Chapter 3
Convergence
Exploding out of the damp foliage draped through the overgrown dirt-road, Nick Van Owen's van splashed into view. There was a jet waiting for him and he was late.
A few days before, when the UN had first contacted Nick about going, he was baffled and resistant to the idea.
How could anyone want to return to the island, he thought. But after they arrived at the US Embassy, Nick sat down and had a talk with the man in charge of the expedition and become more at ease with the idea.
"My name is Chancellor John Hilman," he recalled the man saying, shaking hands.
The two were seated in a small conference room on the fourth floor of the embassy. The American flag hung in the corner, with a small picture of president Beuler on the wall.
Nick leaned back into his chair, retracting his hand.
He could tell the Chancellor was a very astute man, and was immediately weary of him.
"Mr. Van Owen, we are very anxious about acquiring your help in this endeavor."
"Well," Nick answered, leaning forward slightly, "I've been to the island before and I am convinced that there is no level of planning that can protect you from what happeneds there."
The Chancellor smiled and, pulling some paperwork from his briefcase, began to explain.
"I agree."
Nick was baffled again.
"But you want me to go? You're not very convincing."
"Oh, Mr. Van Owen, you misunderstand me," John began.
"You see, we won't be going to Isla Sorna, at least not the way you're thinking."
Nick's interested was peaked and he leaned forward inquisitively.
"We have plans underway to convert one of the smaller islands–this one here–Isla Pena into the researching hub," he said, pointing to the southernmost and smallest island in the chain.
"The purpose of this expedition is two fold: first and foremost the UN is funding this mission to provide proof of either the animals safety–are the animals relatively isolated from man, can they get off the islands, are they too dangerous to be left alive; and lastly, to study the animals in their natural states, something you were a part of last time.
"The teams will remain mainly on Isla Pena. There will be helicopter and boat excursions to the areas around the island, but the hope is to minimize the amount of direct contact with the island. You see, Mr. Van Owen, we aren't going to make the same mistakes again."
Nick was nervous about the whole thing, but had, with some reservation, agreed to join the teams. Many things factored into his decision to go. For one, he would get paid by the National Geographic for the first ever, special edition magazine issue depicting actual photographs of dinosaurs in their natural habitat, a once in a life time opportunity for any journalist. An entire issue devoted to this one venture, and Nick was not going to be left behind.
After the San Diego incident, pictures–both fabricated and some nearly convincing in their realism–appeared in every magazine around the world. He recalled once on CNN watching a little boy explain what he had seen outside of his room; a 40 foot T-rex ate his dog Rex, whom he hated, and then proceeded to smash through his bedroom window, attempting to eat him and his parents too.
The National Inquirer had an article about Ian, Sarah, Eddy, and himself, outlining their story on the island. He had no idea how they got the information; none of the group had told the Inquirer the story, leaving the fabrication to be one of pure jest.
"Forty-foot Iguanas seen on deserted Tropical Island! Many die in heroic attempt to save the presidents daughter from certain prehistoric-peril!" it claimed, with photo-shopped pictures of the people who didn't look like them, staring down the face of giant, photo-shopped reptiles.
This promised to be different: nothing like the old attempts. This was going to be far better planned and well funded. He knew that he could back out at any time; that, if he wanted to, after the meeting with the team in San Diego, he could just say "nope, not going," and walk out unscathed and that gave him a great deal of confidence and ease.
The van came to a screeching stop, nearly spinning out, next to the runway where his jet lay in wait. He was prepared for this and promptly exited his van.
"Mr. Van Owen, we're running late. If you'll just take a seat, we can get some of the attendants to gather your things," a man wearing a business suit said stately, pointing at a group of men walking over to his van.
"Thanks. I just need some of the bags brought in," he said, opening the back of the van and handing some bags over to the attendants who rushed them onto the jet.
"I do have one question, is there any beer on the plane?"
"No, there isn't. I checked." came the voice of a young woman, standing on the steps of the jet.
