- - CHAPTER 3: Our Last Chance - -
HAMMOND MANSION NIGHT
Dr. Malcolm KNOCKS on the door, and a uniformed butler answers.
Whom shall I tell Mr. Hammond is calling?
Uh…Ian Malcolm. I've been summoned.
INSIDE THE MANSIONS FOYER,
piano music PLAYS softly in the background. Dr. Malcolm hears a door close and a boy and a girl come down a nearby stairway. The boy, is about fourteen years old; About sixteen, his sister is lovely, with long blonde hair and an honest, open face.
The boy is a second-generation Scottish-American with brown hair. The girl is also a second-generation Scottish-American, both are dressed in formal attire. They look at him.
Dr. Malcolm! The boy said, as the two rush down the stairs to greet him.
They are Tim and Lex Murphy, the grandchildren of John Hammond.
God, oh my God! Dr. Malcolm said. He can't believe how much they have grown in the past four years.
Hello, Dr. Malcolm! Lex said.
Kids! Kids! Dr. Malcolm said, embracing them in a hug.
It's so great to see you! Tim said.
It's so great to see you! It's so great - Look at you.
You came to see grandpa? Tim asked.
Yeah, yeah. H-H-he called me. Do you know what it's about? I don't either…This joint's kinda creepy,…isn't it?
The kids haven't said anything for the past several moments.
Is everything okay? Dr. Malcolm asked.
Well,…not exactly. Lex said.
Dr. Malcolm turns as a group of people in suits and briefcases, some with boxes, come down the same stairs. Peter Ludlow is among them, carrying a sheaf of papers. He sees Dr. Malcolm and hesitates, then smiles tightly. They know and dislike each other and the same with Tim and Lex.
Well, Dr. Malcolm. Here to tell a few campfire stories with my uncle?
Ludlow walks to a table as another man pulls out several legal documents for Ludlow to sign.
Do me a favor, Ludlow. Don't ever pretend you and I don't know the truth. You can convince Time Magazine and the Skeptical Inquirer of whatever you want, but I was there. I know what happened.
Do you actually believe everyone that chose discretion…did so for nefarious motives? Ludlow said nonchalantly.
The date, please. Signature.
The other man points at a document.
Even Lex and Tim. Ludlow added.
Leave them out of it. It's not a game. Dr. Malcolm said, his voice slightly raised.
No, it isn't. You're lucky we didn't sue you. You signed a non-disclosure agreement before you went to the island that expressly forbid you from discussing anything you saw. You violated that agreement.
The date, and your signature. The man said, pointing at another legal document.
And you lied. Dr. Malcolm fired back.
Do you have any idea how you're quick to condemn the academic world? You cost me my livelihood. My reputation.
As I understand it, your university…
Here, date, and your initials. The man points at yet another legal document.
…your university revoked your tenure for selling wild stories to the press, I hardly see how that's my - -
I didn't sell anything, I told the truth.
Your version of it.
There are no versions of the truth. This isn't a corporate maneuver, I'm talking about my life.
We made a generous compensatory offer for your injuries.
It was a payoff and an insult. InGen never - -
InGen is my livelihood, Dr. Malcolm, and I will jealously defend its interests. In a few weeks - -
He stops himself.
- - it'll all be moot. And your problems will be long forgotten.
He starts to walk out, but Dr. Malcolm catches him by the arm.
Not by me.
Careful. This suit cost more than your education.
Dr. Malcolm lets go, and Ludlow walks away.
HAMMOND'S BEDROOM NIGHT
Dr. Malcolm enters a darkened bedroom. John Hammond lies in the bed we saw earlier, on the other side of the room. Medical equipment has been disguised as well possible among the furniture and flowers, but the sheer abundance of it tells us that whatever has stricken him is going to win this battle.
Ian! Don't linger in the doorway like an ingenue, come in, come in!
Dr. Malcolm steps further into the room.
It's good to see you, it really is. How's the leg?
Resentful.
When you have a lot of time to think, it's funny who you remember. It's the people who challenged you. It's the quality of our opponents that gives our accomplishments meaning. I never told you how sorry I was about what happened after we returned.
Noticing Hammond's deteriorated condition, Dr. Malcolm finds it hard to sustain anger.
I didn't know you - - weren't well.
It's the lawyers. The lawyers are finally killing me.
