Final Scream (13 page)

As Noah cautiously explored the bowels of the rocking boat, he found it graveyard quiet. The splattered blood along the stairwell looked like the walls of Hell. His trembling right hand gripped the puny knife as if it were a sword. In reality, he realized the six-inch blade would not protect him against the murderer responsible for massacring the production staff, but he had to move on. Reese needed the antibiotics.

Although Noah was jumpy, he marveled at the exquisite craftsmanship of the scrolled teak trim. The ornate boat sported a gold hand railing, gold light fixtures, and gold compartment handles and knobs. The seventy-nine foot Florida-built Hargrave yacht was a pristine white beauty before the slaughter dappled its walls with blood.

Three guest cabins, an engine room amidships, the medical supply room, and the skeleton crew’s quarters for the captain, engineer, and first mate made up the lower deck. The rear door on the main deck led to the salon, dining room, and galley. The access for the owner’s bedroom suite, a study, and a smaller stateroom for the owner’s bodyguard was located near the bow.

The aft upper deck was utilized for occasional outdoor dining, tanning, and hanging out at the sky lounge that included a Jacuzzi, while the amidships area contained the captain’s enclosed bridge. The three-decker oceangoing boat easily accommodated ten guests besides the crew, which perfectly suited Oracle’s ten person production staff.

When Noah’s feet touched down on the lower deck, he spotted the site of the bloodbath—the first guest room off the narrow hallway where all the satellite, security, camera, and communication hook-ups were located. Strangely, there were no corpses.

Numerous blank television monitors were packed into the limited space, along with other essential electronics. The desk chairs were overturned and stained scarlet. Noah pushed them aside and switched on the monitors and server.

While he waited for them to boot, he recalled his journey to Terror Island. He and the others were aboard three Oracle helicopters that lifted off from Port Allen Airport on the Hawaiian island of Kauai. They transported the entire group to Baker Island, an uninhabited United States atoll. There wasn’t much to see when they landed except a crumbling and overgrown World War II air field, a desolate cemetery, rubble from the barracks and command center, and a newly constructed boat docking area.

There were no ports or harbors, because the shallow reefs circling the island were maritime hazards. Anchorage beyond the reefs was the lone option for large vessels. Their luggage was transferred to inflatable Zodiacs and powered out to the rented Oracle Hargrave bobbing a half-mile from shore. Their trip to Terror Island resembled a covert military exercise.

Noah’s mind snapped back to the present, and he smelled blood’s coppery malodor saturating most of the lower deck. Before he could crinkle his nose, he danced to avoid the centipedes gliding across the floor. Mosquitoes buzzed his exposed skin like black winged vampires as he headed for the medical supply room connected to the guestroom. But of course, there was a problem. A major one.

The medical supply room door was
locked
.

Noah was mindful of the roaming centipedes as he scoured the lower deck for anything he could use to pry open the door, but he came up empty. The engine room was sealed tight as a drum, too. He pounded the heel of his hands on its steel door in frustration and swore at his bad luck. He thought of the many obstacles he survived to reach the cove, and now the locked doors. He wanted to scream!

Throwing caution to the wind, Noah ran up the steps to the main deck, where he continued his search. He combed every square inch of every room until he struck gold in the galley. A short crowbar dangled from a hook beside the walk-in refrigerator door. He figured the crew used it to break open the wooden crates loaded with fresh fruits and vegetables delivered weekly—for the Oracle staff only. The contestants hunted for their meager primitive meals. That was all part of the fun—not!

He was about to return to the medical supply door when thought he heard voices coming from shore. Male shouts. At first, he rebuffed their existence. No doubt his hunger was playing tricks on his senses.

But just to be sure, Noah bolted to the bow and scanned the broad expanse of sand separating the thick jungle from the sandy beach. At first he didn’t see a soul, but then two silhouettes exploded from the jungle undergrowth and sprinted like madmen toward the dock. Both men were badly sunburned.

Their tattered T-shirts and flowered board shorts flapped in the sea breeze as they ran. Their black sandals were unwieldy mud cakes.

