“But—”
Julio grabbed his brother by his shoulder. “Elan, do as Señor Zapata says. We saw Malcolm display extraordinary feats of strength yesterday. It’s only fair that Señor Zapata have the opportunity to see the same.”
What a kissass,
Elan thought. As much as he respected his older brother’s scientific ability, his pathological need to always be right, to always call the shots, annoyed him. So did Julio’s smugness.
Malcolm shared Elan’s opinion of Julio. He had needed only a few days with the Ortegas to see that Julio treated Elan like a child. An incompetent child at that. He often spoke over him, berated him with unnecessary questioning, and automatically deemed every one of Elan’s opinions unworthy. Why would Elan put up with such treatment? What confounded Malcolm even more was how clearly superior Elan’s intelligence was to Julio’s. He could not understand why the level of respect shown between the two was lopsided at best.
Elan tugged on his brother’s arm, but Julio wouldn’t hear another word. He was too busy posturing for Zapata.
“Safety is not an issue,” Julio went on. “We’ve seen that Malcolm is capable of listening and understanding.” He watched Elan for agreement and let out a puff of air when none came. “Tell you what: I’ll take care of it.” Julio spun around and headed into the room.
Elan watched his brother undo the straps that held Malcolm to the gurney. Julio had to be nervous. He was a talker, not a doer. The shaking in his hands and the exaggerated difficulty in untying the straps were sure signs, but Elan didn’t think the wide-eyed Zapata had even noticed.
Malcolm didn’t acknowledge Julio’s presence; instead, he kept his sightline aimed directly at Elan—never wavering, not even for a second. One by one, the straps fell to the side, freeing his left arm, then his right, and eventually both of his legs were free. Only the two across his chest remained. Still Malcolm didn’t move, not even to rub his wrists or to stretch his legs. Elan couldn’t help but think how strange this behavior was. Any normal person would surely have given their wrists a rub after having been confined.
The last two straps had been secured tightly by Elan. When Julio unlatched the first buckle, the leather exploded off of Malcolm’s chest, sending it clanking against the gurney. Julio paused for a moment and glanced at his brother.
Elan saw the fear in his eyes and reached for the speaker button. “Julio, you’ve done enough. Why don’t you come out and let Malcolm unbuckle the last strap himself.”
A smile of relief appeared on Julio’s face. He now had a way to save face and get out of the room. They had yet to place another human in a room with Malcolm while he was at the height of the drug’s influence, and Julio didn’t want to be first.
But what worried Elan the most, what gave him pause and raised the hairs on his arm, what had him moving toward the door to personally escort his brother out of the room even if it meant endangering his own life, was the tone in Malcolm’s voice when he had spoken about Julio earlier that morning.
And then, in an instant, Elan watched his greatest fear come to life.
Julio Ortega should never have walked into that room.
Chapter 35
In a flash, Malcolm’s left hand shot out and clamped tightly around Julio’s neck. Elan watched as Julio fought uselessly to free himself by pulling down on Malcolm’s arm with both of his hands. Cold horror snaked into Elan’s body. “Let him go!” he shouted. Again and again he ordered Malcolm to stop, but nothing he said seemed to have any affect.
Malcolm continued to squeeze, and Julio’s movements had begun to slow. Elan turned to the ex-FARC general, only to find him entertained by it all.
“Señor Zapata, your men—order them to help,” Elan pleaded.
Zapata ignored him, his eyes glued to the show unfolding before him. This was Malcolm’s debut. Zapata wanted his money’s worth. And he didn’t mind seeing Julio Ortega get what was coming to him, either. The man had been like an annoying mosquito buzzing around him for months, and Zapata had been dying to slap him down.
The color in Julio’s face was fading as Malcolm literally squeezed the life from his body. By now, his movements had all but stopped.
Elan was desperate to do something, but what? And before another thought could rattle around inside his head, before he could take another step or utter another plea, Malcolm jerked hard on Julio’s neck.
Elan felt it in the center of his chest, the dull sound of bone snapping. At the same time, he watched Julio’s neck turn at an unnatural angle.