They do have motive. Why did you want to see me? Your message said it was urgent.
You were right - - and I was wrong. There! Did you ever think you'd hear me say that? Spectacularly wrong. Instead of observing those animals, I tried to control them. I squandered an opportunity and we still know next to nothing about their lives. Not their lives as man would have them, behind electric fences, but in the wild. Behavior in their natural habitat, the impossible dream of any paleontologist. I could have had it, but I let it slip away.
He pauses.
Thank God for Site B.
Dr. Malcolm just looks at him, not understanding.
Site - - B?
Hammond continues. His bright, shining eyes that say "Follow me!" return.
Well? Didn't it all seem a trifle compact to you? The hatchery, in particular?
What are you talking about?
You know my initial yields had to be low, far less than one percent, that's a thousand embryos for every single live birth. Genetic engineering on that scale implies a giant operation, not that spotless little laboratory I showed you.
I don't believe you.
Isla Nublar, Site A, was just a showroom, something for the tourists. Site B was the factory floor. It was on Isla Sorna, eighty some miles from Nublar. We bred the animals there, nursed them until they were a few months old, then moved them to the park.
No, no, no, no, no, no… Dr. Malcolm said, like an acid flashback.
About two years ago, Hurricane Clarissa wiped out Site B. Call it an act of God. We had to evacuate and the animals were released to mature on their own in the wild. Life found a way, as you once so eloquently put it. And by now, we have a complete ecological system on the island with dozens of species living in their own social groups…without fences, without boundaries, without constraining technology. And for four years…I've tried to keep it safe from human interference.
Then it's the first thing you've done right! That island has to be quarantined and contained, immediately! Even the airspace over it needs to be restricted! Get the Department of Biological Preserves to seal off the island. These two species were never meant to share the earth. I am living proof that man cannot compete in their world, and they would never make it in ours. Civilization would kill them. - -
Dr. Malcolm has a thought
- - If they're not dead already. You bred them lysine-deficient, didn't you? They should've died after seven days without supplemental enzymes.
But by God, they're flourishing, aren't they?! I don't know how, it's only one of a thousand questions I want the team to answer…
…I've been putting this together for over a year. But now something's come up that's made it imperative the expedition happen now. If we hesitate, all will be lost.
"Expedition?" Oh, please, please don't tell me you were foolhardy enough to - - Are you out of your mind?! I still have nightmares, my reputation's a joke, my leg is shot - - you think I need more of that?!
Hammond begins to CRAWL out of his bed.
I've organized a group to go in and - -
Dr. Malcolm helps Hammond.
Thank you.
And document them, to make the most spectacular living fossil record the world has ever seen.
Wait a minute. Go in…Document?! W-what do you mean? With like people?!
Hammond grabs his bamboo cane and crossed over to his desk, on the other side of the room.
Yes, the animals won't even know they're there. Very low impact. Strictly observation and documentation.
He comes to a CTX PanoView 600 LCD monitor that shows a map of Isla Sorna. It looks a lot like Maine except tilted onto its left side and more rutted.
Our satellite infrareds show the animals are fiercely territorial, they demarcate and defend specific areas and stay in them. The carnivores are isolated in the interior of the island, so the team will stay on the outer rim.
How many lunatics are on this team?
He goes back to his bed and lays down. Hammond picks up a thick file folder from the night table next to him and opens it on his lap. Inside, there are four thick files, memos, charts, maps, and photographs.
Four.
Four?! You should be going in there with your team, the one from Jurassic Park, aren't they all the top of their class! No, you should be going in there with the National Guard.
My Emergency Response Unit has their own issues to deal with back on Isla Nublar. - -
CLEARING DAY
Joey STAGGERS, bleeding from his leg, into an overgrown clearing. He leans his back against the grille of an abandoned 1992 Jeep Wrangler YJ Sahara, faded 'Jurassic Park' logo on its doors and JP01 on it's side and hood.
He catches his breath, listening, quickly reloading his 1992 M24 Sniper Rifle - -
A pointy little lizard-face POPS up behind him, looking out through the shattered windshield of the vehicle. Procompsognathus.
