Epilogue
The noise from the street outside thrummed through his skull, hammering home every stab of pain from the pounding headache. The heat of the early afternoon was already making him uncomfortable, a further annoyance to the ache in his head and the parched dryness of his mouth, not to mention the empty, sloshing feeling inside his stomach. A grim reminder of his night.
He stood in his hotel room, looking at the empty bottles on the desk and the floor. The last few drops of the alcohol dripping from the bottle mouths. One bottle lay across the open file and documents on the desk, along with the newspaper cuttings and photos. As he stood by the door, ready to leave and turn his back on this whole sorry episode, he read the top-most newspaper cutting, curling his lip at his pile of precious blackmail leverage. The headline read:
Washington MD suspected of gross misconduct and unsanctioned human testing
The cuttings below it read similar words, similar damming statements of a sordid history of malpractice and worse. All unproven of course. At least, by the press and American Medical Association. But he'd had his best people look into the case. And from then, it had been easy to connect the dots, to find that exploitable person, now working for his rival, and to ultimately make contact and sow the seeds of the deal. A costly but worthwhile deal.
He gripped the door handle, feeling the dampened fury that he'd felt last night, before he'd got himself heroically drunk to handle the sheer failure of his plan. As he looked at the documents now, he found he didn't have the energy to take them to the authorities. He'd just leave them here for some nosey maid to either throw them in the garbage or realise what they'd found and sell the story to the press. Either way, he just didn't care. Alive or dead, he was done with Adam Wilson, Clint Barker and Dennis Nedry.
He turned to leave, slinging his bag over his shoulder and donning his hat, when the phone rang. He froze, frowning at the chances. Could be nothing. Or it could be everything. He dropped the bag and picked up the receiver.
"Yes?"
"Apologies, Senor." The hotels receptionist seemed to apologise for everything. "You have another call. They were quite insistent. I am transferring them now. Gracias." He frowned, unhappy of not being given the choice this time, but still, he couldn't quite quell that flicker of hope. Maybe…
"Yes?" he said. There was a moments silence before someone spoke. A woman's voice.
"Mr Dodgson?" He didn't answer. He didn't like using his name. Liked it far less when other people used it too. "Mr Dodgson you do not know me, but I would like you to listen to me very carefully." He swallowed, not liking the tone of her voice. It sounded firm. A bit cold too. "We know about everything. We know about everyone. Including you." There was a pause, as if the voice wanted him to speak, to confirm what it was suggesting. He could feel the sweat beading on his temple now. The headache got a bit worse. "We know about Wilson. About Barker. All of it."
Lewis felt like the silence was smothering him. He should have just left when he had the chance.
"What do you want?" he said.
"I want to give you a chance Mr Dodgson. I want you to take the chance to forget everything you knew about InGen, about the islands, and about the people you have manipulated. I want you to take a moment to consider your employment, and if it would not be better to perhaps find a new career, away from the temptations of committing serious crimes, like corporate espionage."
"Who are you?" He couldn't hide the slight break in his voice.
"Just someone who has observed a few things and made a few notes." There was a voice in the background, could have been Jamaican. "Oh and Mr. Dodgson, might be worth considering these things quickly. The police are on their way."
The phone disconnected, and Lewis Dodgson ran.
XXXXX
The phone rang, the incessant noise of it sending that irritable sigh through him that it always did. He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes with his fingers, trying to rub the exhaustion away. He'd not slept a wink last night, anxious for a different call. A call that had never come. And the result was that the questions were still unanswered. The threat to the company still very much real. He'd worked so hard to find the leak, to pull the rotten weed out and find how deep the roots went. And it was all hinging on that call that he'd waited for. The news that she'd been successful, that she'd caught the thieves and conspirators and give him the ammunition he needed to prove the security and wellbeing of InGen were in jeopardy so long as his uncle was in charge. He sighed, picking up the handset, half grateful for the break in working through the evacuation debrief files and the list of the unaccounted for. He hadn't even looked at the paperwork for that fiasco at the park yet.
"Yes Janet? If it's Perry Denton again asking about his missing son tell him I'm in a meeting. Again."
"I'm sorry sir,'' said Janet, his secretaries usual cheerful voice holding a strangled note of worry. "But your brother is on the line. Says it's quite urgent." He gripped the edge of the desk. "I thought you only had a sister sir?"
"Put him through Janet, thank you." His voice was a bit sharper than he'd meant. Janet made a sort of cough.
"Yes sir." The line crackled and then connected, the background noise changing from the quite office to the sound of the ocean.
"Well?" A gruff voice answered.
"She's not here."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Gail isn't here." He rubbed at his eyes again, feeling the sting again.
"How long has it been?"
"I waited the agreed five hours, and then gave her half hour extra. She's not here."
"Then why are you there?" He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Because the pager went off. I got the message. I assumed it was Gail." He sighed, unhappy at this complication. This was no use.
"She still may have sent it." There was a moments silence from the other end. Just the lapping of the ocean in the background.
"Or someone else did." He ran his hand over his head, liking that idea less. But it was worryingly plausible.
"Return to Costa Rica and wait for further instruction. And don't call my damn secretary next time." He hung up, irritably pushing some buttons, his mind racing quickly for a good excuse, a good reason to put another plan into action. The line rang once before Janet answered, prompt as ever.
"Yes, Mr Ludlow?"
"Janet I need you to arrange a Board Meeting. Immediately."
"What shall I say is on the agenda?"
"Say its concerning Site B and the evacuation. Say there may be survivors."
XXXXX
Heavy rain lashed down through the forest. The ground was wet, treacherous in places. But the water from the dark sky above was useful. It masked noise, and scents, and made visibility difficult for prey.
The dilophosaurus darted from its cover, slipping between the wooden pillars of the forest, following its senses and its instincts. It licked at its lip, causing its tail to twitch in agitation. The wound on its face was always just out of reach, the faint pain from it easing every day, but every day it tried to clean it. It was becoming a habit. Much like the habit of not using it's arm. The agony of that wound had not faded much at all, and the cost of it had been difficult.
The younger male had assumed the pack lead now, driving the dilophosaur away. Away on its own. No pack to hunt with now. Now female's to mate with. No way of ensuring survival.
But it had survived. For five cycles of the dark sky light now, it had evaded, scavenged and survived. It had learnt to cope with its one arm, its ruined frill. Its ability to create and spit venom weakened. But it had survived. And it had nurtured its hunter instinct, relying on itself. It no longer had a pack. But it knew its strength.
It sniffed at the air, finding the faint tang of the two-legged small ones, the ones it had had to hunt to live. Quick little things, but not quick enough. They'd been moving for most of the night, and it had tracked them a long way. Soon the hunt would end though.
Then it caught another scent. Fainter than faint, but there. Its tongue twitched out, trying to find that wound again to lick. It crouched low, sniffing again, the sky water coursing down its side. It was here, somewhere.
It crouched lower still, it's one arm raking the wet ground beneath it. It sniffed again, that agitation flowing through it quicker now. The sky water was suddenly turning against it. Masking the noise. Masking the scent. The dilophosaur curled its claws, gathering its strength in case it needed to move. And it knew it would need to. It was the prey now. And the predator was closing.
Somewhere in the dark forest, it heard the hiss of that claw being drawn.