Nick turned around. A gorgeous Indian woman with long black hair stood on the steps to the jet. He guessed she couldn't be more than twenty-seven. Her demeanor was that of a sophisticated woman, but her attitude was that of a brilliant and strong willed individual. Nick was intrigued.
"This is Mrs. Jessica Simon. She will be joining you on your flight to San Diego," the man in the suit stated.
"Hello," she nodded from the stairs,
Nick grabbed the last of his bags, still intrigued by this woman. He walked past the man in the suit, and planted the car keys deep into his hand. Walking toward the plane, he commented back to the man.
"Now be of some help and find a nice parking place. I don't think I'll be back any time soon."
"Next up on The Discovery Channel," the television announced loudly, Charlie listening intently from the couch. He'd been watching the tv since his mother went up stairs to take a shower and cry. She did that sometimes, and she had a good reason this time: Mark had left. Charlie was upset; he didn't know if his father was coming back or not. His parents had fought before, but never like this: it scared him.
The phone started ringing. He jumped up from the couch, muting the tv and picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Yes," the voice replied, "Is Ellie Degler in?"
"Yes," Charlie began, "but she's in the–"
"One moment please."
An upbeat jazz song started playing: the worst kind. It was the "you're on hold, get use to it" kind. Then a voice came on.
"You're listening to InGen phone lines: we make your future. Please stay tuned."
The voice ended and was replaced by the music again. Charlie had enough of waiting. Taking the phone from his ear, he listened for a moment and decided to hang up the phone.
"Mrs. Degler?"
Charlie quickly pulled the phone back to his ear.
"Uh, this is her son; Charlie."
"Oh, well," stammered the man on the phone.
"Charlie, this is Richard Nesky from InGen Co. We were wondering..."
"No, my mom wouldn't like to buy anything. Goodbye," Charlie interjected.
"Oh heavens no, this isn't like that!" Richard said with a light laugh.
"You see; I'm the CEO of InGen. Are you familiar with us?"
There was a pause while Charlie thought, then gasped sharply.
"You're...you... InGen...island...!"
Richard laughed.
"You see, you're mother–"
There was a pause.
"Do you like Dinosaurs, Chase?"
"Yes, I do! And it's Charlie."
"Oh yes, Charlie, gotcha'. Well, how about this: I need your mother to do something for me. Could you promise me something?"
"What is it?"
"It is important that your mother does this, and do whatever you must to get her to–heck, perhaps we could even accommodate you!" Richard said, laughing again.
"Just do and say as I tell you."
"–the insurance and stuff you know." Mr. Hammond finished after the butler opened the door to his limo. Alan and Billy stepped out and escorted the aging man to his jet.
Alan noticed a slight drag on his right leg. It had always been there–it was why he had a cane–but it was even more severe now. He hunched over more now too, allowing his mouth to droop slightly. It was a heart-wrenching sight.
"I have something I must show you Alan," he said, turning around from the top of the stairs, looking down to where Alan stood, his poignancy having not fading even with age.
"Come have a look. You're welcome to take your friend along. It'll be but a minute."
Alan had a flash back: almost de ja vugh: '–I have a plane standing by at–.'
The three of them walked the stairs to his room in the back of the plane. It was obvious Hammond was one for doing everything in style.
The plane was nearly comparable in class to that of Air Force One, but smaller. It was a private jet, but that was no excuse to spare any expence.
One of the nurses tried to have him sit in a wheelchair but he rejected it, instead, hobbling slowly to his room.
On his desk sat three lap tops. Hammond, exhausted by the journey sat down upon his bead, pointing over to them and motioning Alan to bring one to him.
"You see, Alan, this is all that's left of Jurassic Park," Hammond sputtered out, opening the lap top. On the screen, a map of an island shone brightly with red dots on it.
"This is my world. These... are my creations. But like me, the're dying."
Silence filled the room. Alan looked at Hammond not quite understanding.
Hammond coughed, setting the lap top onto the bed. He grabbed a cup of water from his night table and drank from it, spilling a little onto himself.