Malcolm held on to Julio for a moment longer before dropping his lifeless body to the cold floor. As he unbuckled the last strap holding him in place, a large grin stretched across his face. Free from his restraints, he walked to the observation window and focused on Zapata. “He was the weaker of the two, don’t you agree?”
The general responded with a slow nod.
For the next hour or so, the two conversed. Malcolm told Zapata about his abduction and how, in the beginning, he was fearful of his life and did whatever he was told. But when he was injected with the drug, his submissive ways had shaken themselves free of him, like wringing water from a cloth. He suddenly had an opinion, a need to hear his voice, to air his ideas. The drug boosted an attribute the Ortegas never considered: confidence.
“My entire life, I was a follower,” Malcolm said. “For once, I feel like the alpha male, the one others want to be around.”
He continued to tell Zapata about his days at the lab, focusing now on his newly acquired abilities, which he was very happy to display. The general ordered a desk be put in the room on the promise that Malcolm would not hurt or kill whoever delivered it. In return, Zapata was treated to a show of strength as Malcolm tore the desk apart with his bare hands.
The show continued, even with Julio’s body lying on the floor. Every so often, Malcolm would step over him as if he were a child’s toy left out. Elan seemed to be the only one disturbed by this.
Finally Zapata was satisfied. “He’s deadly and fast. And he continues to live.” He gave Elan a pat on the back. “Good work. I want an ample supply of the drug by tomorrow. Oh, and one more thing: not a word to anyone. Do you understand?”
Elan was still focused on his brother’s dead body but managed to nod his answer.
Zapata turned and left. When he was out of Elan’s earshot, he pulled his cell phone out and dialed El Monstruo.
“We have success,” Zapata said when his boss came on the line.
“It lives?”
“Yes, and it has an extraordinary taste for killing. The Ortegas put on a personal demonstration for me. Unfortunately, we have only one scientist left, but it’s the smarter one.”
“Very good. Let’s prepare to leave. I want to start the operation as soon as possible.”
“I will start making arrangements.”
“You are a rich man, Faro. But soon you will have wealth beyond your imagination. One more thing: can we trust this scientist to remain quiet?”
“I will make sure of it.”
“What about his wife? Should we worry about her?”
“Forgive me, but you must have forgotten; he is married to my sister.”
“I did not forget.”
Chapter 36
Elan threw random belongings into a suitcase: shoes, ties, a clock radio, picture frames, toiletries. There was no rhyme or reason to his choices. If he laid eyes on it, it went into the suitcase.
“Elan!” his wife repeated. “What is going on? Why are you doing this?”
She had been speaking to him with no response since he had blown into the apartment twenty minutes earlier, pale and shaking. She yanked on his arm, a sick feeling in her stomach. “Talk to me. You’re scaring me.”
“We don’t have time. You must pack. We must leave. Now.”
Adrianna started to cry and gripped his arm harder. “I don’t understand. Why must we leave? What happened?” she continued.
Elan took a deep breath. He freed his arm from his wife’s grasp and folded her into a brief hug. “Listen to me,” he said, pulling away and steadying her with a hand on each shoulder. “Julio is dead. We are in danger. I cannot guarantee our safety if we stay put.”
Her eyes widened. She shook her head. “No…”
“Faro had him killed.”
“I don’t understand. Why would he do that?”
Elan explained what had happened at the laboratory that morning. When he finished, his wife only stared at him. “Adrianna?”
Her eyes moved past him, her gaze diverted elsewhere.
“Adrianna.” He again tried to grab her attention. Slowly, her eyes found their way back to him. Her lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. Elan hugged his wife again, worried that her unresponsiveness was a prelude to shock. He pulled away and tried once more. “Adrianna, do you understand what I am telling you?” he asked gently.
“Why are you experimenting on people?” she asked.
“I’m a genetic scientist. The side effects of the drug… It—it increased the physical and mental abilities of the chimps. We…” he searched for the right words. “We turned an average man into a superior athlete.”
“You turned him into a murderer.”
Elan shook his head. “I underestimated,” he said defensively. “I thought the work we had done would impress Faro. I thought he would let us continue to develop it. I want to help people, not create killing machines.”