It's joined by another, and another and several more. One SQUEAKS. Joey stiffens, then WHIRLS - -
BLAM! He FIRES just as a dozen of the little carnivores stream out of the windshield at him, the ones that aren't blown back into the vehicle by the blast leap onto his face, shoulders, chest, arms, SQUEAKING excitedly! Joey spins, SWATTING and SNATCHING, Procompsognathus flying off him, then he sprints for the nearby building.
BUILDING DAY
We look through a half-broken window as Joey SPRINTS toward us, a dozen Procompsognathus in pursuit. He picks up speed, dives, folding his arms over his head - -
CRASH! Shards of glass go flying as he dives through the window, does a forward roll, twists and comes up on one knee pulling his 1992 Beretta 92 Brigadier from his belt in one motion - - POP! POP! POP! POP! He picks off the Procompsognathus one by one as they jump onto the windowsill!
The rest of them seem to take the hint abd retreat. Joey lowers his bead on the window opening, looks around - -
We're in the ruined Safari Lodge, specifically the Emergency Response Unit room in the Staff Quarters area - - a half-dozen bunk beds, frames draped with cobwebs along the walls, a row of standing lockers. Simple but not spartan.
The poster of Rexy is starting to CURL on the wall. Dr. Swartz had drawn a knife and a fork in its front claws, and written in a cartoon balloon above its head - - "Pass the tourists, please."
Joey pulls his Motorola Saber UHF radio from his bulletproof vest.
Joey Adame checking in from the Safari Lodge.
The radio emits STATIC. Finally, it CRACKLES.
Blaine Yokom and Albert Gonzalez checking in from the Visitor Center garage.
Dr. Scott Swartz and John Swartz checking in from the Maintenance Shed entrance.
Robby Swartz, Ernesto Rocha, and Maverick Morales checking in from the Reserve Paddock tower.
Jack Applington checking in from the Saf - AHGG! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
The noise seems to be coming from the radio and from somewhere above Joey. Then a THUNK resounds from above and the radio goes static.
Jack? Jack? Ernesto asked.
Joey looks around, steps over the hatch in one corner of the room and his eyes LIGHT UP. This hatch used to connect with the Emergency Bunker.
Everyone, regroup in the Emergency Bunker. He said into the Motorola Saber UHF radio.
A reply comes from everyone.
He bends, grabs the handle, 1992 Beretta 92 Brigadier ready in his other hand, then YANKS the hatch cover open!
Nothing jumps out at him.
Joey looks down into the BLACKNESS. He DROPS his backpack, UNZIPS it and pulls out a high-quality metal flashlight. He puts his backpack on and SHINES the light down the hatch - -
JOEY'S POV - HATCH
We see a rusted metal ladder leading down, a cement floor.
Joey considers the tunnel, looks back to the window - -
Three Procompsognathus stand ready on the windowsill, watching - -
Joey WHIPS his pistol around but they jump away before he can fire - -
He looks back into the dark tunnel below.
Maybe it's not a good idea.
He looks around, sees - -
The ceiling hatch over his bunk bed.
Joey crosses, makes a face as he SWIPES away thick sheets of cobweb, climbs onto the top bunk, reaches up. The eyehook and latch have rusted stuck together, won't budge. Joey takes the butt of his 1992 Beretta 92 Brigadier, gives it a hard rap - -
The hatch SWINGS open and the top half of a half-eaten dead man drops through!
Joey SHOUTS in surprise, leaping backward off the bed and sprawling on the floor, whipping his 1992 Beretta 92 Brigadier up ready to shoot - -
The body is Jack Applington, who has been gnawed on pretty badly.
Joey lowers his pistol, breathes deeply, trying to get his heartbeat under control.
WHAM! The raptor crashes through the door and tumbles across the room, sliding on the floor and knocking the standing lockers down on top of itself!
Joey is trapped in the corner. The raptor scrambles to its feet, ROARS, lunges - - Joey pulls the bunk bed down over himself as a shield, crouching.
THOONK! The raptors leg goes right through the deteriorated mattress and springs, claws just missing Joey's throat. He scrambles out as the beast writhes to free itself, makes it to the tunnel hatch and starts down the ladder, grabbing the handle on the underside of the cover - -
HAMMOND MANSION NIGHT
- - And plus, you're exactly wrong! Ask any animal behaviorist, the best results come from the lowest impact, the animals shouldn't even know you're there. One observes and documents, but does not interact. Attempting to control the environment is where I went wrong the first time, you told me so yourself. I'm not making the same mistakes again.