"They're dying," Billy asked, stepping in closer.
"It's the only possible explanation! You see, over the past few years, I've been monitoring the islands via satellite. Their numbers fluctuate constantly because of birth and death–normal life cycle. But recently, within the past year and a half, there has been a steady decline in the dinosaur population. Already, one species is gone: Carnotaur. See!" he said, pointing to it's name flashing red with a zero next to it.
"Gone! It has again returned to the text books, never to be studied or seen again. The other dinosaurs are dropping in number as well.
"Now, some species are remaining in there. They are the stronger ones: Brachiosaurus, Diplodocus, mainly the large and the extremely small like the Compy's."
Alan stood, soaking it all in. If Hammond was correct, the island could go completely desolate within a years time on its own. Extinction wasn't always something attributed just to the catastrophic problems after all. Sometimes, animal species just slowly die out it looked like, though it didn't entirely make sense. How did they live so long on their own.
"These are heat satellite photos–" Billy asked, noticing the readings on the screen.
"Updated every minute," Hammond responded, nodding his head.
"Runs on the same system the island use to run on except by heat instead of visual.
"Alan," Hammond said, looking him in the eyes, "They are dying out, again. You must find out what is causing this–driving them to extinction. The idea that the people of the world will never know the full extent of the beauty and grander of these animals–" Hammond said, trailing off and letting his gaze fall form Alan's eyes to the screen.
The pain was almost unbearable to watch: like a child seeing his pet dying before him.
"What are these dots?" Billy asked, looking at the computer screen.
"The green ones? It means the satellite is picking up a heat signature but can't decipher what it is. Those pop up every once in a while. It usually means an animal has been injured or hurt, or that it's battling with another dinosaur and the computer can't pull the two apart and get's confused. Sometimes, as the dinosaurs die, or sleep, or sunbathe the heat signatures are muffled up. It's nothing."
"Aren't there other island in the area," Alan thought aloud.
"Could they possibly have migrated to them?" Billy chimed in.
Hammond laughed.
"Always the scientist, Alan. That's what I liked about you, my dear boy."
Hammond's eyes shifted over to a desk which held two other lap tops. He pointed at one, then the other.
"That one is Isla Matanceros and Isla Muerta. The other is Isla Tecano and Isla Pena. Dreadful names. We've been monitoring them too. Originally that was the problem–not enough coverage, but we're past that now. The charts now factor in those animals too but we're still losing them! Please. Alan," Hammond paused, putting his hands on Alan's shoulders, "You have to do some–"
"Mr. Hammond," Alan interjected, "I cannot promise you anything except that I will do what is in the best interest of the planet. There are places in the world where children are dying–where people are dying, and to allow an island to remain this way and to use, at the nations of the world expense, money to maintain them is, unfortunately," he slowed down, noticing Hammonds face drain of some color and his head droop slightly.
"–is not that important."
"Alan, dear boy," Hammond said, lifting his face, patting him on the back, "all these years, you always did tell me how it is. It's my lot in life I fear."
They smiled together, Hammond's hand still on Alan's shoulder.
"It's time for him to get ready now," a nurse announced from the door.
"It's ok, Hannah. These are my friends I told you about. Dr. Grant, and–"
"Oh, your friends! Well, say goodbye to them. The jet is ready to take off."
And with that, Alan and Billy said their final goodbyes, and were driven back home.
Light trickled into the large room, illuminating the oval table that lay in its center. A man sat in a large padded chair, alined so only a small amount of light from the window shone onto his face.
"Send him in," he said aloud.
"I am here as you requested sir."
"Yes," the seated man began, never changing position.
"I have a proposition for you. You see, I found you because I had been told you had experience in this sort of thing. You could do it, and quietly. I need this done with absolute precision. Absolutely no mistakes! You can't afford to.
"You see, I need them out of my hair for the next couple of months. I have a packet here for you to read. It explains everything you need to know. Do what you must to get rid of them."
"And they are?" the man asked.
