Michael Crichton - State Of Fear

"I am very sorry," Henry said. "So very sorry."

"Never mind," Kenner said. His voice was neutral.

"What do we do now?" Henry said.

Kenner said, "Continue exactly as planned. Go north and put us down on the coast."

There was no mistaking the urgency in his voice.

In the backseat, pushed up against Sanjong, smelling the grease that coated the machine guns, Peter Evans wondered where this urgency came from. He looked at his watch. It was nine in the morning, which meant that of their original twenty-four hours, only twenty remained. But this was a small island, and it should allow plenty of time And then he had a thought. "Wait a minute," he said. "What time is it in Los Angeles?"

Sanjong said, "They're on the other side of the dateline. Twenty-seven hours behind."

"No, I mean elapsed time. Actual time difference."

"Six hours."

"And you calculated a transit time of what?"

"Thirteen hours," Sanjong said.

"I think we made a mistake," Evans said, biting his lip. He wasn't sure how much he should say in front of Henry. And indeed, Sanjong was shaking his head, indicating not now.

But they had made a mistake. There was no doubt about it. Assuming that Drake wanted the tidal wave to hit on the last day of the conference, he would surely want it to happen during the morning. That would provide the most visible disaster. And it would allow the whole afternoon for discussion and media interviews afterward. Every television camera in America would be at that conference, talking to the scientists who just happened to be there. It would create a gigantic media event.

So, Evans thought, assume the wave was to hit Los Angeles no later than noon tomorrow.

Subtract thirteen hours for the wave front to cross the Pacific.

That meant the wave had to be propagated at eleven P.M. Los Angeles time. Which meant that the local time in Gareda would be amp;five P.M.

Five P.M. today.

They didn't have a day to stop this thing from happening.

They had just eight hours.

So that was the reason for Kenner's urgency. That was why he was going ahead with his plan, despite the new problem. He had no choice, and he knew it. He had to land on the coast somewhere very near Resolution. There wasn't enough time to do anything else.

Even though it was possible they were heading right into a trap.

Leaving the forest behind, the helicopter burst out over blue water and turned around, going east. Evans saw a narrow sandy beach with patches of ragged lava rock, and mangrove swamps clinging to the water's edge. The helicopter swung low and followed the beach, heading east.

"How far from Resolution are we?" Kenner said.

"Five, six kilometers," Henry said.

"And how far from Pavutu?"

"Maybe ten kilometers, on a mud track."

"Okay," Kenner said. "Let's find a place to put down."

"There's a good place I know maybe one kilometer ahead."

"Fine. Go there."

Evans was thinking. Five kilometers walking on a beach, that was about three miles, should take them an hour and a half at most. They could make it to Resolution Bay well before noon. That would give them "This the spot," Henry said. A finger of rugged lava protruded into the ocean. Centuries of waves had smoothed it enough to make a landing possible.

"Do it," Kenner said.

The helicopter circled, prepared to descend. Evans was looking out over at the dense wall of jungle, where it met the beach. He saw tire tracks in the sand and a sort of gap in the trees that was probably a road. And those tire tracks "Say listen," Evans said. "I think"

Sanjong jabbed him in the ribs. Hard.

Evans grunted.

"What is it, Peter?" Kenner said.

"Uh, nothing."

"We're going down," Henry said. The helicopter descended smoothly, slowly settling onto the lava. Waves lapped at the edge of the rock pad. It was peaceful. Kenner looked out the bubble canopy, scanning the area.

"Okay? This good spot?" Henry said. He seemed nervous now that they were down. "I don't want to stay so long, Jon. Because maybe they come soon amp;"

"Yeah, I understand."

Kenner cracked open the door, then paused.

"So, alla okay. Jon?"

"Just fine, Henry. Very nice spot. Get out and open this back door for us, will you?"

"Yeah, Jon, I think you can get it"

"Get out!" And with astonishing swiftness there was a gun jammed against Henry's head. Henry sputtered and moaned in fear as he fumbled with his door. "But Jon, I need to stay inside, Jon"

"You've been a bad boy, Henry," Kenner said.

"You going to shoot me now, Jon?"

"Not now," Kenner said, and abruptly he shoved him out. Henry tumbled onto the sharp lava, howling in pain. Kenner slid over to the pilot's seat and shut the door. Immediately Henry was up, pounding on the canopy, his eyes wild. He was terrified.

"Jon! Jon! Please, Jon!"

"Sorry, Henry." Kenner pushed the stick, and the helicopter began to rise into the air. They had not climbed twenty feet before a dozen men emerged from the jungle all along the beach and began firing at them with rifles. Kenner swung out over the ocean, going north, away from the island. Looking back, they could see Henry standing forlorn on the lava. Some of the men were running toward him. He threw up his hands.

"Little shit," Bradley said. "He would have gotten us killed."

"He may still," Kenner said.

They flew due north, over open water.

"So what do we do now," Sarah said, "land on the other side of the bay? Walk in from the other side?"

"No," Kenner said. "That's what they'll expect us to do."

"So, then amp;"

"We wait a few minutes and go back to the western side, same as before."

"They won't be expecting that?"

"They may. We'll go to a different spot."

"Farther away from the bay?"

"No. Closer."

"Won't ELF hear us?"

"Doesn't matter. By now, they know we're coming."

In the back, Sanjong was breaking open the wooden cases and reaching for the guns. He stopped abruptly.

"Bad news," he said.

"What?"

"No guns." He pushed a lid higher. "These crates contain ammunition. But no guns."

"That little bastard," Bradley said.

"What do we do now?" Sarah said.

"We go in anyway," Kenner said.

He turned the helicopter and, skimming the water, headed back to Gareda.

The western arc of Resolution Bay consisted of a hilly, jungle-covered spine that jutted out into the water, terminating in a rocky point. The outer side of the spine flattened into a rocky plateau, some fifty feet above the beach, which curved off to the west. The plateau was protected by high overhanging trees.

That was where the helicopter now stood, covered in a camouflage tarp, overlooking the beach below. Evans glanced back at it, hoping that it would blend into the landscape, but instead it was only too obviously visible, especially when seen from above. The group was now already fifty feet above it, as they scrambled and clawed up the jungle slope that rose steeply from the beach. It was surprisingly tough going. They were climbing single file, and had to be careful because the ground underfoot was muddy. Bradley had already slipped, and slid some ten yards down. His whole left side was covered in black mud. And Evans could see that there was a fat leech on the back of his neck, but he decided not to point it out just then.

No one spoke. The team of six climbed in silence, trying to make as little noise as possible. Despite their best efforts, they were fairly noisy, the undergrowth crackling beneath their feet, small branches snapping as they reached to pull themselves up.

Kenner was somewhere farther ahead, leading the way. Evans couldn't see him. Sanjong was bringing up the rear. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder; he had brought it with him and assembled it from a small briefcase in the copter. Kenner carried a pistol. The rest of them were unarmed.