"Your mother called Ebola a monster," Stacy reminded him. "Is that how you see yourself? Some sort of knight in shining armor fighting dragons?"
"No." Waters licked his lips and faced her. "I am no knight in shining white armor. They exist only in fairy tales. But I have learned one truth, a truth that I am sure your soldier friend will understand," Waters said and nodded toward Gant. "Sometimes in order to defeat the monsters, you must become a monster."
Waters — or whatever his name truly was — removed himself from the conversation and disappeared to the rear of the jet behind a drawn curtain, leaving Stacy stewing in her seat with Gant across the aisle, seemingly deep in thought.
When Annabelle had agreed to join Task Force Archangel, she had found the secret base on the grounds of Fort Irwin the first sign that she had entered a bizarre world, although she had yet to meet the facility's most interesting residents. Jumping from the plane and parachuting onto the tiny island of Tioga in the middle of the Pacific had accentuated the thrill of her new assignment; it seemed a whole new world had opened to her.
Her mind was still trying to process the idea of reanimated human corpses, but once she had throttled the terror of the things, her intellect had managed to go to work, trying to identify and understand the cause.
It was not until her conversation with Dr. Waters that she had truly realized the nature of her new world. To call Waters evil was too simple. She found a hundred reasons to despise him: for his cruelty, for his lack of even rudimentary ethics, for his overriding ambition, for the insanity that clearly lived in his veins.
But there was another reason; one more personal.
Dr. Annabelle Stacy was a scientist who studied a wide range of fields, from archeology to biology to physics to astronomy. She desperately wanted to know this world, and if she could learn something that might help others in their lives or advance the cause of civilization, that would be immensely satisfying.
This man — Jabilo, Sungila, Waters — his crimes would taint the work of researchers in almost every field. Those who knew of his past deeds and who would someday know what he had done on Tioga Island would use that blood to paint a broad brush across all of science. They would accuse him of being coldhearted, of doing something merely because he could, of allowing blind ambition to cause him to play God.
For every Waters in the world there were ten thousand — more — scientists who worked in anonymity under strict ethical guidelines with only the best of intentions. She had seen researchers struggle with their conscience over the use of lab animals and doctors wrestle with the balance between "do no harm" and "do everything possible" when dealing with terminally ill patients.
But Waters would add fuel to the fire of those who feared scientific advancement.
Stacy did not know what she could do to change that; to stop this evil man. Yet as she rode on that plane, waiting to face her fate, wherever the jet took them, she decided she would fight, not only for her life but to try and undo some of the damage. She owed it to her colleagues, to those fellow travelers who shared her chosen path to discovery. To the thousands who lived with low pay and poor working conditions but kept going because they wanted to do good.
"We are starting to descend."
Major Gant's voice pulled Stacy from her musings. As her mind refocused on her surroundings, she realized he was right. She felt the jet skim altitude and the engines modulate thrust.
"How long were we in the air? I lost track."
Thom answered her, "According to my watch, about three hours."
"Where do you think we are?"
"That is a good question. I believe we traveled primarily west with a couple of banks to the southwest along the way. That would put us on course for—"
"We are landing on an island to the north of New Guinea," Waters answered as he emerged from behind the curtain and walked up the aisle.
"I find it hard to believe that New Guinea is behind your research," Gant fished.
"That would be quite comical, yes," Waters said. "No, we are landing at a place very similar to the one we just left. A private island, with no national allegiance."
"I don't believe you," Gant responded. "Tioga was a rare exception; a land mass with no country claiming jurisdiction. I don’t believe two such places exist."
Waters smiled — a little — and admitted, "You are most probably correct. However, there are thousands of small islands in this part of the world. Someone may, in fact, claim sovereignty, but discovering exactly who that is might take some time. In fact, with so many claims and counterclaims, there may not be a correct answer."
"Deniability." Gant eased back in his chair and slowly nodded his head in understanding of Waters's point.
"Who, then, are you, exactly?" Stacy joined the conversation.
Waters considered for a long moment and then told her, "I will leave that revelation to others. Unless, of course, you care to share with me your background and identity? An even swap?"
She glanced over at Thom, who simply stared back.
It struck her that their anonymity might be keeping them alive. Furthermore, soon the plane would land and answers from Waters's employers might be forthcoming.
Stacy replied, "I suppose I'll leave that revelation to others as well."
Waters continued on to the front of the plane. She saw him open the cockpit door to converse with the pilots.
"Another private island," Gant muttered.
"What's that?"
"I said, another private island. Another place where people hide from the world to do things they would not want that world to see. I have spent far too much time in places like that."
Stacy picked up on his thinking.
"Tioga was like Las Vegas on steroids. Sex rooms and secret liaisons, way off the beaten path in the middle of the ocean where the celebrities and playboys could hide their fetishes. What do you think is waiting for us down there?"
Gant glanced out the window as he answered, "The same type of thing, but with laboratories and researchers instead of satin sheets and mistresses."
"Are you still betting on The Tall Company?"
He turned back to her and said, "Let's just say I would not put it past them. They are well funded and connected, exactly the type of organization that could pull off something like this. The question is why."
Waters came back up the aisle and returned to the seat across from Stacy. The older man checked his seat belt and sat rigid.
"It could be bit of a rough landing," he warned.
The plane dropped from the sky at a sharpening angle, to the point that Dr. Stacy wondered if a suicidal pilot planned to drop them into the drink. However, after a minute or so the descent evened, and a quick glance out the side window told her they traveled close to the water, practically skimming the ocean.
She figured that the pilot's aggressive flying might have something to do with avoiding radar or other forms of tracking. Either way, she had the distinct feeling they faced a challenging landing.
Two minutes later the view of ocean outside the side window was replaced by that of jungle. She saw no signs of civilization, but the squeal of the jet's tires as they touched down suggested contact with a paved surface. The landing turned into something of a skid as she sensed the pilot slamming the brakes in the face of a short runway. The momentum pinned her in her backwards-facing seat. In front of her Waters leaned forward, held in place by his seat belt.
Stacy found her heart beating in her throat and her fingers clutching the armrests, and she expected the plane to careen out of control or smash into some barrier at any moment.
Fortunately, after a few seconds the jet slowed to taxiing speed. The view out the round portal offered a quick glimpse of the larger transport planes she had seen on Tioga, except here they were covered in camouflage netting.