A scraggly nutmeg beard hid most of the taller man’s lean face, and the red head beside him looked like a stocky Robinson Crusoe. Both twenty-something men sucked air like flopping fish out of water as Noah crossed the gangplank to greet them.

An enormous harpoon splintered the redhead’s spine, pushed through his ribs, and protruded from his bleeding torso. His freckled face exhibited pure shock as his corpse toppled onto the wooden planks. The taller man screamed, panicked, and tried to leap the gap between the dock and boat, but he was short by a foot. He splashed into the drink and flailed and splashed like a non-swimmer, but his freaked-out efforts were futile. He sank like a rock before sputtering back to the surface.

He glanced up at Noah. “I can’t …
swim
!”

“I can see that, pal,” Noah muttered before flattening himself on the gangplank and lowering the crowbar. After the floundering man grasped the curved end, Noah pulled him up high enough to throw a leg over the wooden gangplank and roll on his back next to Noah. Another harpoon struck the side of the yacht and vibrated with an ominous twang, missing Noah’s leg by a foot.

“Time to move!” Noah announced.

They quickly crab walked off the plank to make themselves small targets until they reached the stairwell. After they flew down the steps, Noah ignored the slew of questions bubbling up in his mind for the tall stranger and went directly to the medical supply room door.

“I’m a Stout Heart,” the man offered while he searched for a towel to dry himself off. “Whoever fired that harpoon has been following me and Jimmy for two days now.”

“Do you know who they are?” He found a gap to insert the crowbar.

“I never saw them.”

Noah muscled the crowbar until it popped the lock free with an earsplitting creak. He kicked the door open and switched on the lights.

The tall man kept talking. “My name’s Tony, and I’m from Lambertville, Michigan.”

Noah ignored the annoying chit-chat. “Do me a favor and check out the galley on the main deck for bottled water, canned food, and some ice. And watch for harpoons. Got it?”

“Sure thing.” Tony disappeared in a flash.

Noah was relieved to be alone again. The small refrigerator containing the supply of medicines sat on the far counter, and he carefully opened its glass door and inspected the labels on the vials and bottles.

Bingo!

He carefully packed two large bottles of Levaquin capsules and amoxicillin tablets into a blue cloth bag carelessly tossed in the corner. Noah also included a collection of salves and lotions, as well as the Physician’s Desk Reference paperback, a drug and health resources information guide. The book was the next best thing to having an island doctor at his disposal.

Noah carried the bag into the production center and watched the monitors. Unfortunately, none of them showed the jungle harpooners. A few of the reality show monitors were blank, and Noah scratched his whiskered chin. Someone—more than likely the harpooners—must have disconnected the cameras mounted in the contestant zones, because their batteries held a three-week charge.

So who were the mysterious harpooners?

That was the billion dollar question.

Noah rechecked the security monitors, but again there was no one in sight. Whoever picked off the redhead clearly wasn’t aware of the security cameras, or they would have disabled them, too. It was just a matter of time before the killers stepped in front of a camera and gave away their identity and position.

But that was time Reese didn’t have.

Tony suddenly reappeared, toting cartons of bottled water and canned food in one hand, and a bag of ice in the other. Noah took the ice from him and poured it into the blue bag to keep the antibiotics cool.

“There’s more stuff in the galley, but there’s too much to carry,” Tony stated.

“Not a problem. We’ve got enough.”

Tony peered over Noah’s shoulder at the monitors and tapped his shoulder.

“Hey, where’s Josh?” he asked, pointing at the monitor showing the dock.

Noah looked puzzled. “Who’s Josh?”

“My redheaded buddy. The guy who took the harpoon in the back.”

Alarm skittered across Noah’s nerves as he frantically rechecked the dock, but Tony was right. The body was missing. Noah’s stomach twisted into a sheepshank knot.

“It was there a minute ago! I saw it,” Noah rasped. “Who could’ve have taken it without us seeing them?”

“Maybe they did it while I was in the storeroom and you were getting medicine,” Tony proposed. “You don’t think the guys who followed me and Josh …”

“Yeah, I do,” Noah finished. “If that’s the case, they’ve got to be close by.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this. They might be on the boat.”