"Here is a small list of who you'll need to watch. You are expected to get rid of them all, or we will pay you nothing. You hear? If one survives, then you and I have never met. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir."
"Good. You will also see on there your code name. Use it. The flight leaves in a week. Be there."
"I understand."
Alan picked up the phone and proceeded to dial.
"Hello," a woman's voice answered.
"Hi. This is Alan Grant, is Eric in? I've been trying to reach him but all his other numbers don't–"
"Alan?! This is Amanda! How are you?"
"I'm good. How is the family?"
"Good, good. Paul and I ended up getting back together. Eric is over right now. He's home from college for the week."
"Can I speak to him?"
"Sure-sure," Amanda finished.
Alan could hear her calling out for her son though the muffled phone.
"He'll be here in a second."
"Hello," Eric's voice asked through another phone.
"Hang up the phone mom."
"Alright, alright. Nice talking to you again Dr. Grant. Feel free to say 'hi' anytime your in town!"
"Will do," Alan replied.
There was a click and then Eric spoke.
"Hey, Dr. Grant. How are you?"
"I'm great Eric. I was wondering what your plans are for the next month or so?"
There was a pause and then Eric spoke again.
"Not really anything. I've got some time off from college. Why do you ask? Need some help in Montana excavating."
Alan chuckled.
"Not exactly."
"This is delta flight 402 coming in for a landing, over," Eli spoke into the microphone.
"Roger that flight 402. Runway 5 is clear for landing."
Today had been too long of a day. Eli hadn't gotten enough sleep let alone free time to call his wife at home; he was gonna hear from her tonight.
"Commence landing procedures," Eli ordered the flight crew of the small private jet. The landing gear went down without a hitch and everyone was buckled in.
"Flight 402, this is tower, please verify clear landing strip."
Eli thought for a moment, realizing what an odd request he'd been given. He looked out over the nose of the plane towards the runway.
The runways in Costa Rica weren't usually anything more than dirt: this was no exception. The poorly lit, long stretch of land looked serene in the night.
"Copy that, this is flight 402. Landing strip looks clear–wait" and that's when Eli saw it: a large shadow moving around in the forest near the runway. It started to move across the runway when the plane's lights caught its attention. It stared directly back at them like a deer stuck in headlights.
"Flight 402, do not, I repeat, do not attempt landing! There is an animal on the runway," the earphones screamed at him. He had seen it, but it was too late: their air speed was too low. They had to land.
"Evasive maneuvers," Eli screamed out to the bridge crew who held on for dear life. The passengers began to scream as the plane tilted back and the engines roared. Eli struggled to right the plane, bringing the pitch higher as the animal grew ever large in his window.
His eyes were squinted tightly, trying to get the plane to pull up. He opened them just enough to see the object change from black as night to a flustered red-ish pink in the landing lights.
It opened it's mouth and ran into the forest. The plane continued to pull up but to no avail, the plane was coming down.
"Everybody hold on!"
The plane continued to drop from the sky until the landing gear caught it, and, leveling out the pane, brought it to a stop after a few bumps. They had landed relatively safely: sliding a little and rolling off the runway into a field but no one was hurt.
"Flight 402, do you copy?"
"This is flight 402, we copy you, what was that?"
There was a moment of silence, then the tower responded.
"Do you wish to file a report?"
Eli thought for a moment. He mind still circling on the event. What he had seen didn't make sense: they didn't exist. If he made a report, he would never be taken seriously again in any circles.
"Negative. I don't. No report."
One Week Later
The sun shone brightly in the city of San Diego. Alan walked with Billy into the new InGen business center. The old ones had been sold after the reorganization and the business consolidated into a small 10 story office complex, with four or so other businesses sharing the lot with their own buildings.
"And I thought it got hot in Montana," Billy remarked to Alan who smiled lightly.
The group had been called out to San Diego for the first meeting of the team. InGen was hosting the meeting while the UN was going to have their representatives present to speak to the group.
