Chapter 1: Island of Death
Twenty executives sat around a conference table in the boardroom of the InGen corporation. All were in expensive suits, most were over fifty. Empty coffee cups and fast food containers on the table hinted that everyone had been there a long time.
A familiar voice resounded through the boardroom as every grim face of the board members stared toward the front of the room.
"--These creatures require our absence to survive, not our help. And if we could only step aside and trust in nature, life will find a way.."
The source of the voice was the late John Hammond, the founder of InGen and creator of Jurassic Park. His image was on a closed circuit TV screen, footage of an interview given back in 1997.
A hand rose, which held a remote control, and pointed it at the TV screen. It went blank. The lights came up.
A mock-applause echoed through the room.
"Moving. Elequent. But unfortunately, it does not change our situation."
A chairman took the podium.
Parker Quaritch, mid-forties, a man with the determined look of someone who insists the buck stop on his desk. With a stern look, he pressed a folder against the conference table: TOP SECRET.
"As you all are aware, almost a month ago, we lost contact with the research operation on Isla Muerte. Due to an accident, man-made or....otherwise, all contact with both the research facilities on the island and their personell have ceased. We've waited long enough, gentlemen."
"Regardless of the cause, regardless of damage to the operation or, Heaven forbid, personell, we are nonetheless forced to collect results. Our 'friends' are giving us only a limited amount of time to offer said results, or we are going to lose our contract to Biosyn labs. Given how much we've invested in the research on Isla Muerte, losing the contract could bankrupt InGen."
He gestured to the folder on the table. "I can only assume that the disruption on Isla Muerte relates to our problem in some way."
He warmed up. Not a bad performer.
"Gentlemen, this boardroom needs no history lesson. InGen has been bleeding from the throat for years. Now, I'm not one to speak ill of the dead, but for years, John Hammond left us with nothing but debt. You, our board of directors, have sat patiently and listened to ecology lectures while Mr. Hammond signed your checks and spent your money. You have watched your stock drop from seventy-eight and a quarter to nineteen flat with no end in sight. But this time, we still hold a significant product asset that we can harvest indefinately."
He motioned for a slide projector to be turned on. A large map came up on the far wall behind the podium. Off the coast of Costa Rica, there was an area that has been digitally highlighted. Quaritch put a pointer on the map, crossing westward, through the Pacific Ocean. There were dozens of islands, but in the highlighted region, there was a semi-circle of five. Sorna. Matanceros. Tacano. Pena. And Muerte. Underneath the whole island chain, there was a bold legend: THE FIVE DEATHS.
"Enough research to wipe out years of infighting and damage control, enough to not only send our stock back to where it was but to double it. Triple it. In short, I move that a resolution be put to into immediate vote and effect. Do I have a second?"
"I second the motion, Mr. Chairman," said a board member. "Please poll the members by a show of
hands."
"All those in favor of InGen Corporate Resolution 215B, please signify your approval by raising your right hand."
Every hand in the room went up. Quaritch stood back, victorious.
Satisfied, Quaritch looked back at the highlighted island.
Isla Muerte.
Island of Death.