Noah clutched the crowbar so tight, his knuckles were white. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Nick entered a badly maintained neighborhood bar six blocks from his aunt’s house and treated his bruised ego to a few scotches on the rocks. The interior atmosphere was American tacky with picture tube televisions mounted on the grimy paneled walls, but he really didn’t care. He was in the process of plotting his next investigative move. The scotch lubed his thinking process.

When Nick finished, he paid and braved the outdoor heat again. He placed a call to the President of Scripps Institute of Oceanography, not to be confused with the nearby Scripps Research Institute. The executive secretary informed Nick the man he wanted to meet was Frank Mesenburg, but he wasn’t taking any calls. Nick played his national security card, and the secretary grudgingly forwarded his call to her boss.

Nick introduced himself and explained he was assigned a case with life and death implications. He requested a meeting with Mesenburg and Sue Wright’s boss that afternoon, in hopes their cooperation might help resolve the case. Nick name-dropped United States President Sheldon Hanover’s name several times, implying they were close friends. In reality, Nick and President Hanover were close
professional
associates. To Nick’s relief, his ploy worked. The Scripps president agreed to meet with him in two hours.

Nick hailed a taxi and instructed the driver to drive him to the closest car rental business. He browsed the available cars before selecting a late-model red Chevrolet Impala for the short trip to Scripps. The institute was located in La Jolla, too.

He had considered teleporting to Scripps instead of going through the hassle of renting a car, but the property’s comprehensive security made it difficult to materialize on the property without being seen. Plus, the lives of his niece and nephew were at stake, so he didn’t want to raise Mesenburg’s suspicion.

With two hours to kill, Nick drove to a well-known restaurant and ordered a light lunch and coffee. While he waited for his food order, he researched Scripps Institute of Oceanography on his iPad. He wanted to be well-versed on every aspect of the institute before meeting with Frank Mesenburg, so he could ask pertinent questions. Off-the-cuff questions usually got him nowhere because he didn’t know enough background information to elicit pertinent answers. After lackadaisical interviews as a rookie agent, he did his homework from then on.

There were literally thousands of Internet articles about Scripps, but most of them provided general information, such as the institute being the world’s oldest and largest ocean research center, having been founded in 1903. Nick needed to focus on their areas of oceanographic research so he could probe the Scripps pair about Noah’s recent projects. For instance, if a rival oceanographic institute developed an identical research venture to Noah’s project and sought to eliminate the competition that could be the motivation for Noah’s disappearance. That meant the
Final Scream
fiasco was a front for something more sinister. The idea was a longshot, but it was the only plausible theory he had.

Nick continued his Internet research. The institute originally focused its efforts on ocean and Earth science study, but since becoming a part of the University of California in 1912, Scripps expanded its scope to include exploring physics, chemistry, geology, biology, and the Earth’s climate. The institution's research programs encompassed biological, physical, chemical, geological, and geophysical studies. Hundreds of ocean and Earth scientists conducted worldwide research with the aid of the Scripps’ shore-based laboratories and fleet of oceanographic vessels. The public explorations arm of the institution was the enormous
Birch Aquarium
at Scripps.

Nick scrolled down and discovered a sampling of Scripps integrated research themes, including Earth through time and space, global change, environment and human health, marine life, hazards, and energy and the environment.

Nick was duly impressed, but the material was certainly short on specifics. He was no closer to identifying possible Noah projects than he was when he entered the restaurant. He consumed his lunch at a leisurely pace, sucked on a breath mint to cover his scotch breath, paid, and eased his red Impala into the after-lunch traffic. A dozen traffic lights later, he parked at the Scripps parking lot off Kennel Way and admired the massive oceanside facility. A flowery tangle of shrubbery and a broad sandy beach separated the massive complex from the churning Pacific. An ultramodern white pier extended a thousand feet into the rolling whitecaps and was utilized to provide real-time video and data on beach and surf conditions, as well as harmful algal blooms.

