. He gripped the sheet covering the body and pulled it away like a magician, revealing his recently reassembled assistant. DeWinter lay on the gurney. What was most shocking about the revelation was that she looked fine. She wore only a bra on top, but hadn’t been mutilated, or even hurt. She wasn’t conscious, but the steady rise and fall of her chest revealed that she was alive.

“Jackie!” Jones shouted. “Jackie! What have you done to her?”

“Nothing,” Bennett said. He removed smelling salts from his pocket and wafted them in front of Jackie’s nose. She came to a moment later, but was groggy. Drugged. She blinked her eyes, trying to focus. She showed no fear of her situation, or of Bennett.

She hasn’t been conscious since she was taken, Hawkins thought. She has no idea not to trust Bennett.

Before he could shout a warning, Bennett took the cap off the water bottle and held it to Jackie’s lips. She took three long drinks.

“Jackie!” Jones shouted. “Don’t! He’s—”

DeWinter’s eyes closed slowly and she once again fell unconscious. The smelling salts couldn’t compete with whatever drug had been used to sedate her.

Jones’s lips quivered. All he could do was stare.

“Don’t worry, Grandpa,” Bennett said, carefully capping the bottle. “She’s not dead yet. In fact—” He crouched beside DeWinter and leaned his ear against her belly. He feigned a gasp. “I think our little family is growing!”

Bennett hustled to the fridge and took out another water bottle, this one labeled “active” with black marker. He moved quickly for the door. “Kam.”

The dutiful Kam followed at his heels.

Bennett leaned his head back in the room as he closed the door. He didn’t say anything, he just grinned, looking at all of them with frantic energy. Then he was gone and the door slammed closed, and locked.

While Jones shouted for his daughter, and Blok paced uselessly in his cell, Hawkins began an awkward dance, reaching for his side and spinning in circles.

“Ranger?” Bray said, sounding concerned.

Hawkins stopped spinning and pushed his hip against the bars separating his cell from Bray’s. “Get my knife!”

“Your knife is gone,” Bray said.

“My knife was broken,” Hawkins explained. “Just the blade is in there. Kam knew about it. His speech about the weapons was a message.”

Bray’s eyes widened and he fumbled with his bound hands to unbutton the sheath holding the razor-sharp blade.

About the time the button popped free and Bray got his fingers on the knife, DeWinter’s stomach started to bulge.