No, you're making, your making all new ones! Uh, John. Wait. So. Uh. Okay, so there's another island with dinosaurs?! No fences this time; and you want to send people in?! Very few people! On the ground! Right? And who are these four lunatics that your trying to con into this?
Well, it was difficult to convince them of what they're going to see. And in the end I had to use my checkbook to get them there.
Hammond pulls out the four thick files.
But; there's Nick Van Owen, who's a video documentarian.
He hands one file to Dr. Malcolm.
And Eddie Carr, who's a field equipment expert.
He hands another file to Dr. Malcolm.
Uh…we have our paleontologist.
He tucks a file under his arm.
And I was hoping that perhaps you might be the fourth.
He hands a fourth file to Dr. Malcolm.
Dr. Malcolm looks at him - - "you're out of your mind."
Do you even listen when I speak?
We've been on the verge of Chapter 11 ever since that accident in the Park, and there are those in the company who wanted to exploit Site B in order to bail us out. They've been planning it for years and I've been able to stop them up until now. But, a few weeks ago a British family on a yacht cruise stumbled across the island and their wee girl was injured.
Dr. Malcolm is in shock.
Oh, she's fine! She's fine! But, uh, the board has used the incident to take control of InGen from me. And now it's only a matter of time before this "Lost World" is found and pillaged! Public opinion is the only thing that can preserve Site B now. You have always been my harshest critic. If you come out as an advocate with me, it'll mean everything. I know how obsessive you can be once you truly embrace an idea. We can come forward, together, with ironclad proof of their existence.
You must already have proof. DNA splicing, the cloning, the births - -
Only in captivity! I need to show them in their natural habitat to stir up emotional support for keeping that island pristine.
So, you went from Capitalist to Naturalist in just four years! That's, that's something!
Hammond gets up, sitting on the side of his bed, waving Dr. Malcolm over.
This is my last chance to contribute something of real value to the world. I can't walk so far to have left no footprints; die and leave nothing with my name on it. I will not be known only for only my failures, and you are too smart and too proud to let yourself go down in history as a hoaxster. Please. This is a chance at redemption for both of us.
That's selfish and grandiose. No, John, I won't go. Absolutely not. And I'm going to contact every member of your team and stop them from going.
He turns toward the desk, leafing through the files.
You didn't mention the name of the paleontologist. Who did you get?
Hammond looks away, guiltily.
She came to me. I just want you to know that.
Who did?
I want to be very clear about who approached whom.
Dr. Malcolm dreads, but he knows.
Who are you talking about?
Leave it to you, Ian, to have associations, affiliations, even love interests with the best people in so many fields…
You didn't bring Sarah into this?! Forget it! Get someone else! Get Dr. Grant!
There is no one else! Paleontological behavior study is a brand new field, and Dr. Sarah Harding is on the frontier. Her theories on parenting and nurturing among carnivores have framed the debate for the last five years - - what are you doing?
Dr. Malcolm is searching under piles of papers and dossiers on Hammond's desk.
Where's your phone?
You're too late - - She's already there. Hammond speaks softly as Dr. Malcolm picks up the phone.
Dr. Malcolm stops and turns, a terrified look on his face.
The others are meeting her in three days.
Dr. Malcolm, almost falling, sits on edge of the desk.
You sent my girlfriend to this island?! Alone?! Dr. Malcolm asked in a pained whisper
"Sent" is hardly the word, she couldn't be restrained! She was already working in San Diego doing some research at the Animal Park. It's only a couple of hours flight from there. And she was adamant! Absolutely adamant about making the initial foray by herself! - -
He starts laughing
- - Thinks she's Diane Fossey! "Observation without interference", she said, going on and on; well, you know how it is!
What is it, you couldn't kill me the first time, so you recruited Sarah to manipulate me into going down there again?! Is that it?!
It wasn't intentional! You know how she is, better than anyone! After you were injured in the park, she sought you out, didn't she, traveled all the way down to the hospital in Costa Rica to ask someone she didn't even know if the rumors were true! She's a firebrand once she's engaged on a subject, how could I refuse her the chance to complete her life's work?!
This is criminal, and I will never forgive you for it. You want to leave your name on something, fine, but stop putting it on other people's graves!
