Matthew Reilly: The Great Zoo of China

Lynch’s blood went cold. They’d deactivated his sonic shield. Now he had no protection from the animals. Lynch suddenly realised what Bao had meant when he’d said this could be done the easy way or the hard way.

‘You can’t kill every witness, Bao!’ Lynch yelled.

‘Yes, we can,’ replied the voice. ‘And yes, we will. Fear not, Dr Lynch. Your death will be a noble one. We will announce it to the world as an awful accident, the result of a light plane crash. It will be such a shame to lose so many brilliant people in the one accident. Of course, our facility will need to find another reptile expert to do what you have failed to do. I was thinking of your protégée, the young Dr Cameron.’

Bill Lynch yelled, ‘You bastard! Let me give you some free advice. Don’t mess with CJ Cameron. She’s tougher than I ever was.’

‘I’ll be sure to remember that.’

‘And another thing, Bao. You’re a fucking psychopath.’

There was no reply.

The Chinese soldiers were probably getting ready to storm the cave.

Lynch turned away, searching for something he could use as a weapon. As he did so, behind his back, a large reptilian head at the end of a long serpentine neck curved in through the entrance to the cave and stared directly at him.

It made no sound.

Lynch snapped a rib off one of the horse skeletons and turned—

The animal now stood in the mouth of the cave.

Its fearsome silhouette completely filled the cave’s entrance, blocking out the light. It was a prince, Lynch saw, nine feet tall, wingspan twenty feet. A red-bellied black.

The great beast peered at him as if surprised to find an intruder in its lair.

Its stance was powerful. In the dim light, Lynch could make out its sinewy shoulders and razor-sharp claws. Its wings were folded behind its body. Its long barbed tail slunk back and forth with cool calculation.

But the head didn’t move. It was eerily still. In silhouette, the creature’s high pointed ears looked like demonic horns.

The giant reptile took a step forward. It bent its head low, sniffing the ground.

Then, very slowly, it opened its mouth, revealing two rows of long jagged teeth.

It growled. A deep angry sound.

Lynch felt his heart beat faster and in a deep analytical part of his brain, he realised that the animal could sense this.

He also now realised why Bao had stopped talking from outside. The Chinese colonel and his men had seen this thing coming and had wisely got out of the way.

Bill Lynch had no time for another thought for just then the massive thing roared and rushed at him, and within seconds Lynch was lying on the floor of the cavern, screaming desperately and spitting blood as he was foully eaten alive.

HONG KONG, CHINA

17 MARCH

ONE MONTH LATER

The sleek private jet shot through the sky above the South China Sea, carrying two passengers who had never flown in a private jet before: CJ Cameron and her brother, Hamish.

The plane was a Bombardier Global 8000, the most expensive private aircraft in the world, the jet of choice for Saudi princes and Russian billionaires. This Bombardier, however, did not belong to any individual. It belonged to the Chinese government.

Dr Cassandra Jane ‘CJ’ Cameron peered out her window as the plane landed at Hong Kong International Airport, an ultra-modern facility that had been constructed on an enormous man-made island.

‘Is there anything China can’t build?’ CJ said, gazing out her window.

‘I heard they built some wholly fake Apple Stores,’ Hamish said. ‘Did you read about that? It wasn’t just a few counterfeit iPhones, they were whole frigging stores . They even had Genius Bars. All the employees thought they really were working for Apple!’

CJ threw a sideways glance at her brother. ‘Wise ass.’

A black Maybach limousine was waiting for them at the base of the jet’s airstairs. Standing beside it was a pretty young Chinese woman dressed in a perfectly pressed navy skirt-suit. Not a hair on her head was out of place. She had a Bluetooth earpiece in her ear that looked to CJ like it lived there permanently. When she spoke, her English was flawless.

‘Dr Cameron, Mr Cameron, welcome to China,’ she said. ‘My name is Na and I will be your escort during your stay here. Should you require anything—anything at all—please don’t hesitate to ask. Nothing is too much trouble.’

Na ushered them into the Maybach, which whisked them out a side gate. No Customs and Immigration. The limo then took them to the Four Seasons where they were put up in penthouse suites, all expenses paid. The next morning, they were told, they would be picked up at 9:00 a.m. sharp.

This was all very unusual for CJ Cameron.

Once a renowned herpetologist—a reptile expert—these days CJ worked as a vet at the San Francisco Zoo. At thirty-six, she was a petite five foot six, with piercing amber eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair.

CJ was fit, athletic, and pretty in a sporty kind of way. Men often approached her, only to turn away abruptly when they came close enough to see the grisly scars that dominated the left side of her face.

The scars stretched all the way from her left eye to the corner of her mouth, looking like a sequence of poorly aligned Xs. The ophthalmic surgeon had saved her eyesight. And the plastic surgeon, one of the best in America, had managed to reconstruct her jaw, but the slashing wounds to her left cheek had proved to be too much even for him.

CJ didn’t care. For vapid men or for herpetology, not after the incident. All her life she had been something of a tomboy anyway. She didn’t bother with make-up and she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty. She lived outdoors: hiking, camping, horse riding. A keen horsewoman, she sometimes preferred the company of horses to people.

Once upon a time, she’d been a star lecturer at the University of Florida’s Division of Herpetology, widely regarded as the best reptile faculty in America. Specialising in alligator research, she’d worked mainly at the university’s field site in the Everglades.

But not anymore.

In addition to her doctorate in herpetology, she was also a trained veterinarian, and now she worked as far from alligators as possible, tending to sick and injured animals in the clinic at the San Francisco Zoo.

Which was why she’d been surprised when her old boss from National Geographic , Don Grover, had called and asked if she’d go to China to write a piece on some big new zoo.