“Or maybe you were so blinded by success, you chose not to see the truth.”
He froze. Was she right? Had he become so consumed with his work that he’d ignored the obvious signs? The full weight of what he and his brother had accomplished piled onto his shoulders. It was suddenly so clear. Once Zapata became aware of the drug’s curious side effects, he had given up any interest in pursuing an alternative to cocaine. He was interested in their work, but not for the same reasons.
Elan’s insides twisted as he doubled over and fell to his knees. His chest tightened, hampering his breathing. His eyes flooded with guilt that ran hot down his face and dripped onto the wooden floor beneath him.
Adrianna bent down and threw both arms around her husband. She gripped him tightly. “Does my brother have access to the drug?”
Elan raised his head until his eyes found those of his wife, and he nodded. “There is a supply, enough to infect about fifteen to twenty other men. He wanted me to make more, but I was able to sneak away from the compound. That is why we must leave. It’s only a matter of time before his men come bursting through our front door.”
Adrianna cupped Elan’s face and looked him in the eyes. She knew her husband spoke the truth. Even though Faro was her brother, her family, she knew he was evil.
Chapter 37
Bubble baths, candles, and Jameson: those are definitely a few of my favorite things. I hummed my own version of the song while I lay neck deep in a pool of soapy warmth. My first stop after arriving back in Mitú was at a shop that sold the essentials for a perfect bath. My next stop was the iron, claw-foot tub in my hotel room. I told Cabrera not to bother me and that I would see him first thing the following morning. I had plans to soak and talk to my family all night.
I spent forty minutes walking Po Po and the kids through every aspect of my hike into the jungle and the tribal ceremony I had participated in, stopping only to text photos to accompany my story. They all responded with a lot of
ooh
s, especially Lucy. She actually sounded like the repeat button in her head was stuck. I kept laughing every time she let out a long
ooh
.
Even Ryan, usually the tough one, wasn’t safe from openly displaying his excitement when I sent him a picture of his gift. An elder of the village had given me a necklace fashioned out of animal bones, each one carved into the shape of a jungle animal. Worn only by the hunters in the village, it was a talisman that protected them from the dangers in the jungle. It would definitely make him the coolest kid at camp.
“When you coming home, Mommy?” Lucy blurted.
“Another day or so.”
“How long is dayorso?”
I giggled at Lucy’s response. “Mommy will be home really soon.”
“Oooooh-kayyyyy. I’m counting days.”
When the kids got off the phone, I was able to ask Po Po for an honest take on how things were going on the home front.
“Everything fine. I handle it all.”
She’s a woman of few words, that Po Po.
Hearing that eased my mind but fueled my insecurities. Ever since our move to San Francisco from Hong Kong, I had worked hard to make it a priority to be a proper mother to my stepchildren. Some days I succeeded, and other days I failed—big time. How much heavy lifting their grandmother had to do was a big part of how I judged myself. Lately, it had been a lot.
Fail!
Of course, the unspoken competition on who could parent the kids better didn’t help. Back in Hong Kong, I had a hard time being there for them—literally, because of work, and figuratively because—let’s face it—I wasn’t at all prepared to take care of two young children. When my husband died, it only got worse. I relied entirely on Po Po, and they treated her like their mother and me like, well, not much. Certainly not Mommy, and how could I blame them?
I cry now when I think about how absent I was back then—and right after they lost their father, too. But since our move to the States, I had changed my ways, and the kids were first in every decision when I could control it. My trip to Bogotá was one of those times when I couldn’t. Po Po had the kids to herself, but I knew Lucy and Ryan now understood that I was their mother and she was their grandmother, and lucky for me because I don’t know what I’d do without her help.
<><><>
El Monstruo spoke slowly and deliberately to his second in command. He did so, so as not to repeat himself. He did not like repeating himself. Of course, what Zapata said next, he did not like either. “What do you mean, ‘We have a problem’?”
Silence lingered on the other end of the line, baiting Zapata to speak. This was one of the many games that his boss loved to play with him. Was El Monstruo on the verge of speaking, never to be interrupted, or was he waiting for more information? This time, Zapata knew it was safe to continued.