She's going to be fine. She's spent years studying African predators. You know, sleeping downwind, and all. She knows what she's doing. Believe me, the research team will take every possible pre - -
Dr. Malcolm stands, resolute, making a decision.
No, It's not a research expedition any more. It's a rescue mission. It's leaving tonight and I'm going with it. And for all our sakes, whoever you've got for protection had better be good.
MOMBASA BAR DAY
Roland Tembo, late sixties, skin like leather and the diamond hard look of a cobra, sits at a table in the middle of an African cafe/bar in Mombasa.
It's daytime and the place is half full, mostly with locals, but there are a few obnoxious tourists too, Americans on safari who somehow found the local hangout.
They're a noisy bunch, but Roland tunes them out, calmly eating his lunch and drinking a beer while he reads a book, eyeglasses hanging low on his face.
Roland suddenly stops reading and furrows his brow. He looks up. He SNIFFS the air once, then smiles and calls out a person's name.
Ajay?
He turns around. Ajay Sidhu, a wiry East Indian in his late forties, is standing behind him, caught trying to sneak up.
How did you know? Ajay asked delighted
Roland taps his nose
That cheap aftershave I send you every Christmas, you actually wear it. I'm touched. Sit down, sit down, what brings you to Mombasa?
You. Tell me, Roland, when was the last time you answered your phone?
Last time I plugged it in, I suppose. Why?
Behind them, the group of tourists, call men, laugh loudly. One of them, the most obnoxious tourist, berates the waitress.
I got a call from a gentleman who's going to Costa Rica, or thereabouts. If he's to be believed, it's a most, uh, unique expedition. And very well-funded.
Well, I'm a very well-funded old son of a bitch. You go.
The Most Obnoxious Tourist bellows for the Waitress. His buddies LAUGH. Roland throws a glance, annoyed.
But alone? We always had great success together, you and I.
Just a little bit too much, I think.
How do you mean?
A true hunter doesn't mind if the animal wins. If it escapes. But there weren't enough escapes from you and me, Ajay. It all became rather routine, didn't it? I have no interest in being an executioner.
I have reason to believe you'd find this challenging.
Then it's probably illegal. These days, it's a more serious crime to shoot a tiger than to shoot your own parents. Tigers have advocates.
The Waitress comes to the Tourists' table and the Most Obnoxious Tourist actually paws her ass. Roland is out of his chair in a second.
Excuse me. He said to Ajay.
Roland walks over to the Tourists' table, says something to the Waitress in the local dialect, and she walks away, behind him. He stares down at the Most Obnoxious Tourist.
You, sir - - are no gentleman.
Is that supposed to be an insult?
I can think of none greater.
The Tourist looks at his buddies and laughs.
Buzz off, you silly old b#####d.
What do I have to do to pick a fight with you, bring your mother into it?
Are you kidding? I could take you with one arm tied down.
Really?
IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FLOOR,
A Waiter finishes tying a man's wrist to his belt in the back of his pants with a napkin. He pulls the knot tight and the man turns around. It's Roland, with his arm tied down. The Tourist stands across from him.
I meant my arm. The tourist said.
POW! Roland punches him square in the jaw. The Tourist reels, stunned. Enraged, he lunges at Roland, swinging with both arms.
Roland bobs, neatly ducking the punches, waits for the tourist to turn around, and POPS him in the face. The Tourist recovers and lunges at Roland.
This time Roland doesn't punch, he waves to the left and throws a hip, augmenting it with a foot sweep.
The Tourist loses his balance and sails into a table, flipping it over and wiping out an older couples lunch. He lands hard, the table on top of him.
A cloud of sawdust and loud CHEER from the locals rise up in the bar.
BACK AT HIS TABLE,
Roland drops the napkin on the table and sits back down with Ajay. In the background, the Tourist's Buddies hurriedly carry their fallen cohort out of the bar.
Sorry. We were saying?
You broke that idiots jaw for no reason other than your boredom. Tell the truth, Roland. Aren't you even interested in knowing this expedition's quarry?
Ajay. Go on up to my ranch, take a look around the trophy room, and tell me what kind of quarry you think could possibly be of any interest to me.
Ajay just smiles.
Hey Guys, sorry for the hold up. Originally I was going to have the Emergency Response Unit go to Isla Sorna. But the story isn't finished yet so until then, enjoy this original.