Nick entered the beige building and signed the visitor log at the guard station. The friendly guard passed him a plastic visitor badge restricting his access to specified campus research areas. Nick pushed the elevator
Up
button seconds before one of the elevator cars chimed and the door slid open. A well-groomed man stepped out and spoke to Nick.

“You must be Nick Bellamy,” he said and shook Nick’s hand. “I’m Frank Mesenburg, Scripps president.”

Nick returned his smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He glanced over the shorter man’s shoulder. “Where’s Sue Wright’s boss?”

“Donna’s waiting in my office. We didn’t want to gang up on you.”

Nick anticipated the president’s secretary meeting him upstairs when he exited the elevator, but Mesenburg’s personal greeting in the lobby was a welcome surprise, and an excellent first impression. The man’s physical appearance was fairly nondescript. Medium build and height. A full salt and pepper beard concealed all his features except his hawk nose and moss green eyes.

The elevator whisked them to the top floor, where they entered Mesenburg’s office. Donna Lake, the institute’s vice president, jumped up from her seat and introduced herself as Sue’s immediate supervisor. Nick noted that her stout figure strained the seams of her stained white lab coat, which didn’t create a great first impression. Her deeply lined, leathery complexion indicated a life of excessive tanning at the expense of her appearance. She looked much older than she was. Her flared nostrils, thin lips, sapphire eyes, and scraggly auburn hair reminded Nick of a plump scarecrow.

They sat on the plushly padded chairs circling a round cherry table. Nick ran the tip of his finger across the polished finish. Very expensive.

“Now what can we do for you, Nick?” Mesenburg asked warily. “You mentioned something about a life and death situation.”

“Yes, but first allow me to fill you both in on the particulars of my investigation that aren’t classified.” Nick broad brushed the case specifics as they related to the
Final Scream
enigma. He emphasized Noah Wright’s involvement as a show contestant, since he was a Scripps employee.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know much about the
Final Scream
problem,” Mesenburg said sadly. “I’ve been in touch with Maggie Wentworth over at Oracle, but she claims she doesn’t know any more than I do—but I suspect she’s playing coy and
won’t
tell me what really happened on Terror Island that night.”

Nick sighed. “Maggie Wentworth’s dead.”

Mesenburg and Donna gasped at the news.

“When did it happen? I didn’t hear a thing about it on the news,” Frank asked.

“She died yesterday, and her murder is directly connected to my investigation.”

Donna’s eyes bulged. “
Murder?
”

“Murder. Whoever’s behind the
Final Scream
debacle is indirectly responsible for her murder,” Nick replied without mentioning her exact cause of death. “You both might know something—a small detail—that will help me catch her murderer.”

Frank’s face was granite resolve. “We’ll do everything we can to assist you.”

“What exactly was Noah working on here before he left for Terror Island?”

Donna stiffened. “That information is strictly classified.”

“I’m sure it is, but it’s information that might point out Maggie’s murderer,” Nick argued.

Mesenburg cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. Donna’s right. The project is classified.”

Nick tipped his chair back on two legs. “You seem like nice people, so I hate to play government hardball with you, but if you don’t cooperate with me, I’ll be forced to contact President Hanover and have him order a federal search warrant for your facilities.” Nick paused to let his threat sink in. “And considering the size of your institute, I’d guess it would take my people quite a long time to hunt for the information I need in your hard files and computer files. Maybe even a week or two. You and your employees would have to vacate the facility until we’re finished with our search.”

Mesenburg instantly understood Nick’s inference—missed deadlines. His determination wilted.

“Is that a threat?” Donna huffed.

“It’s more than a threat, Donna. It’s reality,” Nick replied calmly.

Frank stared directly at Nick. “All right, you win. We’ll cooperate. I’ll tell you about Noah’s project before he left for Terror Island, but you won’t believe me.”

Nick propped an elbow on the table as the chair landed on all four legs. “I’ve experienced a lot of weird phenomena in my line of work, so fire away.”

