Rex emerged from the administration building. 'No one there,' he said.
Juan pointed at the complex ahead. 'We'll check here and you head down to Bio Mar. That is where, I believe, the seismology people were working.'
Cameron and Rex jogged down to the Bio Mar building, passing a small dock with blue and white posts. Marine iguanas nibbled algae off the submerged planks. A 3.2-meter Zodiac was moored to the dock, a thirty-five- horsepower Evinrude secured to the wood transom. The Darwin Station decal was peeling off the rubber hull.
Inside the building, only a few overturned tables and a broken com-puter mouse remained. A rat was gnawing through the mouse cord. It looked up at them, its beady yellow eyes glowing. It did not scurry away.
Discouraged, they headed back. The others were circled up outside, and Juan leaned through the broken window of the Plantas y Invertebra-dos building.
'No one inside,' Derek said. 'Anywhere.'
Juan pointed at a small laptop perched atop a makeshift desk. Flying marine iguanas drifted across the screen. 'Someone's here,' he said. 'Somewhere.'
There was a noise from up the path, then a boy approached on a bicy-cle. Ramoncito pedaled up to the soldiers and skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust.'? Son estadounidenses?'
'Si,' Juan said, pointing at the others. 'Ellos. Vamos a Sangre de Dios.'
'Ah,' Ramoncito said with a smile. 'Mi isla.' He switched to English and addressed them all. 'You go there again on the drilling boat?'
'The drilling boat?' Rex said, confused. 'No.' He gestured to the buildings around them. 'Is there anyone here?'
Ramoncito pointed up the path in the direction from which he'd come. 'I would not see him now,' he said.
'Why not?' Derek asked.
Ramoncito shrugged. 'Catch you… later,' he said. 'Dude.' He smiled, then pedaled off.
'There's no point in hauling this shit everywhere,' Tucker said. 'I'll wait here with Tank.'
Derek tilted his head to his shoulder and spoke into his transmitter. 'Szabla. Primary channel.' He waited for her to sense the vibration and activate her unit.
Her voice emanated from his shoulder. 'Szabla. Public.'
Both Rex and Juan looked surprised, and Cameron realized they hadn't yet used the transmitters in their presence.
'Szabla, Mitchell,' Derek said. 'Everything clear?'
'Baccarat.'
Derek looked puzzled.
'It's a brand of crystal,' Rex explained with a smile.
'All right,' Derek said. 'We're nosing around. I'll check in in a few.'
'I'll wait breathlessly,' Szabla said before clicking out.
Cameron, Derek, Savage, and the two scientists followed the trail around until they reached the Tortoise Conservation Building, which was also empty. They walked silently out the back door, past the tortoise-rearing pens, in which short flat hutches of mesh and wood had been built over the soft dirt. The corrals were all empty, but the breeding groups' names were written on placards: G. e. Hoodensis-Isla Espanola 2001; G. e. Porter-Isla Santa Cruz 2003.
Beyond the corrals, a crude boardwalk curved up and to the right. They followed it in single file, Cameron leading the way. Giant tortoises lazed in enclosures below. In one stretch, the planks had given way on the right side, and they had to shuffle along the single intact board on the left, gripping the thin rail. The walk curved again and Cameron stopped suddenly, holding up a hand. Rex started to say something, but Derek grabbed him from behind, placing a hand over his mouth.
Up ahead, sitting on a crude bench built from log segments, sat a man. He stared down at the tortoise enclosure beyond the walkway, his hands dangling between his knees. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, his head cocked slightly to one side.
He was covered with dried blood.
Chapter 22
A man entered Samantha's room through the crash door, his movements slow and labored in his blue space suit. Samantha rose to her tiptoes and peered through his mask. 'Who are you?' she asked suspiciously.
'Martin Foster. Infectious Disease.' The doctor extended his hand. 'I'm cross-covering from Hopkins.'
Samantha shook the gloved hand, feeling slightly ridiculous. 'Samantha Everett.'
'Yes,' he said. 'I know.'
'How are our patients?'
'Besides you?' Dr. Foster shook his head. 'Going downhill. The pilot started with GI symptoms this morning.'
'Goddamnit,' Samantha said. 'It's so frustrating having the anti-serum right here in our hands and not being able to…' She grimaced. 'Because of legal ramifications.'
'Well,' Dr. Foster said, removing a needle, 'you are showing antibodies as well as antigens. If your body hasn't rejected them by tomorrow morning and the absolute viral count is decreasing, we'll get clearance to use the antiserum on the others.' He smiled. 'There was something of a public outcry.'
Samantha's face lit up, almost comically. 'Are you serious?' She held out her arm, clenching her fist to give him a good vein. He bent over, concentrating. Samantha couldn't wipe the smile from her face. 'You know,' she said, 'they say a space suit puts ten pounds on you.'
Dr. Foster looked up. 'I thought that was a TV camera,' he said dryly.
'That too.' Samantha leaned over, glancing at his rear end. 'Christ, no wonder I never get dates.'
Dr. Foster finished drawing, pinching the needle off with a cotton ball. Samantha held the cotton ball in place, bending her arm and elevating it. 'Is Tom in yet? He's been off cavorting-I haven't been able to get ahold of him.'
'It was really irresponsible for him to take off Christmas Day,' Dr. Foster said with a slight smile, speaking loudly so that Samantha could hear him through his mask. 'Maybe you should speak to his superiors.'
'I am his superiors. And when you're the world's leading viral elec-tron microscopist, you shouldn't take Christmas off.' She pounded her fist into her hand, imitating a drill sergeant. 'There are responsibilities that come with this job. Sacrifices. That's why I haven't had a date in forty years.'
'I thought it was the space suit and the ten pounds.'
'That too.'
'And your intimidating demeanor.'
'All right-don't push your luck. I just need Tom to run a sample under the EM. I'd do it myself, but they won't let me out.'
The tremendously exacting electron microscope, hypersensitive to minute vibrations and electromagnetic interference, had to be bolted into the concrete basement floor and surrounded with layer upon layer of copper mesh. There was no way they'd release Samantha to go down there herself, but she was anxious to get micrographs of the sample from Sangre de Dios.
'I'll have him paged,' Dr. Foster said. 'I'm sure he'll come in for you.'
'Thanks. And get here early tomorrow to draw on me so we can get the antiserum into the patients.'
'Assuming your blood work comes back fine.'
Samantha waved him off. 'Assume away. Just move your ass.'
Dr. Foster paused on his way out, looking at her with concern. 'Are you all right with all this?'
Samantha smiled. She pointed to the test tube that Donald had sent over, lying on its side on the counter. 'Already on to the next thing,' she said.
'Well,' he said. 'Maybe when you get out of here, we could go and get a cup of coffee. Or maybe see a movie.'
