Steve was lying on his stomach in the thick undergrowth, trying desperately not to sneeze. The wood ash he had used to camouflage his face earlier was flaking off and floating up his nose, adding to his already significant discomfort.

Note to self: never let Johnny cook anything, ever again.

Johnny had meant well when he'd spent most of the afternoon baking, but Steve suspected the two-year-old flour used to make the bread had acquired some rather exotic properties during its time in storage – properties that his stomach did not particularly appreciate.

The team had spent the remainder of the daylight hours in the warden's lodge, planning the evening's activities and gathering the equipment stored there. Rodriguez had spent a good hour foraging in the armoury, eventually emerging with an enormous rocket launcher and a huge smile – Steve was not sure which was the larger. As soon as darkness fell, the team had geared up and set off for the disused holding pens in one of the park's old standard issue gas jeeps. They had parked up slightly over a mile away, and now Steve was waiting impatiently for the others to take their places and set the master plan in motion.

How long can it take Johnny to find a comfy bush?!

Steve checked his watch for the umpteenth time. It had been dark for over two hours now and he had been in position for around fifteen minutes – the fact that he was situated not 50 yards away from the electrified fence didn't make him any more comfortable.

At long, long last, Steve's headset – a number of which Eddy had found in an old storage container, their range was no more than three miles so they could safely be used without detection – crackled into life.

"Little John to Robin Hood. Am in position." The voice belonged to Johnny.

At bloomin' last.

Steve pressed the PT button on his headset and replied in hushed tones.

"Robin Hood, roger that."

A moment later, another voice sounded in Steve's ear.

"This is Fry Tuck. Move in, señor."

Steve suppressed a chuckle.

"Thank you, 'Fry Tuck'. Keep your eyes open, boys." He replied.

Rodriguez had insisted on the use of codenames ("Is more professional, señors") ever since Steve had outlined the plan. The big Costa Rican's reference to the Merry Men had reminded Steve of an old Robin Hood movie he had once seen. The film's heroes had sneaked into the fortified town of Nottingham under cover of darkness by means of ropes attached to arrows, which were fired over the town's walls. Robin Hood and his gang had then climbed over, freed the imprisoned townspeople and relieved the Sheriff of Nottingham of all his ill-gotten gains. Steve's plan was based on this.

"Scarlett. Good to go." Eddy's Texan drawl was the last voice to report in.

"Understood. Let's rock n' roll, gentlemen." Whispered Steve.

Positioning was crucial to the success of this operation. Johnny and Rodriguez were located on opposite sides of the camp, the former towards the rear and the latter just outside the hinged section that functioned as a gate. Both were equipped with military grade night vision goggles (as opposed to the chunky plastic ones carried in the visitor cars) and had been instructed to keep a lookout while Steve and Eddy went to work.

Steve took a careful look round and, satisfied he was unobserved, drew himself out of the undergrowth and began to glide towards the fence. This was where his experiences growing up in the African bush came into play; he was well practised at such stealthy manoeuvres and, although he hadn't used this specific skill set in a while, it was like riding a bike – you never forget.

The journey to the fence was uneventful and, mercifully, fairly silent. After taking another quick look around, he knelt down beside a tree stump and reached for the fence repair kit clipped to his belt. Steve allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation as he remembered opening the Velcro strap back at the lodge so as to make as little noise as possible in the field.

I love it when I think of everything.

The fence repair kit was an exceptionally clever piece of equipment, allowing park rangers to fix faulty sections of wire without having to power down the entire fence. It simply consisted of a number of lengthy insulated wires, known as 'sparkies', tipped at both ends with powerful supercapacitors and specially designed alligator clips. These clips were designed to slice through a fence strand when applied, instantly redirecting the current into the corresponding capacitor. This allowed a few seconds for the ranger to apply the other clip and reroute the current around the damaged area, allowing the fence strand to be replaced without risk of electrocution.

Swiftly, Steve whipped out four sparkies from his kit and applied one to the lowest wire. There were sparks as the old wire section fell away, but no sound was made.

All good.

Steve did the same for the second wire – again, all went as expected. The third sparky also engaged without a hitch.

Last one… Nice and steady.

The clips snapped shut and the old wire fell away without a single spark. Steve let go a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding and took a brief moment to admire the result of his handiwork – the metal wires had sagged around the four insulated strands, creating a loose section in the fence.

Steve pulled the uppermost sparky taught before whipping out a cable tie and securing the other three wires together. This created a hole at the base of the fence, just large enough to squeeze through.

Steve pressed the button on his headset again and addressed his 'Merry Men'.

"Nottingham breached. I'm moving in."

"Copy that, standing by." Eddy replied tersely.

"All clear, señor." Said Rodriguez.

Steve left the fence kit where it was – he would have no further need of it – and, pressing his body as close to the ground as he could, crawled under the narrow gap in the wire. As soon as he was well clear of the lethal fence, he rose up on one knee and surveyed his surroundings.

Although night had fallen a good while ago, the compound was partially illuminated by the light of the tropical moon and glow of the campfire embers. No lights shone through the canvas of any of the tents – the camp had either been left unattended or its occupants were fast asleep. Steve was glad of this; the plan relied on them being unaware of his presence.

Maybe it's poker night at the Velociraptors' place?

Satisfied the coast was clear, Steve turned to his right and darted towards the tent into which he had witnessed the men drag Lex earlier – no lights shone through the outer canvas.

"Alright, this is it. Watch my back." He whispered and drew his pistol.

"Got you covered." Johnny replied from his lookout, raising a scoped hunting rifle he had found back at the lodge.