He folded his hands. “Last summer, one of our South Pacific research vessels netted an extraordinary carcass—a partially eaten, unidentifiable land creature. It was larger than a rhinoceros and nothing we or anyone else had ever seen before. I stress the word
ever
. We told the ship’s scientists to freeze the extraordinary corpse and return it here for examination. I appointed Noah as team leader to identify the animal’s DNA.”

“So what did he find out?” Nick pressed.

“After a thorough battery of genetic tests, Noah and his team concluded the animal was extraterrestrial. Its DNA strand was utterly foreign to all life on Earth.”

“And yet your South Pacific research team found the carcass
on
Earth
,” Nick reminded him.

“We’re quite aware of that, Nick. That’s the enigma we haven’t solved.”

“Let me get this straight. Once Noah reported his results, you figured there might be other living specimens in the South Pacific, and Noah could search for them on and around Terror Island. Am I right?”

“Yes, but we realized it was a monumental undertaking, considering the scope of such a search. It was akin to finding a needle in a haystack the size of Texas. There are thousands of islands out there, and most of them are uninhabited,” Mesenburg explained.

Nick glanced at Donna. “So tell me, was Sue Wright involved with Noah’s project?”

“No.” Donna wriggled uncomfortably in her chair. “But, she, uh, suggested that we send Noah to Terror Island to search for a living extraterrestrial.”

Nick was astounded. “It was
her
idea? How’d she learn what her son was working on? I thought his project was classified.”

“We have no idea how she found out about it,” Donna said stiffly. “Maybe Noah told her.”

Mesenburg cleared another frog from his throat. “I didn’t know whose idea it was to send Noah out to Terror Island, but I wholly supported it. I even convinced Maggie Wentworth to accept Noah as a contestant. He wasn’t aware of my meddling.”

“So you changed your mind and decided to hunt for that haystack needle after all,” Nick said.

Frank squirmed in his chair. “Trust me, I knew it was a longshot, but we were desperate. If Noah didn’t locate any extraterrestrials on Terror Island, then he was to break away from the other contestants and search the nearby islands. So as you can see, Noah wasn’t a bonafide contestant. He was a plant with an ulterior motive, but in all honesty, Noah was an eager participant. He claimed he preferred exploring those islands to sitting around La Jolla dreaming about it.”

That was news to Nick. Noah was usually the last person he would categorize as a man of action. “Did Noah know who came up with the idea?”

“No,” Donna replied emphatically. “He was never told, so he concluded Frank was responsible for it.”

Nick massaged his cheeks. Something didn’t add up. No one at Scripps knew
how
Sue Wright got her information on Noah’s project,
but did anyone question
why
she got that information?
The ominous thought lingered in his mind.

Mesenburg drummed his fingertips on the tabletop. “The promotional people at Oracle came up with the name Terror Island, but that’s not the island’s true name.”

Nick was fascinated. “Really? What is it?”

“Kepolo Island.”

Nick frowned. “Forgive me; I’m not up on my Polynesian. What does that mean?”

Mesenburg unfolded his hands. “The words translate to
Devil Island
in English. From what I learned from the local pilots and charter captains we contacted, none of them would go near the place to pick up any living extraterrestrials Noah might find. They claimed the island was haunted by man-eating monsters. That information served to reinforce my decision to send Noah there … in the name of science, of course.”

“Of course,” Nick said absently as he pondered the island’s evil reputation. “Did it ever cross your mind why Oracle decided on such a dangerous place for their reality show’s location? The insurance on the cast, crew, and equipment had to have been astronomical.”

“You know, I was so mesmerized by the possibility of capturing another extraterrestrial animal that I never associated the danger with the television network’s chosen site,” Frank said ruefully.

But he disregarded Mesenburg’s pathetic response. He imagined Noah roaming the treacherous South Pacific island and fighting off alien life forms.

Kepolo Island.

Nick wanted to punch someone. A sedate city kid trying to survive in a hostile environment. Noah’s chances of staying alive were slim, and his mother knew it.

Chalk up another peculiar clue Nick couldn’t make heads or tails of.

Why would Noah’s mother ship him off to a place called Devil Island?

It was analogous to a pirate captain forcing his son to walk the plank.

In shark infested waters.