As Jericho and I walk quietly but quickly around the jungle passages, thick with vegetation, I tell him that, at any time, I am ready to shape-change when it serves our purposes. I can become and will become a wildebeest, an electric drill, a falling rubber tree, a drop of acid rain.
“Good to know,” he says with a trace of a smile. I am assuming that his comment is meant to be amusing, not sarcastic. But I am so anxious about our mutual adventure that I can’t be completely sure.Stay calm, Lamont.
Still no sign of animal life. I mention this to Jericho. And he agrees. It is perplexing.
We have been exploring for a little more than an hour when we notice a small stretch of land—not more than four feet long—that is… completely barren. All we see is a combination of mud and gray pebbles.
I try to imagine that this is a path, a clue, a direction. But as we carefully investigate the area around the empty barren land, we find nothing helpful. So we walk some more. A quarter mile. A half mile. A mile.
I receive a message from Margo.
Nothing so far. You guys?
I reply.
Same as you. Nothing.
Then a sound. Both Jericho and I hear it—a strange,weak bleat. Yes,bleatis the proper word. Perhaps a large injured bird. An ostrich? An ibis?
“Over there,” Jericho says.
He points to his right, and there, standing still and bleating, is a goat.
The goat walks slowly and calmly away from us, completely disinterested. We follow the animal for five or ten yards. Then it suddenly stops in front of a crude, jagged entrance carved into the side of the mountain.
The opening is large enough for a person to pass in and out of. And that is exactly what happens.
As Jericho and I approach the cave opening, we hear human sounds: a cough, a throat clearing, the scratch of shoes against the dry ground.
And then… a skinny young man emerges.
The young man can be no older than twenty. He wears black-framed eyeglasses. He wears tan Bermuda shorts and a white T-shirt.
We see him. He sees us. We are surprised. He is not.
He speaks. His voice is soft, almost a whisper.
“I’m Glenn Ambrose,” he says. Then he adds, “I think you may be looking for me.”
CHAPTER 116
I HAD NEVER considered what the mysterious Glenn Ambrose looked like. If I had been told to guess at his appearance, I would most likely have imagined tall and evil, maybe even with a comic handlebar mustache and an exaggerated sneer on his face, wearing a white lab coat.
But here, in the flesh, Glenn Ambrose can be described easily with one classic, very old-fashioned schoolyard taunt—NERD.He looks like a lonely teenager who spends too much time trolling online message boards.
It is difficult for me to believe that this is the person with the goal and the power to destroy the world. Still, we must remain cautious. I order Jericho to frisk Ambrose for weapons. Then Jericho secures him, tying the scientist up with steel-reinforced wire we have brought. Ambrose offers no resistance.
“How did you find out that we were trying to locate you?” I ask our now completely immobile prisoner.
Suddenly, his face seems to change. Ambrose’s eyeswiden. His mouth opens, and he begins speaking with a new voice, a voice that is painfully loud. It is booming. It creates an echo. No, he is not changing into a superhero, but he certainly is not the nerd he seemed just a few minutes ago.
“There will be no answer! You will find in me no information!”
The new voice is so angry, so loud, that Jericho reflexively moves back a step. I force myself to stay stony and stand still. I must be ready for a fight.
While Jericho watches Ambrose, I walk a few feet to the jagged entrance of the cave. I look in and see a surprisingly small steel-paneled room. I hear the soft, easy whirring and whistling of machinery. Yet I can see only a few computer monitors, plus a modest-sized video screen attached to the wall. The entire setup looks shockingly basic. It looks like any one out of a billion very unimportant offices.
Wait a second. Ambrose is going to destroy the world with a few souped-up computers? I’m clearly missing something.