Everything was running with a clockwork precision. Louis would have it no other way.
Satisfied, he strode over to the line of segregated prisoners, the survivors of the Ranger team, baking and burning under the sun. They sat slightly apart from the remaining members of the Ban-ali tribe.
Louis stared at his catch, slightly disappointed that they hadn't offered more of a challenge. The two Rangers glared back at him murderously. The small Asian anthropologist had calmed significantly, eyes closed, lips moving in prayer, resigned. Kouwe sat stoically. Louis stopped in front of the last prisoner in the lineup.
Nathan Rand's gaze was as hard as the Rangers; but there was a glint of something more. A vein of icy determination.
Louis had a hard time maintaining eye contact with the man, but he refused to look away. In Nathan's face, he saw a shadow of the man's father: the sandy hair, the planes of the cheek, the shape of his nose. But this was not Carl Rand. And to Louis's surprise, this disappointed him. The satisfaction he had expected to feel at having Carl's son kneeling at his feet was hollow.
In fact, he found himself somewhat respecting the young man. Throughout the journey here, Nathan had demonstrated both ingenuity and a stout heart, even dispatching Louis's spy. And finally, here at the end, he had proven his loyalty, with a willingness to sacrifice his own life for his team. Admirable qualities, even if they were directed at cross purposes to Louis's own.
But finally, it was those eyes, as hard as polished stone. He had clearly known inconsolable grief and somehow survived. Louis remembered his elderly friend from the bar back at his hotel in French Guiana, the survivor of the Devil's Island penal system. Louis pictured the old man sipping his neat bourbons. The chap had the same eyes. These were not Carl Rand's eyes, his father's eyes. Here was a different man.
"What are you going to do with us?" Nate said. It was not a plea, but a simple question.
Louis removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. "I swore as a gentleman that I wouldn't kill you or your friends. And I will honor my word:'
Nate's eyes narrowed.
"I'll leave your deaths to the U.S. military," he said sadly, the emotion surprisingly unfeigned.
"What do you mean?" Nate asked suspiciously.
Louis shook his head and took two steps to reach Sergeant Kostos. "I think that question should be answered by your companion here:"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Kostos said with a glower.
Louis bent down at the waist and stared into the sergeant's face. "Really . . , are you saying Captain Waxman didn't confide in his staff sergeant?"
Kostos glanced away.
"What is he talking about?" Nate asked, directing the question to the sergeant. "We're well past secrets now, Kostos. If you know something . . :"
The sergeant finally
spoke, awkward with shame. "The napalm mini-bombs. We were under orders to find the source of the miraculous compound. Once a sample was secured, we were to destroy the source. Total annihilation:'
Louis straightened, enjoying the shocked expressions on the others' faces. Even the female Ranger looked surprised. It seemed the military liked to keep its secrets to only a select few.
Raising an arm, Louis pointed back to the small group of men gathered around the giant tree. They were his own demolitions team. Against the white bark of the trunk, the Rangers' remaining nine minibombs appeared like flat black eyes peering toward them. "Thanks to the U.S. government, there's enough firepower here to wipe out even a giant monster of a tree like this one:"
Kostos hung his head, as well he should.
"So you see," Louis said, "our two missions are not so different. Only who benefits-the U.S. military complex or a French pharmaceutical company. Which in turn raises the question, who would do the greater good with the knowledge?" He shrugged. "Who can say? But conversely, we might ask-who would do the greater harm?" Louis eyed the sergeant. "And I think we can all answer that one:"
A distinct quiet settled over the group.
Nate finally spoke. "What about Kelly and Frank?"
Ali, the missing members of the group . . . Louis was not surprised it was Nate who brought up the question. "Don't worry about their health. They'll be coming with my party," Louis explained. "I've been in contact with my financiers. Monsieur O'Brien will prove an ideal guinea pig to investigate this regenerative process. The scientists at St. Savin are itching to get their hands and instruments on him:"
"And Kelly?"
"Mademoiselle O'Brien will be coming along to make sure her brother cooperates:"
Nathan paled.
During the discourse, Louis had noticed Nate's gaze flick toward the tree. He waved an arm back to the giant. "The timers are set for three hours from now. Eight o'clock, to be precise," Louis said. He knew everyone here had seen the force of a single napalm bomb. Multiplied by nine, he watched the hopelessness settle into their faces.