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“Just before you arrived I got an unusual call from our gate house,” Siegfried said. “The Moroccan guard told me that there was a van full of people who wanted to tour the facility. We’ve never had uninvited visitors before. The van was driven by Dr. Jack Stapleton of New York City.”

Raymond wiped the perspiration that had appeared on his forehead. Then he ran both hands simultaneously through his hair. He kept telling himself that this couldn’t be happening since Vinnie Dominick was supposed to have taken care of Jack Stapleton and Laurie Montgomery. Raymond hadn’t called to find out what had happened to the two; he didn’t really want to know the details. For twenty thousand dollars, details weren’t something he should have to worry about-or so he thought. If pressed, he would have guessed that Stapleton and Montgomery were somewhere floating in the Atlantic Ocean about now.

“Your reaction to this is starting to concern me,” Siegfried said.

“You didn’t let Stapleton and his friends in?” Raymond asked.

“No, of course not,” Siegfried said.

“Maybe you should have,” Raymond said. “Then we could have dealt with them. Jack Stapleton is a very big danger to the program. I mean, is there a way here in the Zone to take care of such people?”

“There is,” Siegfried said. “We just turn them over to the Equatoguinean minister of justice or the minister of defense along with a sizable bonus. Punishment is both discreet and very rapid. The government is eager to ensure that nothing threatens the goose that lays the golden egg. All we need to say is that they are seriously interfering with GenSys operations.”

“Then if they come back, I think you should let them in,” Raymond said.

“Perhaps you should tell me why,” Siegfried said.

“Do you remember Carlo Franconi?” Raymond asked.

“Carlo Franconi the patient?” Siegfried asked.

Raymond nodded.

“Of course,” Siegfried said.

“Well, it started with him,” Raymond said as he began the complicated story.

“You think it is safe?” Laurie asked. She was looking at a huge hollowed-out log canoe with a thatched canopy that was pulled halfway up the beach. On the back was a sizable, beat-up outboard motor. It was leaking fuel as evidenced by an opalescent scum that ringed the stern.

“Reportedly it goes all the way to Gabon twice a day,” Jack said. “That’s farther than Cogo.”

“How much rent did you have to pay?” Natalie asked. It had taken Jack a half hour of negotiations to get it.

“A bit more than I expected,” Jack said. “Apparently, some people rented one a couple of days ago, and it hasn’t been seen since. That episode has driven the rental price up, I’m afraid.”

“More than a hundred or less?” Warren asked. He, too, wasn’t impressed with the craft’s apparent seaworthiness. “Because if it was more than a C note you got took.”

“Well, let’s not quibble,” Jack said. “In fact, let’s get the show on the road unless you guys want to back out.”

There was a moment of silence while the group eyed each other.

“I’m not a great swimmer,” Warren admitted.

“I can assure you that we are not planning on going into the water,” Jack said.

“All right,” Warren said. “Let’s go.”

“You ladies concur?” Jack asked.

Both Laurie and Natalie nodded without a lot of enthusiasm. At the moment, the noonday sun was enervating. Despite being on the shore of the estuary, there was not a breath of air.

With the women positioned in the stern to help lift the bow, Jack and Warren pushed the heavy pirogue off the shore and jumped in one after the other. Everyone helped paddle out about fifty feet. Jack attended to the motor, compressing the small hand pump on top of the red fuel tank. He’d had a boat as a child on a lake in the Midwest and had a lot of experience fussing with an outboard.

“This canoe is a lot more stable than it looks,” Laurie said. Even with Jack moving around in the stern it was barely rocking.

“And no leaks,” Natalie said. “That was my concern.”

Warren stayed silent. He had a white knuckle grip on the gunwale.

To Jack’s surprise, the engine started after only two pulls. A moment later, they were off, motoring almost due east. After the oppressive heat the breeze felt good.

The drive to Acalayong had been accomplished quicker than they’d anticipated, even though the road deteriorated in comparison to the road north of the Cogo turnoff. There was no traffic save for an occasional northward-bound van inconceivably packed with passengers. Even the luggage racks on the tops had two or three people holding on for dear life.

Acalayong had brought smiles to everyone’s face. It was indicated as a city on the map but turned out to consist of no more than a handful of tawdry concrete shops, bars, and a few hotels. There was a cement-block police post with several men in dirty uniforms sprawled in rattan chairs in the shade of the porch. They’d eyed Jack and the others with soporific disdain as the van had passed by.

Although they had found the town comically honky-tonk and litter strewn, they’d been able to get something to eat and drink as well as procure the boat. With some unease, they’d parked the van in sight of the police station, hoping it would be there on their return.

“How long did you estimate it would take us?” Laurie shouted over the noise of the outboard. It was particularly loud because a portion of its cowling was missing.

“An hour,” Jack yelled back. “But the boat owner told me it would be more like twenty minutes. It’s apparently just around the headland directly ahead.”

At that moment, they were crossing the two-mile-wide mouth of Rio Congue. The jungle-covered shorelines were hazy with mist. Thunderheads loomed above; two thunderstorms had hit while they’d been in the van.

“I hope we don’t get caught out here in the rain,” Natalie said. But Mother Nature ignored her wish. Less than five minutes later, it was pouring so hard that some of the huge drops splashed river water into the boat. Jack slowed the engine and allowed the boat to guide itself, while he joined the others under the thatched canopy. To everyone’s pleasant surprise, they stayed completely dry.

As soon as they rounded the headland, they saw Cogo’s pier. Constructed of heavy pressure-treated timber, it was a far cry from the rickety docks at Acalayong. As they got closer, they could see there was a floating portion off the tip.

The first view of Cogo impressed everyone. In contrast with the dilapidated and haphazardly constructed buildings with flat, corrugated metal roofs endemic to Bata and all of Acalayong, Cogo was comprised of attractive, tiled, whitewashed structures reflecting a rich colonial ambiance. To the left and almost hidden by the jungle was a modern power station. Its presence was obvious only because of its improbably tall smokestack.

Jack cut the engine way back as the town approached so they could hear each other speak. Tied along the dock were several pirogues similar to the one they were in, though these others were piled high with fish netting.

“I’m glad to see other boats,” Jack said. “I was afraid our canoe would stand out like a sore thumb.”

“Do you think that large, modern building is the hospital?” Laurie said while pointing.

Jack followed her line of sight. “Yup, at least according to Arturo, and he should know. He was part of the initial building crew out here.”

“I suppose that’s our destination,” Laurie said.

“I’d guess,” Jack said. “At least initially. Arturo said the animal complex is a few miles away in the jungle. We might try to figure out a way to get out there.”

“The town is bigger than I expected,” Warren said.

“I was told it was an abandoned Spanish colonial town,” Jack explained. “Not all of it has been renovated, but from here it sure looks like it has.”