Page 62 of Wild Fever
Kara nodded. "I'll take any shot we can get." She paused. "You’ve never come face-to-face with your handiwork, have you?"
Dr. Malcolm frowned and shook his head. "You have to believe me when I say the current application of the drug was never my intention. My life's work has been about increasing longevity. Not shortening it. It is important to me that my work is a net positive for humanity.” He sighed. “There was a time when I believed that a drug like this, in the right hands, could save lives.”
“Save lives?” Kara balked.
“Maybe it does." He paused. "There are bad people in the world who wish to do this nation harm. I don't know who you are, or how you've lived your life. I don't know why you were poisoned in the first place. I don't know if you're a good person or a bad person. I guess none of that really matters now." He thought a moment, working through complex feelings. Arriving at a conclusion, he said, "What matters is that I do what I can to help you. But I’ll do so under one condition."
Kara breathed a relieved breath. “Name it.”
37
The patrol boat sliced through the water as we headed out toward Torchlight Key. The engines howled, and the briny air swirled. It took about an hour of skimming across the swells to reach the remote island. Last I’d heard, the private key was owned by an investment trust, but remained undeveloped.
The island didn’t see much traffic. There wasn’t much out there but dense jungle-like terrain, bugs, and an old radio outpost.
The sun angled toward the horizon—the close of another day imminent. Every second that ticked away put Kara more on edge. Dr. Malcolm didn’t look too settled either. He grew more jittery as we drew near the key.
"Is there some kind of problem?" I asked him.
"No. No problem," he said. But he kept stealing glances around the horizon.
We were the only ones as far as the eye could see. It’s not like this place saw a lot of casual tourists. You had to know where itwas and be willing to make the journey. Of course, a place like this was ideal for smugglers—a great location for an aerial drop or illicit rendezvous.
Malcolm directed me into a narrow channel, and I navigated the patrol boat deep into the mangrove swamps. We snaked through, avoiding roots and half-submerged stumps. I trimmed the engines as the hull scraped the muddy bottom, then ran aground at the channel’s end. Off the beaten path, Torchlight Key was the perfect location for a clandestine lab.
After dropping a Danforth anchor over the stern, we disembarked. I helped Kara ashore, and Dr. Malcolm led us into the thick underbrush.
We traversed the narrow trail, crunching across leaves, stepping over fallen logs. Craggy branches clawed at us as we marched through the dense foliage. Varmints scurried about the brush, and birds chirped in trees. Dappled rays of sun pierced the canopy of leaves above, speckling the trail. I kept my head on a swivel, and so did Dr. Malcolm.
Mosquitoes buzzed about, but the bloodsuckers weren’t bad yet. At dusk, they'd feast.
"What do you keep looking for?" I asked the good doctor.
"One can never be too careful out here."
He wasn’t lying.
"Are you packing?"
"Aren’t you?"
This far from civilization, anything could happen. Help was a long way away. It was best to take precautions. A 9mm holsteredin my waistband and a few extra magazines would handle just about anything from wild animals to smugglers or Caribbean pirates. There hadn’t been any recent reports of hijackings in local waters, but at times, it could be treacherous out here.
A posted sign along the trail read:NO TRESPASSING. Violators will be shot.
Dr. Malcolm led us to a small clearing under the canopy of leaves. It was quite an impressive structure considering it was built out of bamboo, palm fronds, corrugated tin, and local wood. On stilts to avoid flooding, steps led up to a large veranda with a swinging bench and a lazy hammock. It was clear this could function as a second home for Dr. Malcolm when necessary. Covered by a dense canopy above, the roof was further camouflaged with palm fronds, with camo netting a few feet above. Dr. Malcolm had gone to great lengths to obscure the clandestine lab from aerial view.
50 feet away, a pit had been dug for a generator and was covered with sound-dampening material. Solar panels had been placed strategically in nearby spots to collect light. A battery stored power. Not far away, a composting outhouse handled waste, and rain barrels caught water. I had no doubt Dr. Malcolm had devised a water treatment process for freshwater in the lab.
As we drew near, Dr. Malcolm raised his fist and signaled us to halt. He knelt down and released a small monofilament tripwire that spanned the path. It was connected to a Hillbilly Claymore—a shotgun shell in a pipe with a trigger and a firing pin. It was the kind of thing that would put a serious damper on your day.
"That's not exactly legal," I said in a casual voice.
Dr. Malcolm looked me dead in the eye. "Nothing about any of this is exactly legal. Do you want my help, or don't you?”
His eyes flicked between the two of us. There was no turning back now. He was Kara's only hope.
Malcolm continued, "We had a deal, remember? I expect you to honor it.”
