Michael Crichton - State Of Fear

"You guys can't keep me in the dark forever, you know," Ann said. "Sooner or later we will land this plane. And then I'm going to find out what you're really up to."

"That's true," Kenner said.

"Why not tell me now?"

Kenner just shook his head.

The pilot clicked the radio. "Check your seat belts, please," he said. "Prepare for landing in Honolulu."

Ann said, "Honolulu!"

"Where did you think we were going?"

"I thought"

And then she broke off.

Sarah thought: She knows where we are going.

While they refueled at Honolulu, a customs inspector came onboard and asked to see their passports. He seemed amused by the presence of Ted Bradley, whom he referred to as "Mr. President"; Bradley in turn was pleased by the attention from a man in uniform.

After the customs officer checked their passports, he said to the group, "Your destination is filed as Gareda in the Solomon Islands. I just want to make sure you're aware of the travel advisory for Gareda. Most embassies have warned visitors against going there in view of the current conditions."

"What current conditions?" Ann said.

"There are rebels active on the island. There have been a number of murders. The Australian army went in last year and captured most of the rebels, but not all. There have been three murders in the last week, including two foreigners. One of the corpses was, uh, mutilated. And the head was taken."

"What?"

"The head was taken. Not while he was alive."

Ann turned to Kenner. "That's where we are going? Gareda?"

Kenner nodded slowly.

"What do you mean, the head was taken?"

"Presumably, it was for the skull."

"The skull," she repeated. "So amp;you're talking about head-hunters amp;"

Kenner nodded.

"I'm getting off this plane," she said, and gathering up her hand bag, walked down the stairs.

Jennifer was just waking up. "What's her problem?"

"She doesn't like good-byes," Sanjong said.

Ted Bradley was stroking his chin in what he imagined was a thoughtful manner. He said, "A foreigner had his head cut off?"

"Apparently, it was worse than that," the customs officer said.

"Jesus. What's worse than that?" Bradley said, laughing.

The customs officer said, "The situation on the ground is not entirely clear. The reports are conflicting."

Bradley stopped laughing. "No. Seriously: I want to know. What's worse than beheading?"

There was a brief silence.

"They ate him," Sanjong said.

Bradley rocked back in his chair. "They ate him?"

The customs officer nodded. "Parts of him," he said. "At least, that's the report."

"Holy shit," Bradley said. "Which parts? Never mind, I don't want to know. Jesus Christ. They ate the guy."

Kenner looked at him. "You don't have to go, Ted," he said. "You can leave, too."

"I have to admit, I'm thinking about it," he said, in his judicious, presidential tone. "Getting eaten is not a distinguished end to a career. Think of any of the greats. Think of Elviseaten. John Lennoneaten. I mean, it's not how we want to be remembered." He fell silent, lowering his chin to his chest, sunk deep in thought, then raising it again. It was a gesture he'd done a hundred times on television. "But, no," he said finally. "I'll accept the danger. If you're going, I'm going."

"We're going," Kenner said.

It was nine hours flight time to Kontag Airport in Gareda. The cabin was dark; most of them slept. Kenner as usual stayed awake, sitting in the back with Sanjong, talking quietly.

Peter Evans woke up about four hours into the flight. His toes still burned from the Antarctic episode and his back was very sore from his being bounced around in the flash flood. But the pain in his toes reminded him that he was supposed to check them daily, to see if they were becoming infected. He got up and went to the back of the plane, where Kenner was sitting. He pulled off his socks and inspected his toes.

"Sniff 'em," Kenner said.

"What?"

"Smell them. You have any gangrene, you'll smell it first. They hurt?"

"Burn. Mostly just at night."

Kenner nodded. "You'll be all right. I think you'll keep them all."

Evans sat back, thinking how strange it was to have a conversation about losing his toes. Somehow it made his back hurt more. He went into the bathroom at the back of the plane and rummaged through the drawers looking for painkillers. All they had was Advil, so he took that, then came back.

"That was a clever story you arranged in Honolulu," he said. "Too bad it didn't work on Ted."

Kenner just stared.

"It's not a story," Sanjong said. "There were three murders yesterday."

"Oh. And they ate somebody?"

"That was the report."

"Oh," Evans said.

Going forward into the dark cabin, Evans saw Sarah sitting up. She whispered, "Can't sleep?"

"No. A little achy. You?"

"Yeah. Toes hurt. From the frostbite."

"Me, too."

She nodded toward the galley. "Any food back there?"

"I think so."

She got up, headed back. He trailed after her. She said, "The tops of my ears hurt, too."

"Mine are okay," he said.

She rummaged around, found some cold pasta. She held a plate out to him. He shook his head. She spooned out a plate for herself and began to eat. "So, how long have you known Jennifer?"

"I don't really know her," he said. "I just met her recently, at the law office."

"Why is she coming with us?"

"I think she knows Kenner."

"She does," Kenner said, from his chair.

"How?"

"She's my niece."

"Really?" Sarah said. "How long has she been your nienever mind. I'm sorry. It's late."

"She's my sister's kid. Her parents died in a plane crash when she was eleven."

"Oh."

"She's been on her own a lot."

"Oh."

Evans looked at Sarah and thought once again that it was a kind of trick, how she could get up from sleeping and appear beautiful, and perfect. And she had on that perfume that had driven him quietly crazy from the moment he first smelled it.

"Well," Sarah said. "She seems very nice."

"I don't, uh, there's nothing amp;"

"It's fine," she said. "You don't have to pretend with me, Peter."

"I'm not pretending," he said, leaning slightly closer, smelling her perfume.

"Yes, you are." She moved away from him, and sat down opposite Kenner. "What happens when we get to Gareda?" she said.

The thing about her, Evans thought, was that she had the most chilling ability to instantly behave as if he did not exist. Right now she was not looking at him; she was focusing all her attention on Kenner, talking with apparent concentration to Kenner and behaving as if no one else were there.

Was that supposed to be provocative? he thought. Was that supposed to be a turn-on, to get him excited and start the chase? Because it didn't make him feel that way at all. It pissed him off.

He wanted to slap his hand down on the counter, make a big noise, and say, "Hel-lo! Earth to Sarah!" Or something like that.

But somehow he thought that that would make things worse. He could imagine her annoyed glance. You're such a baby. Something like that. It made him long for somebody uncomplicated, the way Janis was uncomplicated. Just a great body and a voice you could tune out. That was exactly what he needed now.

He gave a long sigh.

She heard it, glanced up at him, and then patted the seat beside her. "Come sit here, Peter," she said, "and join the conversation." And she gave him a big, dazzling smile.

He thought: I am very confused.

"This is Resolution Bay," Sanjong said, holding out his computer screen. It showed the bay, then zoomed back to show a map of the entire island. "It's on the northeast side of the island. The airport is on the west coast. It's about twenty-five miles away."