So far, Alan had been informed of ten or so people who were going. Those people then were broken up into two teams. Alan had himself organized the teams. He worried about the expedition but he was happy with how things were being organized though he hadn't the slightest idea what to expect.
"Welcome, everybody. I'd like to introduce myself. My name is John Hilman, Chancellor to the United States in the United Nations. You all have been called here to have the first meeting for the expedition to the InGen islands. Here to give you some more information on this trip is the CEO of InGen, Richard Nesky," John finished, clapping and moving away from the podium.
The meeting had been called in a large conference room. There was a large circular table which all the participants sat at their respective spots. At the front of the table, with a view through large glass windows over looking the business park, was the podium where Richard now stood.
"Thank you. I'd like you all to take some time today and overlook the flight plan and finalize it in your head. If you have any questions let me or your group leaders know.
"First off, I'd like to give you all a small overview of how the trip will go," Richard began, pointing to the center of the large round table where a map of the islands lay with small markers on them.
"This island is Isla Pena. This will be your home for the next month. Already, facilities stand ready to be used. There is a living area where everyone will have their own tent. There are also lavatories, showers, and a dining area near by. We have already sent some water sanitizers and de-salinization machines to the island. They are prepared for your arrival. There is also a small power facility there which will be able to power all your electronics while you are there, via solar power. We will keep in constant contact with the teams via internet where the teams will send their findings. The island is equipped with three helicopter landing platforms and an emergency plane landing strip. Lastly, the island is surrounded by an electric fence to protect from anything that might feel the need to come ashore.
"I can assure you, there is nothing we haven't thought of or planned for. The teams will be safe and this expedition will be a massive success."
Alan was pleased. It seemed like everything was in place for an expedition. He knew though that things could turn ugly quickly. These islands had a murphy's law to them: what ever could go wrong, will.
"And how will the expedition be set up?" Jessica Simon asked from the other end of the table.
"For that, I will give you over to the man in charge of the excursions themselves, Dr. Alan Grant."
The room filled with applause as Alan walked from his chair to the podium.
"Morning," Alan began.
"I have had the privilege to take on the job of assigning the teams. Right now, there are two teams. Team one, or my team, will be in charge of looking at the animals and how they interact with the islands and the mainland. Safety is the main purpose of this mission. We are here to mainly figure out if these islands should remain isolated or destroyed. Please, everyone, keep that in mind. That team is Eric Kirby, Nick Van Owen, Sam Slayter, and myself.
"Team two, lead by my assistant Mr. Brennan will be in charge of studying the animals themselves. These are prehistoric beasts that haven't roamed the Earth in over 65 Million years, or more. Some of these animals never lived together at all. Please, team two, keep that in mind when studying how these animals act. Team two is Billy Brennan, Jessica Simon, and Carl Shooter.
"These are genetically recreated animals. There is no guarantee that their behavior is still intact. Team two will study the animals and document them for further study and research. This is the only chance we will ever get to study these animals alive, and in their natural habitat.
"Make the most of it."
"Oh Alan," Richard Nesky yelled out across the room. Two hours had passed since the meeting had adjure, leaving everyone to grab their things and head off to the hotel for the night.
"Yes," Alan asked, turning around.
"I just wanted to let you know that team two has a new member to it that I took the liberty to adding.
"Who is it?"
"Hey, Al," Came the voice of Ellie from the door, Charlie in tow.
"I can-not believe you!" Alan snapped at Ellie in their adjoined hotel rooms.
"Alan! Not in front of Charlie."
The two walked into Alan's room, leaving Charlie in the other.
"You know how dangerous these islands can be. Why would you agree to go!"
"Alan. You don't–" she trailed off.
"You don't understand."
"I still can't believe you decided to go. And to take Charlie!"
"Alan. We have nothing back at home. Besides, I talked to Richard. We're just going to stay on the island–on Isla Pena. We're gonna stay there, where its safe, and study the findings there. It's gonna be completely safe."
"I don't like this," Alan admitted, sitting down on his bed.
"Alan, I'm sorry I did this. But we'll be fine.
"I promise."