Triple Threat - James Patterson Page 0,38

flesh every inch of the way.

The soldier holding the box of rations drops it and frantically comes to Chloe’s aid. He rips the rabid animal off her and flings it into the apartment. His partner swiftly aims his rifle and sprays a flurry of gunshots, killing the creature instantly.

Chloe is out of breath. In total shock. Her legs and chest are crisscrossed with bloody scratches. She’s otherwise unharmed, but scared. And furious.

“Merci,” she snaps at the soldiers—as she scoops up the box of rations they dropped and slams the door in their face, before either has a chance to protest.

Chloe locks the door and grips the box tightly. Marielle, who witnessed the entire episode, is too stunned to say a word. All she and her stepdaughter can do is stare at the raccoon’s bloody carcass, and the trail of bullet holes along the floor and wall.

And be thankful that Chloe is still alive.

Chapter 9

This must be what heaven looks like.

A pristine coastline, dotted with swaying palm trees, stretching as far as the eye can see. White sand, finer than baby powder. Blue water, clear as glass. The sun warm, the breeze cool.

But best of all?

We’ve been standing out in the open for nearly fifteen minutes now, less than half a mile from thousands of acres of lush tropical forest, brimming with wildlife…

And there hasn’t been a single animal attack yet.

I have to admit, it’s more than a little eerie. But it’s also an incredible relief, a feeling I can barely describe. A definite cause for hope.

“Careful with that,” Freitas says to one of the porters. They’re unloading our crates of scientific gear off the hotel shuttle from Ngurah Rai International Airport. Along with Freitas, Sarah, and I, sorting the equipment to be brought to our rooms, are Dr. Ti-Hua Chang, an epidemiologist from the Chinese Ministry of Health; Dr. Woodruff, an immunologist from the University of Illinois; and a few other scientists I’ve exchanged only a handshake with.

Actually, “rooms” is an understatement. They’re more like personal luxury villas, designed in the style of traditional Balinese wooden huts. Built on stilts, they’re perched directly above the sparkling water. Absolutely gorgeous.

Which could describe the entire hotel. Definitely not the kind of lodging that stingy old Uncle Sam would normally spring for. But thanks to the worldwide economic slump and the island’s drastic drop in tourism, Freitas was able to score these stunning accommodations for his team for pennies on the dollar.

They’re also in a prime location, on the beach and also near the jungles where we’ll be doing the bulk of our testing. Our goal is simple: figure out why animals are running amok around the rest of the world but here in Bali are living with humans in harmony.

I take a quick break and shake out the front of my t-shirt. It’s already damp with sweat and clinging to my chest. Not that I’m complaining or anything, but after all those months in the frigid Arctic, I can’t remember the last time I was this hot and sticky.

Feeling thirsty, I look around for something to drink. There’s a tiki bar on the other end of the open-air hotel lobby, but it looks empty and closed. Maybe there’s a water fountain nearby. Or, heck—the sea looks so clear, maybe I’ll just drink that.

“Indonesian iced tea, sir?”

A trim young Balinese man in a crisp white uniform is suddenly by my side. He’s holding a silver platter on which sits a tall glass of amber liquid with a twist of lemon.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more tempting beverage in all my life.

“Wow, yes, thank you. You guys are mind readers!”

I gulp down the sweet, refreshing tea so fast, rivulets of it trickle down my chin.

“Not mind readers, sir. We are simply very good at treating our guests well. And so is our wildlife, as you can see.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my top lip cold against my warm skin.

“I sure can,” I say, intrigued by the hotel attendant’s words. Perhaps he knows something that will point us in the right direction. “Any idea why that might be?”

The man thinks for a moment, furrowing his brow.

“Well, most Balinese are Hindu. And most Hindus are vegetarian. We believe in practicing nonviolence against all life forms. Perhaps our animals feel the same way.”

I stifle a laugh—at least I try to—which I hope doesn’t offend this friendly hotel employee bearing the divine iced tea. He can’t be serious, can he? I’m