Steve ducked inside the tent flap. Inside it was pitch black, the only sound an eerie electronic hum that sounded like it belonged to an air-conditioning unit. Flicking the switch on the M1911's taclight, he raised the weapon in both hands and carefully scanned the interior for signs of life. There were a few barrels, a handful of packing crates, a wooden trestle table, two chairs, a sizeable diesel generator and a device that vaguely resembled one of the refrigeration boxes from the laboratory that morning – apparently, that was where the humming sound was coming from.

Strange…

Steve tiptoed over to freezer, shone the taclight inside, and almost dropped his weapon as he saw what it contained. In the box were a number of the familiar sleek, black cylinders which bore the words 'Warning! Keep at below –20 degrees'. It was full of unhatched Raptor eggs.

The plot thickens…

"Uh, fellas?" He began.

"What's the matter Steve? Did ya find the kids?" Eddy replied immediately.

"No, but I did find something else. There's a whole box full of those black tubes in here. Unhatched." Steve explained. There was silence for a moment as the others digested his information.

"There'll be time for us to figure out what's going on later." Johnny cut in. "Any sign of Lex and Tim?"

"Not a thing… I'll check the next tent." Said Steve.

He would have dearly loved to slip one of the eggs into his pocket to show the others but, having seen what happened when they thawed out, decided against it.

Last thing I need right now is a Raptor hatching in my back pocket.

Quietly shutting the lid, Steve holstered his pistol and disappeared out into the night, creeping around the circle of tents to the next one. Then, an urgent voice in his ear made him freeze.

"Señor! I mean, Robin Hood! There is a car coming!"

"Shit!" Steve dived for cover behind the nearest tent. He was out of sight not a moment too soon as the campsite was immediately illuminated in the headlights of a park gas jeep.

"Is that ours?" Steve asked.

"No señor." Rodriguez seemed certain. "This one is much… Cleaner."

Body pressed close to the ground, Steve peeked round the side of the tent and saw a man had disembarked from the jeep and was proceeding to open the gate, the rusting metal squealing in protest as he pushed on the insulated handle. The jeep was then driven in and the gate closed swiftly behind it, before another man got out and the two covered their vehicle with a heavy-duty camouflage net.

I bloody hope they don't see the hole in the fence.

Luckily, however, the men were too deep in conversation to pay any attention to their surroundings, and when they were finished they made their way towards the tent directly opposite Steve's hiding place. The warden watched in horror as they opened the tent flap and bright light spilled out into the night, the sound of raucous laughter drifting across the campsite on the cool night breeze. There were apparently several other occupants of the tent as the newcomers were greeted loudly, then the flap closed and once again all fell silent.

There were people in there the whole time!

The tents must be made out of some kind of blackout material, Steve reasoned. This would make sense of course, as the camp would have to be hidden from prying aerial eyes. Whatever the case, his options were now somewhat limited; moving to the front of this tent and going in via the flap would be an extremely risky move, as there was no way of knowing if the canvas construction was under observation or, indeed, inhabited.

Thank the lord there was nobody in that last tent, I'd have walked straight into them. Thinking about it, this may not have been such a good idea after all.

But then he remembered the boy in the alleyway back in London. The feeling of regret, of not having done something. Then, there was the little girl back in Kenya. His father's legacy. And most of all, the fear in the scream of Hammond's granddaughter.

It makes no difference how risky this is. I can't abandon them now. I have to keep looking.

"We all clear?" Steve enquired.

"Looks good… We'll cover you while you make a break for the fence." Eddy suggested, but Steve's mind was already made up.

"Not likely. I'm gonna keep looking." Steve replied. The Texan's only response was a deep sigh, purposely transmitted over the airwaves.

Approaching the problem afresh, Steve reasoned that there was realistically only one other way in besides the tent flap. He moved closer to the tent and peered at the base; it was constructed of thick, green fabric, with the groundsheet stitched to the bottom of the walls.

Hmm. Time for a more direct approach. Roddy would be proud.

Steve reached for the knife strapped to his left thigh and drew it, the blade's keen edge producing a musical hum as it slid from its sheath. He found a seam in the fabric of the tent and gently slid the blade of his knife against it, splitting the material cleanly and opening a small but effective peephole. He pressed his eye against the slit he had made; the interior of the tent was gloomy and the only light came from a dim camping lantern suspended at the far side of the tent; very close to where Steve imagined the flap would be.

Good job I checked, anyone coming in there would be a sitting duck.

Casting his eye further around the tent, the young warden could just about make out some silhouetted items of furniture – a fold up table, a few chairs, a large pile of packing cases and… He struggled to see… An irregular shape tucked in beside them.

That's either a person or a bloody weird shaped trouser press.

But the question is… Was it one of the kids?

Or is it one of those kidnapper types from earlier…

Steve knew he couldn't take the chance. He really didn't have much say in the matter – he was going in.

"Gents, I'm heading in the back way. Let me know if one of those blokes so much as sneezes."

"Copy that." Replied Eddy.

"Roger." Added Johnny.

"Be careful, señor." Finished Rodriguez.

The knife slipped easily into the canvas once more as Steve quickly cut himself an entrance. On completion of this task, he put away his knife and pulled his pistol from its holster, switching on the taclight and covering the bulb with his left hand. Then, moving slowly so as not to make the slightest sound, he pushed through the cut in the tent fabric and entered the dusk within.

It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness, but when they did, Steve saw he was right – it was indeed a human figure half hidden behind the pile of boxes. He decided with satisfaction that the figure must have its back to him, as it was apparently unaware of his presence.

Steve tiptoed closer, his taclight still covered, and circumnavigated the pile of crates. He ducked down and prepared himself.

Alrighty, the moment of truth. 3… 2… 1…

Then he was up and around the crates and face to face with the shadowy figure, now illuminated in the bright, unforgiving glare of the pistol's taclight. Sitting there, tied to a metal camping chair and staring at Steve with pure terror in his eyes, was young Timothy Murphy.